With Bowie in the house, and with strict orders from her doctor that she must be restricted to minimal movement, I haven’t had much chance to visit with my sheep, as I usually do. Yesterday, noting that Bowie had settled into a deep slumber, I crossed over the dirt road that cuts our farm in two, and did just that.

It had just rained, and we’d had a bit of rain the day before, so new grass was beginning to come up and the pasture looked to be finally recovering from the long, dry spell. The flock made its way this way and that, picking and choosing where to graze as only sheep do. Once they had made sure that my pockets were emptied of animal crackers (their favorite), they were no longer as interested in hanging about me. Every so often, one of them would bound over, just to check that I hadn’t magically made new crackers appear.

Since it’s the week of the big Washington County Fair, the entire valley was unusually quiet. I could hear the flock tearing greedily at newly discovered patches of grass, and it did my heart good. We bought the sheep to be lawnmowers of these pastures, after all. I’d become restless with day upon day of not straying too far from Bowie and therefore the house. Half an hour with my sheep, surrounded by the beauty of this valley, was just what I needed.