Out of Place

When I pull into the driveway, my eyes focus on the white spot in the far pasture.

It's a 75-acre farm, with fields, pastures, a house, trees, barns, sheep, chickens, horses. On this sunny afternoon, I only see the white spot with the sheep flock grazing nearby.

I suspect it is a ewe. But why is she lying down away from the others? Sheep are flock animals. Usually the only time they leave the safety of the group is to give birth or to die.

It is fall, and none of the ewes are bred. In times of lush pastures, like now, bloat is a concern in pastures heavy with legumes like alfalfa and clover. But the sheep are in the safe pasture -- the one with grass, the one that has at least two rows of fence between it and outside predators.

After parking the car, I go inside and change from my dress clothes to my farm clothes.

I am stalling.

Sick and injured animals are some of the downsides of farm life.

I look out the upstairs window.

The white spot is gone. Apparently, after two days of rain, the ewe was just basking in the sunshiny day.

I go outside to do the same.