On Mud Bogs and Sheep

I got myself high-centered on a barbed wire fence yesterday.

I know.

It boggles the mind the situations I find myself in.

Let me paint a picture for you:

I was taking my morning walk on the old railroad track that they have turned into a walking trail. It’s a very nice walking trail that runs behind the new and the old. A brand new, swanky development to the west and old farms to the east. I actually prefer to look at the old farms.

At this point on the trail, there are cows, chickens, a dog or two and sheep. Hordes of sheep. And, baby lambs, too. The latter are the newest editions to the exhibit I watch daily on my walks. There is a little black one and a little white one with a black nose. They are simply adorable.

I noticed that I could hear one little lamb bleating for dear life as I came upon their pasture. I thought it must have lost it’s Mommy and was trying to find her. I kept walking when something caught my eye. I backed up and sure enough there was a baby lamb stuck in a giant mud bog.



I watched it for a minute, and then continued on my way.

I walked the remainder of my course and when I came back, I could hear it’s cries for help. Only louder now.

I stared at that little critter for quite a while as I watched him trying to wiggle himself out of the mess he got himself into. All four of his legs were firmly planted in that mud, and it was clear he was not going anywhere. My heart tugged for this little guy because it was cold outside, and what if this critter had been stuck in that mud bog all night?

He would be cold. Hungry and he could DIE! Right? He could die.

{tell me he could die. it will make me feel better}

I looked at the Mommy Sheep—they looked at me. I implored them to go help that baby. They continued to chew their morning breakfast. I looked around trying to see if there was a farm hand I could yell at—but there wasn’t. I walked further down the path, contemplating what to do.

I could go to the farm house—but that would mean I would have to walk an extra mile or so to get around to the front of the property to do that, and lets face it—at 7:00am it’s freaking cold.

I started cheering for this little critter. Come on little fella, you can do it! Pull harder! That’s it… You’ve almost got it. Oh! Drat. Don’t give up little fella!”

That’s when I got my hair-brained idea.



I used to be a spry kind of a girl—hopping fences in these very woods when I was a child. Wandering the rail tracks, looking for treasures and making all sorts of mysterious forts (the remnants of one still visible if you look closely enough).

I could be the hero of the day. I could swoop in and save that baby! I was capable. I was strong. I would be the hero of all Sheep World and they would bleat my praises for years to come.

It would have worked, too, had I not been wearing my baggy old lady pants.

They got stuck on the wire—really good—and  I couldn’t move. One Inch. I was stuck. Bad.

I could have jumped, but I would have gotten a giant hole in my pants. Or worse!! My baggy old lady pants would get ripped down around my ankles while I straddled the barbed wire fence. On the public walking trail. For all the world to see.

I sat there, praying that no one would come running along as I tried to figure out how to get myself out of this predicament.

At one point I actually yelled at the sheep: “This is all your fault! If you would just take care of your child I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

I totally blamed the sheep for my mess. It's their fault. It always is.

They kept eating their breakfast, and I swear those sheep smirked at me.

They did.

They looked at me. They looked at the bawling baby. They looked at each other. And they smirked.

I heard one of them baa at one and she returned the bleat.

I know they were talking about me and making fun of the human stuck on their fence. “Do you see her, Ethel?” “Yeah. This is the best breakfast entertainment we’ve had since Marlin got his head stuck in the fence trying to escape!” 

And, that’s how I came to find myself stuck on the top of a barbed wire fence at seven o’clock in the morning.

We won’t talk about the walk of shame I had to do, shall we?

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