A Year on Ladybug Farm - Donna Ball [55]
Farley slammed the door of the truck and unlatched the back gate. He said, “Ya’ll better stand back.”
The three women looked at each other dubiously. Then they looked at the tomato plants, spilling over their cages with fat red and yellow fruit, the thick coils of bean vines splayed along long wires, the dark green corn stalks towering over their heads, bright yellow squash ready to be plucked. They said as one, “No!”
The word was barely spoken before the dog slunk out of the truck and, with belly close to the ground and eyes locked on the flock, he froze in place. In the blink of an eye he darted to the left, and the sheep shuffled and bunched. He flowed to the right, and the flock swayed. The women watched, almost as mesmerized as the sheep, as the dog crouched, head down and eyes fixed on the sheep. He took one step forward. And another. And suddenly all hell broke loose.
The flock charged. Hooves and muddy wool and divets of earth flew everywhere. Bridget screamed and ducked as a sheep flew over her head. Lindsay ended up sprawled on her back. Cici dove for cover between two rows of corn. She could hear Sam and Deke yelling their astonishment and cheering the dog on. And as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.
The ladies got slowly to their feet, brushing mud off their knees and rubbing bruises, looking cautiously around. The sheep were miraculously on the other side of the hedgerow, behind the fence, munching grass as though nothing had ever happened. The dog had retreated to the shadow of Farley’s truck, where he sat at attention, his gaze fixed upon the sheep. Sam returned from his examination of the hedgerow and pronounced, “Right here’s your problem. Hole in the fence.”
Farley said, “I’ll fix it for you. Ten dollar.”
Cici’s voice was filled with wonder. “How in the world did you train that dog to do that? You didn’t even give him a command.”
Farley just looked at her, expressionless. “Didn’t train ’im. He just knows.”
Bridget said, “Do sheep eat radishes? And tomato and cucumber plants?”
The three men just stared at her.
Lindsay said, rubbing a bruised hip, “Whose sheep are they, anyway?”
Farley replied, “Yourn.”
It was several beats before Cici could manage, “What?”
And Bridget parrotted, “Ours?”
“Came with the farm,” confirmed Farley. “I been keeping an eye on ’em, over the winter you know. Put out some hay. Won’t charge you none. They ain’t much trouble. Need shearin’.”
“So that’s what that clause in the sales contract about ‘outbuildings and livestock’ meant,” mused Lindsay.
“Sheep?” Cici’s voice was close to a screech. “How in the world are we supposed to take care of sheep?”
“Sheep!” cried Bridget, delighted. “We have sheep!”
Farley said thoughtfully, “You can have the dog.”
Bridget whirled from her enraptured survey of the sheep in the meadow, her eyes growing even wider. “Are you serious? You’d really let us have that incredible dog?”
“Ten dollar,” said Farley.
“Oh good God,” said Lindsay, sotto voce, “she’s out of control.”
Cici said, “Bridget, I think we should talk about this.”
“You can’t have sheep without a sheepdog” was Bridget’s reply. And to Farley, “What’s his name?”
Farley thought about that for a moment. “Dog,” he decided.
Bridget blinked, but her smile didn’t waver. “Well, we’ll worry about a name later.” She approached the dog, hand extended. “Come here, you sweet thing. You want to live here? Are you going to be my sweet dog?”
Cici said, “Bridget, be careful.”
And Lindsay, “I wouldn’t—”
There was a ferocious sound, a blur of fur, and Bridget jumped back with a cry, cradling her bleeding hand.
Farley said, “He don’t much like people.”
Cici said, “I’ll get the first-aid kit.”
Lindsay rushed to Bridget, giving the dog wide berth. “Are you okay?”
Farley repeated firmly, “Ten dollar.”
And Bridget said, “I’ll get my purse.”
The good news was that the dog did not have rabies. The bad news was, at least as far as Cici and Lindsay were concerned, that he did not run away. Every morning the dog would spring over