I've had some hard times over the years as a shepherd, but none as hard as the past few months. I understand the irony that these challenges have come just as I had decided to refocus on managing my flock and get serious about growing my textile business. I'll be honest, it's hard not to take it personally when all the love and dedication (and time and money) I've put in is met with one disaster after another.
I won't go into the details – they're far too depressing and ultimately not that interesting – but the gist is: predation, fly infestations, mass infestations of ewes not lambing, etc. Worst of all, the deformed premature lambs I wrote about a few weeks ago weren't an isolated incident, but a harbinger of four more similar births to come.
I've spent the last two weeks struggling (and Googling) what could be causing this, but all evidence points to a virus that infected the flock during a critical period in pregnancy. The culprit is most likely Border Disease, which spreads rapidly from ewe to ewe and rarely affects fully grown ewes unless they are infected within the first 85 days of pregnancy.
During that time, the lambs do not yet have an immune system and are unable to fight the virus. Most fetuses naturally abort and are reabsorbed (one of the reasons my ewe had an open cervix). Fetuses that survive infection are radically changed – they can no longer fight the virus and the virus becomes part of their DNA. Most are stillborn. Lambs that survive birth usually do not live long, and are usually deformed, small, weak and with fur instead of wool.
Of course, I knew none of this when these lambs were born. I researched poisonous plants, heat stress, and tried to figure out what genetic factors were causing these deformities, considering that none of the ewes involved were the same breed, and the ram had produced some very healthy lambs earlier in the season. What had happened? What had changed?
While Border Disease has given us some answers, we still don't know, and probably never will know, what caused the initial infection. The good news is that all, if not most, of the herd have been infected and are therefore immune going forward. In fact, this whole situation would fall into the “no big deal” category if not for the fact that I was devastated by the fact that I had spent the better part of two weeks trying to care for a dying, deformed baby and a very stressed out mother.
But here's an interesting twist: In the past, mishaps both with the flock and in other areas of my life have caused me to ask myself: Was it a sign that I should give up and move on? Was it an indictment on my character, my work ethic, my alignment with my life's purpose? When something went wrong, I quickly interpreted it as a sign that I was wrong.
These invisible but obvious changes have helped me to not take this virus so personally. At the same time, they also underscore my desire to approach my flock differently. Although I couldn't prevent this infection, I've already implemented changes to give me more control. The first step is to downsize significantly. I want to be able to monitor the flock more closely and I want each ewe to know and trust me, so that if there is a problem I can intervene without causing further stress to the sheep. I also want to keep the sheep closer physically, so we can have fewer sheep.
I can't tell you how many tears I shed along the way to making this decision. So many. But in making these difficult decisions, I feel like I'm accepting responsibility and sorrow as a container for joy. I feel like I'm growing. The goal isn't perfection or progress, but wholehearted commitment. To be able to say “yes” with open arms, even when it hurts.