When I went for my ultrasound I remember the technicians gliding that cold greasy wand over my neck. One of them said when done, “Well, off you go.” I of course pressed him to say something which they are not supposed to do but you know if you’ve gone thru these scans how stressful it is knowing the tech knows but won’t say. Untypically this time however he said, “Oh it ALL looks just GREAT.” I remember this moment very well—because the other tech in the room turned to look in shock at the one who had spoken. Certainly it was shock. They both had to have understood that the two centimeter lump right there on the screen before them had a well-established blood flow to it. It was a suspicious tumor alright. I guess they thought they would put off my worries which were sure to come. I would have to wait for results of a needle aspiration however. I remember this well too. The woman who did the procedure used the ultrasound to find the tumor then jabbed in the needle for a sample. Afterwards she led me out and she had a very kindly expression, and a look of pity and worry. She knew what it was. I know she was also thinking I was young. I tried to forget her face but I still remember it well. I left the hospital trying not to freak out only to find my own favorite ewe panting by the gate, her sides heaving, when I got home. “What’s wrong with Margaret?” I asked my husband, Erik, said pointing to the field. “She’s all out of breath and looks frightened.” He gave me a sarcastic look. “It’s that damn llama,” he said. “He’s been trying to screw that ewe all day long! I gave up trying to chase him off with a stick after he tried to kick me. He has no respect for a lead line over his neck and good luck hooking the clip to his halter.” I went out again to take a look. Yes. Jeeves was trying to cross species all on his own and have his personal record in the cryptozoology texts. I went and separated him from my sheep. It took some doing, mostly waving my arms like a lunatic pretending to be flying in a veeeeerrrry sloooooowwww motion movie. It appeared to be the only way to move the idiot--I only hoped no one was looking from the road as they drove by. With my arms fully outstretched I apparently took up more space than he did yet with the flowing movement I was somehow not threatening to him. Go figure. He looked at me and then then shambled back into the other paddock his ego bruised. I closed the gate. I would now have the additional chore of rotating paddocks to keep him away from everyone else. Easier said than done. It turned out that he could clear a six foot fence like a Thompson Gazelle. All I saw was his tuxedo blur in an arc and he was out. Yes, Jeeves was a first class jumper. No, he was not going to the other paddock to visit his unrequited love, Margaret. Perhaps they’d exchanged a few barbed words? A few unpleasant comments about bad breath or appearances? Abilities perhaps? Apparently he was all done with sheep and had now decided to go on a walkabout. “Jeeves! Jeeves? Oh Jeeves,” I shouted. Jeeves was giving me the birdie pretending he was deaf. Now, my small farm in Redding was on a very busy two lane highway. Cars went speeding by us at least 50 mph. The thought of Jeeves leaping out in front of a car was horrifying. And I was sure to be sued. I imagined a heap of metal and people dead on the road and Jeeves in a tangle, his long neck and head coming out of a wheel well. I yelled for my husband while grabbing my crooked Biblical staff and hurried behind that hairy four-footed looser. He was casually wandering up my very long driveway toward the road, big like a horse but so weird with those hairy ostrich legs—totally like some quack push-me-pull-you two-person-costume in a circus with a person in the back end bending over and walking cockeyed. I had heard besides being athletes and good kickers, remarkably they were also marksmen when it came to spitting, a Peruvian lady telling me she’d gotten it in the eye at a distance of five feet. Jeeves refused to respond, in fact he picked up his pace. I turned to look back toward the house and saw my husband running with a grain bucket. “Good idea,” I said when he reached me. We took turns calling his name out and Erik shook the grain making that racket that is music to the ears of all livestock. Well not him. He KNEW he was a free man. He turned that ostrich head back at us as and smirked. I took my lead line and tried to approach him again, talking gently, but he shot away up another 50 feet toward the highway and zipping cars. “We’ve got to get in front, between him and the highway,” Erik whispered. Jeeves was distracted now by something on the ground but he still had a radar turned our way. He was no fool. “Go get the neighbor up there,” I said not taking my eyes off of that damn animal. Then, “Come on Jeeves,” I said again, my voice strained as my husband ran off up the hill toward the next house that was up from us on the road. Stay tuned for the next installment on Jeeves. I post every night here, and if you click on the author name above you can LIKE the page to read more about our rescue farm that’s now in Maine. Thank you friends! Have a good night.
Posted on: Wed, 24 Sep 2014 23:49:34 +0000
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