So I got a phone call the other day. The voice on the other end frantically yelled,
Without a moment’s hesitation, I grabbed the closest quilt and ran out the back door. I mean, isn’t that what anyone would do after they receive a phone call like that?
Of course, it may help you to know that we have been enjoying the company of thirteen sheep in the vacant baseball diamond behind our house.
It also may help to know that Peter was the one calling me.
But what do a few details matter when there are sheep to chase?
Apparently, our neighbor Shirley was hanging clothes out on her line when she spied the sheep. She quickly called the church, thoroughly confusing Peter’s secretary who thought it was code for someone dying.
Together she and Peter returned four of the six sheep back to the baseball diamond.
Did I mention that Shirley is 83 years old? She has more energy than I do.
And then I burst on the scene. Six months pregnant. Waving a quilt. I was lots of help. (In my defense, I grabbed the quilt so I would appear bigger than I actually am, therefore intimidating the sheep. I thought it would keep the sheep from going on the road. I thought I had a method to my madness . . . it didn’t work.)
Down the road they went, faster than any of us could run. The obvious solution? The Moped.
When the Farmer arrived to help, poor guy, he was greeted by a pregnant lady with a quilt, and 83 year old and a Pastor on his moped.
Just take a moment to ponder that scene. It’s okay if you laugh.
What I didn’t realize is that sheep just want someone to follow. They’re not interested in running. They just want to be back in their normal surroundings, with their buddies. That bit of information would have made things much simpler.
The Farmer tried to get us all straightened out. But in the end, it was Hank who saved the day. He decided it would be worth a shock to go past his underground fence and ran out to meet the runaways. I was standing at the gate, ready to open it at the right time when I heard the Farmer yell, “Sarah, call Hank!”
So I did. And you should’ve seen the Hero Hank trot right into the baseball field, with the sheep dutifully following him.
Just another day at the
Ranch baseball-diamond-turned-sheep-pasture. I’d make such a good farmer. Along with my Moped Pastor, Spitfire Neighbor . . . and Hank.