sheeeeeeeeep!!!!!!!! and a donkey.

It wasn't easy, but H was able to, with the help of our neighbor who pulled his trailer to Hempstead,  load Ringo the donkey onto the trailer with the sheep. 

He has proven to be a true guardian for the sheep, and we're thankful for him. 

Since we chose the sheep three months ago, they have begun to grow a beautiful coat of wool assuring us that we chose wisely. 

After research - including talking with the keeper of the farm from whom she bought the sheep - my homesteading daughter ordered a flexible fence that we'll move every twenty-four hours, which will not only provide the animals with fresh tall grass ever day, but also help to prevent them from getting parasites (in theory) by giving them a clean pasture. She has attached a solar powered battery which electrifies the wire with a click of a button.

When the fence is not turned 'on', our ram attempts to find tastier grass on the other side.

We have developed a good pattern and work well as a team to move the fence each day. This team work did not happen automatically.
The second day with our new borders, Harmony waited until two children and I  were on our way out the door before she asked us to move the fence. I was dressed for a doctor's appointment and lunch date and no intention of going out to the pasture to move livestock, but I allowed her a few minutes to borrow the siblings who were supposed to accompany me. "A few minutes" turned into almost half an hour, and ended with loose livestock on the property. My younger daughter's appointment was not to be canceled, so she and I left while sheep and donkey were roaming.

I awaited texts from home, watching my phone like a hawk, begging our guardian angels to get those animals into the fenced area. After a few hours, the children whom I had left at home finally corralled them.

I arrived home to find the portable fence in our side yard instead of the back pasture. The children had indeed corralled them, not by leading them to the fence, but by circling them with the fencing. In doing so, they also corralled a few trees. The fence has only one gate, so our trick was to move the fence around the trees with livestock still corralled.

This is where grace came in.
The animals were loosed because the young people were not communicating. One person had the idea of how to move the animals, the rest had no clue how to move them, and the first person expected the others to read her mind.

I gathered four of the children around the fencing. I spoke and moved in baby steps, directing each move as though I was deactivating a bomb. They obliged every step, and quietly and carefully, watched and took each small step and motion I asked them to take.
Not once did I raise my voice, and not once did anyone argue. Grace.
This day- those moments- come back to me like a wave and wash over me when I get caught up in the squabbles and the little failures of the day. I know we can do this, because we did this.

Before long, we had three sheep and one donkey moved to a suitable place.
Now, each day, my homestead daughter and at least one sibling (or more) goes out to the pasture and moves the portable fence to give them animals fresh grazing space. I help most of the time, but they don't need me every time.

I wish I could say that about all the other challenges that have been thrown at my young blessings. My step-by-step help and advice isn't always as well received, and when it is, it is often only because they- like with the sheep moving- have already tried their own way and are desperate for my alternative. It's difficult enough to watch them fall and get hurt while they're learning to walk,  and then navigate through the emotional challenges of growing, divorce, mental illness and all the other crosses they've been asked to help Jesus carry. But when they reject me- either intentionally or unintentionally- my heart crumbles and I lose focus of purpose. I can't say they don't need me; I know they do. Often I have to stand back and wait for them to fall and sometimes get hurt before they know it and can accept it.

After two weeks here, the ram was showing signs of anemia. It took two of us and a shepherd's crook to catch him and look closely at his eyelids in order to diagnose the problem. I was so afraid I was going to hurt him when I grabbed him while he tried to run from me. But I had to grab him; I knew what was best for him and we couldn't wait for him to get sicker. As days have gone by, the ram was easier to catch in order to treat. I hope it is because he has learned to trust us, and not because he has become a weaker animal.
Sometimes getting my children to do what I know is best is like walking around a flexible fence, taking baby steps, talking them through it,  and sometimes it's like wrestling a young ram to the ground.
I have hopes that they will become more and more receptive to my help, without becoming docile and weak.

At least they can now move livestock around the pasture without me.