Sheep Herding

When Dad bought five acres south of town (830 East 600 South) in St. George and built a small home where there were no neighbors for years to come, Dr. Reichman asked Mom, "Why would anyone want to move way out there where even the lizards have tears in their eyes?"

While Dad worked any job he could find, many of them causing him to be away from home weeks at a time, Mom let us kids be free to be ourselves. She taught us how to play as well as work. We played Cowboys and Indians. We  lived in a would of stick horses, and corrals built in bushes across the street. We played with bony horses which we have since found is an unknown thing to most people. It's probably a good thing the younger generation doesn't since the animals for our miniature corrals came from different bones of REAL dead animals... bleached free of germs in the hot sun of course!

Every Spring one of the local sheep men herded a vast amount of sheep past our property along the road that led from the Washington Fields. It was exciting to watch. There were a couple of smart sheep dogs that kept the sheep in line and moving towards the black hills of Bloomington.  Eventually following in the midst of this sea of sheep was the sheer herder on his horse an a sheep wagon trailing behind.

The second year I can remember seeing this event, Willard and Wayne and I ran down to the end of our property to get a good view.  The sheep were getting closer and we were excited. Those dogs could be seen keeping the stragglers moved to the center of the flock. the sea of woolly white was getting nearer.

There was  a drainage culvert piped under he road at that point of the road.  We thought it would be a hoot to crawl into that pipe and hide while the sheep marched over the top of us.

Quickly we crawled in and waited excitedly for this momentous event. On the herd came and began marching over us and on both sides of the road too. They marched in the dust causing  a cloud of dust to drift up and into our hiding place. We could not breathe!  In panic we crawled out for our lives! Into the middle of those hooves we made it, gasping for air! Our faces were grimy from the white dust that covered us. We were pretty sober as we made our way home vowing never to try that again.

I have gone back to that place where we three almost were buried alive in a drainage pipe. The pipe seemed so big when I was a child. To see it as an adult I wonder how we ever fit into it. No wonder the exit seemed to take for ever.