Way back in the fall of 1988 our entire flock of sheep (4 ewes, 6 lambs) was eaten by coyotes while we were in Oregon. Hank and I had both seen and heard these sheep killers all summer, but never dreamed they'd have the gall to actually enter the pasture and slaughter ten sheep! When we got home we pondered what we should do. We certainly wanted more sheep, but we loathed the idea of putting in electric fence to keep out the coyotes. Our neighbor had two white Pyrenees protecting his sheep, but who wants dogs who aren't pets, just guards that lived outside day and night?
Then someone told us that burros were super sheep protectors that would keep out all predators. That seemed like a good solution, but where to find a burro? Typical Hatsy, I told the sheep story in my next column and asked if anyone knew of a burro for sale. The day the column came out we got a call, and two days later we had installed Eeyore in the empty pasture and set about locating a couple of ewes to keep him company.
A shaggy burro from the Grand Canyon, Eeyore was as lugubrious and lethargic as his namesake. As it turned out, he was actually in a clinical depression and desperately needed a flock of sheep to herd. Once we got two ewes he could push around he perked up, and when the lambs were born the following spring he became almost jovial. For the next 14 years Eeyore protected the flock, even though in his last year he was blind in one eye, totally deaf and probably at least 25 years old.
When Eeyore went to the lush pastures in the sky this past February, we started our search for a new burro. Since I was no longer writing my column, there were no readers to query, so we went on the Internet. Burros are no longer taken from the Grand Canyon. We had no luck finding a new burro, but finally heard about a donkey for sale over in Norfolk.
What IS the difference between a burro and a donkey anyway? This donkey, whose name was Mama, was much bigger than Eeyore, all brown with no cross on her back, but we decided we'd better take her as the coyotes were howling every night and our three ewes were about to drop their lambs. Mama seemed a biddable beast, so we planned to walk her all the way from West Side Road in Norfolk to Locust Hill.
As it turned out, daughter Bridget and her family volunteered to do the walking, a good thing as the grandkids knew all the shortcuts through the woods so there was very little travel by road. It was close to three hours, however, when they finally appeared at the Jacquier farm, and another fifteen minutes before they reached the bridge across the Blackberry River and could start up the hill.
When we put Mama in with the sheep, she immediately tried to bite them, one after another. Fortunately they hadn't been sheared, so all she got was a mouthful of wool. Eventually she stopped showing them all who was boss and settled down. A week later I looked out the window at dawn and saw that the first two baby lambs had been born.
"Come look!" I called to Hank, "we've got twins!" But as he came to the window we both winced in horror as we saw Mama charge the mother ewe, pick up one of the babies in her teeth and fling it high over her head. She then did the same with the second twin. I opened the window and began screaming while Hank grabbed his clothes and raced outside. By the time he'd caught the donkey, I, too, was dressed and running into the pasture.
As Hank led Mama down to the lower pasture, I picked up one of the tiny lambs, expecting to find it bloody and dying. Much to my amazement and delight, it seemed to be fine. When I set it back down it wobbled right over to its mom. The other twin was equally fine. I guess those newborn bones were just too soft to get broken, despite being tossed ten feet in the air.
But now what? We didn't want to watch any more new lambs get such treatment, but the very next day we spied a very large coyote sneaking along the pasture fence in broad daylight, checking out his next lamb dinner. We shut the flock up in the barn that night… and the next night… and the next night until the other ewes had given birth, both producing twins. As soon as all the lambs seemed agile, we led Mama into the pasture.
Fleet of foot, the babies scattered as Mama lowered her head and charged one little lamb after another. Once she felt they all understood that she was the boss, everybody calmed down and nowadays the pasture is a very peaceful place. Mama appears to be as good a nursemaid as Eeyore was, and nary a coyote has dared face our ornery donkey. Every once in a while (fortunately not too often) she will push down a gate and go adventuring. As you can see from the photograph above, the first time she escaped from the pasture I found her on the front porch devouring the dogs' kibble.
