Jasper had plopped right down in the grass the second I brought him into the pen with the Babydoll Sheep. They wasted no time investigating the intruder. Within minutes, they were climbing all over him, nuzzling his cheek and hair, and taking little nibbles at his clothes. They liked the strings of his cutoffs and the edges of his crop top. It was hard to be sad for him as he battled to keep them from it because I loved the snatches of skin I got to see.
“These are Babydolls,” I explained. “They don’t grow very big. Vineyards use them to keep the weeds down without chemicals. Their poop makes pretty decent fertilizer for the grapes too.”
“Are they always this friendly?”
“Ideally, yeah. Vineyards need animals that are safe to work around—and tour groups come through, so you don’t want anything that’ll freak out a guest.”
“Are you holding them for a zoo, Daddy?”
“No. They’re working on generational bloodlines. Babydolls are popular with non-ranching folks, but the shearing is problematic. You don’t want someone inexperienced doing it, so the breeders are trying to create lines that either don’t need it or shed like a dog. Easier for folks without shearing skills.”
“So cool. Do you get to play with them?”
“I could. Honestly, I usually don’t.”
“Do you think I could?”
“As long as I’m with you, yes. They’re not mine, so you have to be supervised.” I winked. “Not that I mind an excuse to get you out here with me.”
Jasper laughed softly, but he was already busy nuzzling little faces, petting ears, and scratching bellies. The sheep ate it up. Watching them, I realized I probably ought to spend more time socializing them. It wasn’t my job, exactly, but they clearly loved the attention. Hell, maybe I needed to spend a little more time socializing myself while I was at it.
While Jasper entertained the Babydolls, I switched out their hay and cleaned up the stalls. When we were done, I asked, “Ready to go to the next one?”
Jasper scrambled to his feet, slipped his hand in mine, and followed me to the gate.
“Who we gonna see next, Daddy?”
We headed toward the Watusi enclosure. Unlike the Babydolls, these were behind triple fencing, but I allowed Jasper to come close.
“Oh my goodness, look at ’em, Daddy! They’re the biggest things I’ve ever seen!” Jasper danced beside me, eyes wide.
I let him marvel for a minute. The horns really were impressive—massive cooling vessels as much as weapons. Science was something else.
“Just remember,” I said, stopping him with a look, “you never come near this part without me. Got it?”
He nodded, serious. “No petting the Watusi.”
Good thing, too, because that was the moment Hoss wandered up.
Hoss was part of the heritage herd, but no one had told him he was supposed to be wild. He was worse than a dog for scratches—pressing against the fence until you gave in, refusing a treat unless it was hand-fed. I sometimes wondered if I could teach him to shake hooves.
“Daddy, why’s he coming for us?”
“That big guy’s Hoss. He missed the memo about being wild.”
“He’s a puppy!” Jasper giggled as Hoss wiggled and rubbed along the fence line.
“That’s exactly what he thinks he is—a damn dog waiting for his treats.” I might’ve sounded exasperated, but the truth was, Hoss was one of my favorites. He reminded me of Ferdinand, the Spanish bull from the storybook, who didn’t want to fight. Hoss didn’t want to be wild. He just wanted to be somebody’s pet. The only animal that belonged to me was Mac, but when they moved this heritage herd, Hoss included, I’d miss the pain in the ass.
“Here,” I said, guiding Jasper between the fence lines, “you can get a little closer, but only with me. Got it?”
“Got it, got it.”
I grabbed a small pail of feed and crouched by the fence. Hoss pressed up, ready for his scratches. “He likes being patted on his haunches, but don’t ever stand directly behind him. Always angle off—if he kicks, you’ll be out of the way.”
“You got gotten?”
“Nope. I’m careful. I know where his horns are, and I know where his feet are. He might be used to me, but they’re still wild. I don’t go in unless Mac drives them back first. See that little gate over there?” I pointed to a narrow opening in the inner enclosure, no wider than for a dog. “That’s how Mac gets in and out after I’ve left. It’s got a special lock so some idiot doesn’t climb through and get themselves gored.”
