It’s January here in the mountains of northern New Mexico and the nights are still long, but the days finally feel as though they’re lengthening. Mornings are crisp and clear with that white sun and blue New Mexico sky that makes even the cold seem optimistic. All is still and quiet as we go out to feed the sheep, with the sun’s slanted rays brilliantly reflected in the snow.
We fire up the old manual transmission flatbed already loaded the previous night with a couple thousand-pound bales and head off to the bed grounds to feed the sheep.
As we arrive in the pastures a merry procession has already formed: herding dogs, guard dogs, our shepherds, and even a few horses, all following the flatbed along to the place where we’ll begin to feed.
Of course, the sheep are there too, waiting for us with the infinite patience of cold and domestication. Once we arrive, they form a long, fanning line as they head to the truck. Some always push to the front, anxious to get their grinding plates working on the latest flakes of hay dropped off the truck. Others are happy to fill in and eat where their companions have passed over until there’s a long line of contentedly munching sheep and horses. There’s some occasional jostling when one of them discovers that her neighbor is working on a tastier piece of hay or brief sprinting when another spies a section of feed a short distance away that hasn’t been worked over yet.
The guard dogs, as is their way, watch the whole enterprise with an alert and steady indifference. They spend their days and nights with the flock and take their meals in the field near the camp, but still haven’t figured out what their sheep see in those massive piles of dry grass.
Our herding dogs always come along to feeding every morning even though there’s no real work for them to be doing. They’re always happy to go somewhere in the truck rain or shine, especially when they’ll have the opportunity to romp about and explore new the new scents that have appeared overnight. Even old Bert (who’s pushing 14 years old!) enjoys himself on these mornings, even if he sometimes needs help getting back into the truck.
We’ll be out here today and tomorrow, and the next day - even as the snow melts and the little green heads of the grasses begin to poke their way out of the muddy ground - until the pastures are flourishing once again and ready for grazing.