Bellicose Sheep.

Gisborne Standard and Cook County Gazette, Volume II, Issue 278, 26 March 1889, Page 3

Bellicose Sheep.

I want to meet a man, even of approved courage, who would not be shocked into fair fright by having half-a-dozen ewea suddenly turn and charge him with the fury of a bullock's mad onset. Would he not gasp, be stricken dumb, and look wild-eyed at the customary nature about him, just as if they bad broken into awful speech ? I imagine he would, for I hnow that it shook my nerves, for an hour afterwards, even though I had by that time recovered sufficient courage to experiment on them in order to see if the same result would again follow. I was sheep-herding then in the Northwest Texas, and had about 500 ewes and lambs under my care. The day was warm, though the wind was blowing strongly, and when noon approached the flock travelled but slqwly towards the place where t wished them to make their mid-day camp. To urge them on I took my long bandanna handkerchief, and I flicked the nearest to me with it as I walked behind. As I did so the wind blew it strongly, and it suddenly occurred to me to make a sort of flag of it in order to frighten them. I took hqJd of two corners and held it above my head, so

that it might blow out to its full extent. Now, whether it was due to the glaring colour or the strange attitude, or to the snapping of the outer edge of the handkerchief in the wind —and I think it was this last—l cannot say, but the hindmost ewes suddenly stopped, turned round, eyed me wildly, and then half a dozen made a desperate charge, struck me on the legs, threw me over, and fled precipitately as I fell. It was a reversal of experience toe unexpected I X lay a

while and looked at things, expecting to see the sun blue at the very least, and then I gathered myself together slowly. In all seriousness, I was never so taken aback in all my life, and I was almost prepared for a ewe biting me. I remember the story of the rich squatter catching a man killone of his sheep. “ What are you doing that for ?” he inquired, as a preliminary to requesting his company home until the police could be sent for. The questioned one looked up and answered coolly, though not, I imagine, without a twinkle in his eye : —“Kill it? why am I killing it? Look here, my friend, I kill any man’s sheep as bites me." For my part, I don’t think the biting would have alarmed me more. After that I made experiments on the ewes, and always found that the flying bandanna simply frightened them into utter desperation when nothing else would. It was a long time before they got used to it. I should like to know if any other sheep-herders ever had the same experience at home or abroad. —From “ Concerning Sheep,” in the Cornhill Magazine.