Photo of Navajo Indians herding sheep at a watering hole.
#RUNNING SHEEP HERD UPDATE#
Faster than I did, Sherman had figured out that the bigger the herd, the better.Request archival file or update item information Title We invited all kinds of runners, from 20-year-old Ruby Rublesky to 71-year-old Steve Farrah, to join our donkey trio on the trails.īefore long, we had a crew of volunteers who’d throw their running shoes into the car and drive as much as an hour to our house, all to make sure Sherman would never be on his own again. Tanya opened her big heart once again and donated Flower and her mini-donkey, Matilda, as Sherman’s permanent stablemates. The day after the full-moon run, we began to build one for him. I’d been afraid he was too damaged to handle a lot of commotion, but a big herd was just what he needed. I should have remembered that when we first got Sherman. Raw meat was dripping down my legs and two quarts were sloshing in my hands when I came through the door, but we’d received so much odd generosity over the years, my family didn’t even seem to notice.
#RUNNING SHEEP HERD HOW TO#
As I shoved the haunch into my shorts and knotted the drawstring tight, he explained exactly how to cook it. While we were talking, his brother from across the road came over to offer some venison he’d shot three deer and wanted to spread the wealth. Did I want some raw cream left over from the milk pickup? He suggested I carry it in two half-empty jars, so by the time I jogged home, I’d have butter. One evening, I was out for a run when an Amish neighbor waved me over. When it snows, his grandson is outside by sunup to plow our driveway and is gone without letting me open my wallet.
I’ll see the same neighbor rumble past seven or eight times a day on his tractor, and seven or eight times I’ll get the same hearty wave. No way I could keep pace with Jake on a climb like that, so he handed me back the rope and was off, surging away with the rest of his crew.īut from our first day, we’ve been helped and welcomed. We breezed through mile three together, hooves and feet all pattering in unison, before we hit another uphill. “Get up there, fella,” Jake said as we hit a downhill. The rest of the crew formed a wedge around us, swallowing us into the group as they would any fellow runner. Sure enough, he expertly coiled the rope in his left hand and, with the right, gave Sherman a reassuring pat. He’d never run with a donkey, but his animal intuition was much keener than mine. Jake had been handling horses since he was kindergarten age. I opened my mouth to explain why that was a bad idea, then shut it and handed over the rope. “You guys are flying,” said Jake Beiler, one of the runners. I tightened my grip on Sherman’s rope, but oddly, he wasn’t the least bit startled. “Finally!” someone shouted from the darkness, as the lead pack of Amish runners closed in on us from behind. He wasn’t bolting he looked more like a thoroughbred on parade. And then, amazingly, he kept right on trotting. Sherman escaped the commotion by trotting into the road.
#RUNNING SHEEP HERD FREE#
Tanya and I yanked the ropes to free the squirming donkeys from the truck bumper as fast as we could. And as the first two pulled in, the beams were so bright even I was a little blinded. Amish generally don’t drive, but they can hire vans to taxi them around. Once they locked into a running groove, maybe they wouldn’t be too freaked when the other runners caught up to us.īut I forgot about the lights. Then we could set off before anyone else, giving Sherman and Flower enough time to finish their spin cycle. Our best chance, we figured, was to have the donkeys roped to my pickup truck and ready in advance. Sherman had never run with a crowd, or at night, so I knew he’d deploy all two million years of his stubborn donkey DNA to resist mingling in the dark with a mob of strangers. “Or your friends are going to be finished before we get out of the driveway.” “We’d better get a head start for the full-moon run,” Tanya suggested.
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