Episode 15 – Panic Stations!

Furious pounding on the barn door was distracting me from the most important task at hand, and I resolved to just ignore the ruckus! There I was, prostrate on dirty hay underneath a very jumpy ewe trying to help newborn twins get into the drinking habit. The loud banging was causing the stressed ewe to literally bounce off the walls. It had been a disturbing night - just before the door banging had started, the sheep and I had been startled by the deafening grating rasp of a massive snow avalanche whooshing off the huge metal roof. Even though I was really frustrated, I continued to speak in soothing dulcet tones to the maddened sheep, as I stayed alert to which lamb was next up for trampling. I certainly did feel like letting off steam with a big yell towards the barn door to stop the banging, but I knew all gains in trust would disappear like smoke in the night if I suddenly screamed my fury. So I stayed silent and didn’t respond to the banging which continued with some ferocity against the sturdy barn door. I had locked it from the inside to barricade woolly escapees from gleefully leaping into the sparkling darkness. At long last, my efforts were rewarded with two wee lambies able to nurse on their own, and the wild eyed mother was grudgingly appreciating the joys of motherhood. I staggered to my feet, cold as yesterday’s mutton and totally fed up with these midnight highjinks. Passing through the barn door, I realized the big wooden handle on the outside had been ripped right off! There was no stopping my first thought, which was a version of “What idiot has broken my brand new door?” Shoveling noises attracted my attention to the side of the barn. Lo and behold, here was my husband huffing and puffing while shoveling snow faster than a steam engine. I instantly figured the time had come and he had lost his mind, so decided just as quickly to give him a piece of my mind to fill in for his loss. “What’s wrong with you?” I demanded crossly, “Why were you making so much noise, and, seriously, you ripped the door handle off!” Dulcet tones all used up on the sheep, I scolded him like a harpie, my eyes glaring with unfiltered irritation. “You can’t make a lot of noise when I am working with lambs! And why are you digging like that? Have you lost your mind?” With a strangled croak, Ernest, the half crazed fellow, came rushing towards me, waving his shovel. “I only had seconds to find you!” he shouted “I was searching for your feet!” Now it was clear he was having one of those overworked farmer’s mental breakdowns. “My feet are here, at the end of my legs where they usually are.” I replied calmly, hoping that common sense would bring him around. “Oooohhh, you’re not buried!” he exclaimed in wonderment. “Not buried! Why would I be buried?” I snapped back impatiently. “The snow off the roof!” Ernest gasped “I thought you were underneath, and when you didn’t answer and I couldn’t find you, I knew you would die if I didn’t get you out right away!” It was a touching moment, a testament to husbandly care and concern and verification that my life insurance policy was of little interest.. “Don’t be ridiculous, of course I wasn’t buried under the snow! Tsk, tsk. You’re going to have to fix that door handle. And next time don’t make so much noise when I’m trying to get lambs to drink!” Yes indeed, farming can have a strangely transformative effect upon one’s marriage.