Beautiful Joe [94]
still, Joe. If you show yourself, they
may run away."
I crouched behind the log, and only lifted my head occasionally to see what the
sheep were doing. Some of them went back into the woods, for it was very hot in
this bare part of the pasture, but the most of them would not leave Mr. Wood,
and stood staring at him. "That's a fine sheep, isn't it?" said Miss Laura,
pointing to one with the blackest face, and the blackest legs, and largest body
of those near us.
"Yes; that's old Jessica. Do you notice how she's holding her head close to the
ground?"
"Yes; is there any reason for it?"
"There is. She's afraid of the grub fly. You often see sheep holding their noses
in that way in the summer time. It is to prevent the fly from going into their
nostrils, and depositing an egg which will turn into a grub and annoy and worry
them. When the fly comes near, they give a sniff and run as if they were crazy,
still holding their noses close to the ground. When I was a boy, and the sheep
did that, we thought that they had colds in their heads, and used to rub tar on
their noses. We knew nothing about the fly then, but the tar cured them, and is
just what I use now. Two or three times a month during hot weather, we put a few
drops of it on the nose of every sheep in the flock."
"I suppose farmers are like other people, and are always finding out better ways
of doing their work, aren't they, uncle?" said Miss Laura.
"Yes, my child. The older I grow, the more I find out, and the better care I
take of my stock. My grandfather would open his eyes in amazement, and ask me if
I was an old women petting her cats if he were alive, and could know the care I
give my sheep. He used to let his flock run till the fields were covered with
snow, and bite as close as they liked, till there wasn't a scrap of feed left.
Then he would give them an open shed to run under, and throw down their hay
outside. Grain they scarcely knew the taste of. That they would fall off in
flesh, and half of them lose their lambs in the spring, was an expected thing.
He would say I had them kennelled, if he could see my big, closed sheds, with
the sunny windows that my flock spend the winter in. I even house them during
the bad fall storms. They can run out again. Indeed, I like to get them in, and
have a snack of dry food, to break them in to it. They are in and out of those
sheds all winter. You must go in, Laura, and see the self-feeding racks. On
bright, winter days they get a run in the cornfields. Cold doesn't hurt sheep.
It's the heavy rain that soaks their fleeces.
"With my way I seldom lose a sheep, and they're the most profitable stock I
have. If I could not keep them, I think I'd give up farming. Last year my lambs
netted me eight dollars each. The fleeces of the ewes average eight pounds, and
sell for two dollars each. That's something to brag of in these days, when so
many are giving up the sheep industry."
"How many sheep have you, uncle?" asked Miss Laura.
"Only fifty, now. Twenty-five here and twenty-five down below in the orchard.
I've been selling a good many this spring."
"These sheep are larger than those in the orchard, aren't they?" said Miss
Laura.
"Yes; I keep those few Southdowns for their fine quality. I don't make as much
on them as I do on these Shropshires. For an all-around sheep I like the
Shropshire. It's good for mutton, for wool, and for rearing lambs. There's a
great demand for mutton nowadays, all through our eastern cities. People want
more and more of it. And it has to be tender, and juicy, and finely flavored, so
a person has to be particular about the feed the sheep get."
"Don't you hate to have these creatures killed that you have raised and tended
so carefully?" said Miss Laura with a little shudder.
"I do," said her uncle; "but never an animal goes off my place that I don't know
just how it's going to be put to death. None of your sending sheep to market
with their legs tied together and jammed in a cart, and
may run away."
I crouched behind the log, and only lifted my head occasionally to see what the
sheep were doing. Some of them went back into the woods, for it was very hot in
this bare part of the pasture, but the most of them would not leave Mr. Wood,
and stood staring at him. "That's a fine sheep, isn't it?" said Miss Laura,
pointing to one with the blackest face, and the blackest legs, and largest body
of those near us.
"Yes; that's old Jessica. Do you notice how she's holding her head close to the
ground?"
"Yes; is there any reason for it?"
"There is. She's afraid of the grub fly. You often see sheep holding their noses
in that way in the summer time. It is to prevent the fly from going into their
nostrils, and depositing an egg which will turn into a grub and annoy and worry
them. When the fly comes near, they give a sniff and run as if they were crazy,
still holding their noses close to the ground. When I was a boy, and the sheep
did that, we thought that they had colds in their heads, and used to rub tar on
their noses. We knew nothing about the fly then, but the tar cured them, and is
just what I use now. Two or three times a month during hot weather, we put a few
drops of it on the nose of every sheep in the flock."
"I suppose farmers are like other people, and are always finding out better ways
of doing their work, aren't they, uncle?" said Miss Laura.
"Yes, my child. The older I grow, the more I find out, and the better care I
take of my stock. My grandfather would open his eyes in amazement, and ask me if
I was an old women petting her cats if he were alive, and could know the care I
give my sheep. He used to let his flock run till the fields were covered with
snow, and bite as close as they liked, till there wasn't a scrap of feed left.
Then he would give them an open shed to run under, and throw down their hay
outside. Grain they scarcely knew the taste of. That they would fall off in
flesh, and half of them lose their lambs in the spring, was an expected thing.
He would say I had them kennelled, if he could see my big, closed sheds, with
the sunny windows that my flock spend the winter in. I even house them during
the bad fall storms. They can run out again. Indeed, I like to get them in, and
have a snack of dry food, to break them in to it. They are in and out of those
sheds all winter. You must go in, Laura, and see the self-feeding racks. On
bright, winter days they get a run in the cornfields. Cold doesn't hurt sheep.
It's the heavy rain that soaks their fleeces.
"With my way I seldom lose a sheep, and they're the most profitable stock I
have. If I could not keep them, I think I'd give up farming. Last year my lambs
netted me eight dollars each. The fleeces of the ewes average eight pounds, and
sell for two dollars each. That's something to brag of in these days, when so
many are giving up the sheep industry."
"How many sheep have you, uncle?" asked Miss Laura.
"Only fifty, now. Twenty-five here and twenty-five down below in the orchard.
I've been selling a good many this spring."
"These sheep are larger than those in the orchard, aren't they?" said Miss
Laura.
"Yes; I keep those few Southdowns for their fine quality. I don't make as much
on them as I do on these Shropshires. For an all-around sheep I like the
Shropshire. It's good for mutton, for wool, and for rearing lambs. There's a
great demand for mutton nowadays, all through our eastern cities. People want
more and more of it. And it has to be tender, and juicy, and finely flavored, so
a person has to be particular about the feed the sheep get."
"Don't you hate to have these creatures killed that you have raised and tended
so carefully?" said Miss Laura with a little shudder.
"I do," said her uncle; "but never an animal goes off my place that I don't know
just how it's going to be put to death. None of your sending sheep to market
with their legs tied together and jammed in a cart, and