Checking sheep

A friend was describing her activities with their flock of sheep, including milking them. For some reason, her email sparked a memory which, for years, I ranked among my most embarrassing moments.

Let's go back to 1983. I spent an extraordinary summer working at Wolf Park outside of West Lafayette, Indiana. In addition to wolf research and breeding, the facility was something of a farm as well, with bison, sheep, horses, etc.

I was an ignorant little suburban-bred college student trying my best to learn rural ways, and the whole summer at Wolf Park was absolutely stinkin' wonderful.

One day one of the senior volunteer administrators asked me to go check on a flock of (hornless) sheep that were close to lambing. I asked what I had to do. She said to lift the tails of a few of the ewes and note if the vulva was swollen or not. If it was, lambing was close.

So I took myself off to the sheep pen, looked for the animals with udders, lifted their tails, and didn't see anything unusual. I reported back to the administrator that nope, it didn't look like they were anywhere close to lambing.

The next day lambs were popping out everywhere. Somewhat exasperated, the administrator asked me what happened. "I don't know," I protested. "I looked for all the animals with udders and lifted their tails, and didn't see anything unusual."

Enlightenment dawned on the administrator's face. She asked me to describe the udders I was looking at. When I did, she burst out laughing. And I mean she howled with laughter, clutching her side with mirth.

Finally she gasped out, "Those weren't ewes. You were lifting the tails of the rams."

After a few baffled moments, it dawned on innocent 20-year-old me just what part of the sheep's anatomy I had assumed was an udder. Cue the embarrassment.

The administrator's eyes twinkled. "Why do you think rams have such big egos?" she asked.

It took me the rest of the summer to live that one down.