Lori Cunnigham - The Injection

Not long after I started keeping my own sheep, I had reason to need to give a sheep an injection.   I went out with a syringe of medication, proud of myself for getting on with the job.    My dog put all the sheep in a pen, which I now know, was way too big.   I was a very inexperienced sheep flipper and it was a very.hot.day.  I chased the ewe around the pen for quite a while  before I finally caught her.   I lifted.  I pulled.  I twisted.   I could not get that sheep to go over.    While I was bent over tugging on every sheep body part I could reach, the ewe reared back and head butted me squarely in the face,  whacking my nose and splitting my lip.    Looking back, I believe that the combination of the heat, exertion and pain in my face  caused me to go temporarily insane.   What had started out as a simple farm chore now became an epic battle of wills and looked something like a grotesque inter-species Greco Roman wrestling match… the ewe bucking around the pen with me attached to her neck,  threats, curses and profanities flowing as freely as the blood dripping from my face.     Suddenly, in the midst of the battle, I saw the ewe’s eyes roll back in her head and she slumped to the ground.    There was little doubt in my mind that I had killed her.     Regardless.    Still cursing triumphantly, I dragged her limp carcass over to the side of the pen, re-gathered my syringe and gave her the injection.    I pumped my arms in the air.    Victory! 

Then I noticed there was a UPS guy standing in my driveway staring at me, his clipboard dangling from his hand.    He didn’t say a word.   He just backed up slowly and got in his truck and drove away.

Shortly thereafter, the sheep came to.    She was fine.   Way better than me.