THE SHEEP DIP
Ben Field
ALL
SUMMER LONG
we pushed hard to finish haying. The
sheep must be dipped quickly. The drouth had burned the land
and spread flies and gnats like puffs of smoke everywhere. The
wool hung in tatters on the plagued sheep. They were covered
with scabs and rotting sores. Maggots got into their heads.
They staggered in circles until they dropped dead.
Middle of August we cleared the last field. We began the
roundup. The sheep must be driven ten miles. The boss was
too poor to have his own tank. Several thousand sheep would
be dipped from surrounding farms. The county agent, former
teacher in a farm school that had cut its staff, would be down
in the village to help with the dipping.
The roundup took longer than we had bargained for. The
flock was large.
It
hadn't paid to sell a single lamb or ewe all
year. There was no money to fix fences. The sheep: were scat·
tered all over the country. The brush and second growth were
thick where they hid from the flies.
By horse and foot we drove them out of the pasture land
and woods. They bolted back. They slipped into swamps and
briar
p~tches.
We had to track them by their droppings. Night
after night, we got back to milking long after dark. W e
mil~ed
in the barnyard under a low hot sky like a smoldering beam.
Our sweat dripped into the pails. The boss's three boys, who
had rather been cray-fishing or squeezing cicadas by the belly
to hear them yell, dropped off to sleep over their suppers.
The morning set to drive the flock to the village we got
up with the cocks. After chores we waited. The boss had heard
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