A couple of weeks ago, I arrived at work to find Michele complaining about how one of her new yearling ewes was attacked. She was still alive but not in great shape. I helped Michele catch her to give her a dose of penicillin. She had a puncture in her rear leg that was oozing red serum every time she moved, and her throat had been slashed. Michele said she could see saliva running down out of the slash. All I knew is that it was a bad wound, but the fact that the ewe was giving us a hard time catching her was a good sign that she wasn’t dead yet. Michele gave her another shot a couple of days later. She seems to be doing fine now. Still, Michele has been keeping her and her “brother” (I call him that, even though they’re not related that closely, because they look alike), who we have high hopes of being the next ram, in the little sheep pen by the small arena, far away from hungry coyotes.

It seemed Daisy, the new sheep “guarding” donkey, wasn’t up to the job. She just doesn’t seem to like hanging out with the sheep.

Eli left for the Olympics yesterday. The night before, we threw him a reception after the Saturday evening service at his church. I was there to help out, and his wife Cami made sure Duncan, Michele, and I were there plenty early. We were so early, in fact, that we had time to get smoothies at the church’s cafe. Three Peach Plantation Smoothies later, our frozen beverage purchases had also qualified us for the weekly “sweepstakes” for a Target $15 gift certificate. There was one other entry in the jar when Duncan dumped our three tickets in, and I told him I thought our chances of winning it were pretty good. He looked at me incredulously. Sometimes I get a feeling about these sorts of things, and I knew I was going to win. Those of you who know me know I’m philosophically a pessimist, so you may be surprised to hear I even started spending it in my mind.

The next day I had a voice mail saying I had indeed won the gift certificate. I could pick it up next week at church.

This morning I proudly announced to Duncan that I’d won. He told me he had some news too. On Saturday night after they’d come home and gone to bed, the donkey started braying like crazy. Duncan said he would have slept right through it, but the Harmons were staying there, and Mark Harmon woke him up. They each took a portable spotlight.

There in the sheep pen was a mountain lion chowing down on the whether. Duncan grabbed the thirty-ought six. Mark pointed his spotlight at the cat’s forehead, and Duncan took aim. The cat stared at them with a caught-in-the-headlights look. Duncan hit him right between the eyes, one perfect shot.

They skinned the cat and butchered what was left of the sheep. The Division of Wildlife came out and filled out a report, giving ample credit to Daisy the Donkey and taking away the skin. It will be auctioned off, and the Bremers plan to bid on it. Max wants it for Beniah (get him used to killed lions and stuff). The next day Bob brought his rotisserie over and grilled lamb. No sense letting good food go to waste.

Duncan is now the hero of the neighborhood. Some people down the road lost an llama last week, and the Delacroces have been missing cattle.

But of course, most of the credit goes to Daisy. Although, she still doesn’t hang out with the sheep.

Here’s a picture of the big cat. The blood is all from the sheep. As you can see, Duncan is still in his bathrobe, and Mark is presumably still dutifully shining his light on the lion’s head.

I think I probably would be too.