Beautiful Joe [95]
sweating and suffering
for me. They've got to go standing comfortably on their legs, or go not at all.
And I'm going to know the butcher that kills my animals, that have been petted
like children. I said to Davidson, over there in Hoytville, 'If I thought you
would herd my sheep and lambs and calves together, and take them one by one in
sight of the rest, and stick your knife into them, or stun them, and have the
others lowing, and bleating, and crying in their misery, this is the last
consignment you would ever get from me.'
"He said, 'Wood, I don't like my business, but on the word of an honest man, my
butchering is done as well as it can be. Come and see for yourself.'
"He took me to his slaughter-house, and though I didn't stay long, I saw enough
to convince me that he spoke the truth. He has different pens and sheds, and the
killing is done as quietly as possible; the animals are taken in one by one, and
though the others suspect what is going on, they can't see it."
"These sheep are a long way from the house," said Miss Laura; "don't the dogs
that you were telling me about attack them?"
"No; for since I had that brush with Windham's dog, I've trained them to go and
come with the cows. It's a queer thing, but cows that will run from a dog when
they are alone will fight him if he meddles with their calves or the sheep.
There's not a dog around that would dare to come into this pasture, for he knows
the cows would be after him with lowered horns, and a business look in their
eyes. The sheep in the orchard are safe enough, for they're near the house, and
if a strange dog came around, Joe would settle him, wouldn't you, Joe?" and Mr.
Wood looked behind the log at me.
I got up and put my head on his arm, and he went on: "By and by, the Southdowns
will be changed up here, and the Shropshires will go down to the orchard. I like
to keep one flock under my fruit trees. You know there is an old proverb 'The
sheep has a golden hoof.' They save me the trouble of ploughing. I haven't
ploughed my orchard for ten years, and don't expect to plough it for ten years
more. Then your Aunt Hattie's hens are so obliging that they keep me from the
worry of finding ticks at shearing time. All the year round, I let them run
among the sheep, and they nab every tick they see."
"How closely sheep bite," exclaimed Miss Laura, pointing to one that was
nibbling almost at his master's feet.
"Very close, and they eat a good many things that cows don't relish bitter
weeds, and briars and shrubs, and the young ferns that come up in the spring."
"I wish I could get hold of one of those dear little lambs," said Miss Laura.
"See that sweet little blackie back in the alders. Could you not coax him up?"
"He wouldn't come here," said her uncle kindly; "but I'll try end get him for
you."
He rose, and after several efforts succeeded in capturing the black-faced
creature, and bringing him up to the log. He was very shy of Miss Laura, but Mr.
Wood held him firmly, and let her stroke his head as much as she liked. "You
call him little," said Mr. Wood; "if you put your arm around him, you'll find
he's a pretty: substantial lamb. He was born in March. This is the last of July;
he'll be shorn the middle of next month, and think he's quite grown up. Poor
little animal! he had quite a struggle for life. The sheep were turned out to
pasture in April. They can't bear confinement as well as the cows, and as they
bite closer they can be turned out earlier, and get on well by having good
rations of corn in addition to the grass, which is thin and poor so early in the
spring. This young creature was running by his mother's side, rather a weak-
legged, poor specimen of a lamb. Every night the flock was put under shelter,
for the ground was cold, and though the sheep might not suffer from lying out-
doors, the lambs would get chilled. One night this fellow's mother got astray,
and as Ben neglected to make the count, she wasn't missed. I'm always anxious
about
for me. They've got to go standing comfortably on their legs, or go not at all.
And I'm going to know the butcher that kills my animals, that have been petted
like children. I said to Davidson, over there in Hoytville, 'If I thought you
would herd my sheep and lambs and calves together, and take them one by one in
sight of the rest, and stick your knife into them, or stun them, and have the
others lowing, and bleating, and crying in their misery, this is the last
consignment you would ever get from me.'
"He said, 'Wood, I don't like my business, but on the word of an honest man, my
butchering is done as well as it can be. Come and see for yourself.'
"He took me to his slaughter-house, and though I didn't stay long, I saw enough
to convince me that he spoke the truth. He has different pens and sheds, and the
killing is done as quietly as possible; the animals are taken in one by one, and
though the others suspect what is going on, they can't see it."
"These sheep are a long way from the house," said Miss Laura; "don't the dogs
that you were telling me about attack them?"
"No; for since I had that brush with Windham's dog, I've trained them to go and
come with the cows. It's a queer thing, but cows that will run from a dog when
they are alone will fight him if he meddles with their calves or the sheep.
There's not a dog around that would dare to come into this pasture, for he knows
the cows would be after him with lowered horns, and a business look in their
eyes. The sheep in the orchard are safe enough, for they're near the house, and
if a strange dog came around, Joe would settle him, wouldn't you, Joe?" and Mr.
Wood looked behind the log at me.
I got up and put my head on his arm, and he went on: "By and by, the Southdowns
will be changed up here, and the Shropshires will go down to the orchard. I like
to keep one flock under my fruit trees. You know there is an old proverb 'The
sheep has a golden hoof.' They save me the trouble of ploughing. I haven't
ploughed my orchard for ten years, and don't expect to plough it for ten years
more. Then your Aunt Hattie's hens are so obliging that they keep me from the
worry of finding ticks at shearing time. All the year round, I let them run
among the sheep, and they nab every tick they see."
"How closely sheep bite," exclaimed Miss Laura, pointing to one that was
nibbling almost at his master's feet.
"Very close, and they eat a good many things that cows don't relish bitter
weeds, and briars and shrubs, and the young ferns that come up in the spring."
"I wish I could get hold of one of those dear little lambs," said Miss Laura.
"See that sweet little blackie back in the alders. Could you not coax him up?"
"He wouldn't come here," said her uncle kindly; "but I'll try end get him for
you."
He rose, and after several efforts succeeded in capturing the black-faced
creature, and bringing him up to the log. He was very shy of Miss Laura, but Mr.
Wood held him firmly, and let her stroke his head as much as she liked. "You
call him little," said Mr. Wood; "if you put your arm around him, you'll find
he's a pretty: substantial lamb. He was born in March. This is the last of July;
he'll be shorn the middle of next month, and think he's quite grown up. Poor
little animal! he had quite a struggle for life. The sheep were turned out to
pasture in April. They can't bear confinement as well as the cows, and as they
bite closer they can be turned out earlier, and get on well by having good
rations of corn in addition to the grass, which is thin and poor so early in the
spring. This young creature was running by his mother's side, rather a weak-
legged, poor specimen of a lamb. Every night the flock was put under shelter,
for the ground was cold, and though the sheep might not suffer from lying out-
doors, the lambs would get chilled. One night this fellow's mother got astray,
and as Ben neglected to make the count, she wasn't missed. I'm always anxious
about