“The sheep’s vagina fell out again.”
I really never know what to expect around here, anymore.
We’ve been monitoring our oldest ewe for a couple of days now, we think she’s pregnant and has had a recurring vaginal prolapse (apparently the womanly parts that are supposed to stay INSIDE are capable of coming OUTSIDE. Not a pleasant thought.) We tried to fix it ourselves with a little help from Google, but today what should have been obvious to begin with became clear: this was not something a little baling twine could fix.
Jon was out of town, and our sheep are semi-wild (two of them have already escaped once), but I was hopeful that the kids and I could catch her and get her to the vet with a bit of communal effort and lots of prayer (just to give you an idea of what we were facing, the last two times Jon and I tried to catch her, he jumped out of the way and left me grabbing on to 100lbs of running, bucking, sheep fleece and it took both of us to wrestle her to the ground once he jumped back into the fray [to his defense, he’s not as used to animals as I am, and five incredibly strong sheep charging toward you at lightning speed is not a comfortable sight!]) In faith, however, I made a spot for her in our animal trailer (otherwise known as the back of the family van) and we were on our way to catch her when my son noticed that our tire was flat. COMPLETELY flat.
I’ve never changed a tire. I’ve never watched anyone change a tire.
Changing tires falls firmly under the category: JON’S JOB, along with taking out the trash and cleaning the bathroom toilet.
But it had to be done, or our vet was going to have to make a house call on a Saturday. $50.00 just to get him to step foot onto our property, for a sheep who was destined to become dinner. Not a happy thought.
I won’t go into all the details. I won’t bore you with how I tried to jack up the van in the wrong place and almost broke some metal doohickey that looks like a pretty important part of the vehicle. Or go into details about the thirty minutes I spent just trying to get the spare tire off of its anchor thingy. Not to mention the fact that I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to get what I thought were lug nuts off the hubcap (I now know how to identify actual lug nuts) and got slammed in the head when a gust of wind blew the trunk door into the side of my head (I’m really not making this up.)
What I will say is that I finally manged to get the spare tire on the van. By myself (well, almost… it took me and two of the girls pulling together to get those lug-nuts off the tire!) And I have amazing friends who called at perfect moments with encouraging words and advice (and didn’t make me feel stupid for crying!) Friends who watched my kids while I took the sheep to the vet. And fed them lunch. And came over to visit. And brought dinner. And coffee. And chocolate.
Then took the tire home with them to fix it.
In the end, a really stressful morning turned into a really wonderful afternoon and I’m happy to say that I now know how to change a tire. And our sheep has all of her womanly parts back where they belong.
That’s something I never really imagined myself saying. Farming changes you, people. It really does.
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