Many years ago, my son, Timothy, and I volunteered at a dog and cat rescue center near where we lived. After a while, his skill with dogs earned him the right to walk many of the rescues by himself while I learned how to counsel potential adopters. The woman who worked with me taught me something very important:  for most rescued dogs, it takes three days with a new family to get over the shock of the adoption, three weeks to begin learning the rules of their new home, and three months to begin feeling safe in their new world. Three days, three weeks, three months ~ and some animals need more than that. Bandit and Willa needed less time; Sissy, as it turns out, has needed more.  

Sissy’s Freedom Day came a week early.  He checked out very healthy physically, but emotionally, he was miserable, even at the end of week three. During the day, he was fine. The other sheep were within his sight in the other pasture, so he wasn’t alone, and he didn’t need to call to them. Most of the time, in fact, Duchess at least was lying close to the fence that separated her from Sissy.  In addition to his sheep friends, I went into his pasture several times a day just to hug him, or to rub more anti-fly oil on his legs and between his ears, or to bring fresh water. He had come from a place, though, where he had been pastured with cows. Day and night he was used to company, but when evening came on our farm and I put everyone else in the barn, Sissy was alone in the quarantine pasture and alone for as far as he could see.

The first three days ~ that time of shock when his world was rocked with the transfer to us ~  he didn’t pace like some of the other sheep had, but he called out constantly. I could hear his confusion and his anger. Like with the others, nothing helped. I just talked calmly to him, visited many times a day, and cuddled him whenever he seemed to want comfort. 

Three days, though, turned into ten. Gradually, anger seemed to leave his voice, and the confusion I heard changed to a deep loneliness.  Every night, all night long, he called out. He would be standing up or laying down, just calling with a deep “BAAAAA”  that usually sounded just like the cows he had left.  I spent so many hours listening to him call out that I learned to track his motion around the quarantine pasture fence just by the volume and depth of his voice. After ten days, his calls came less frequently through the night and he moved less around the pasture, but still he called, and still I woke to hear him.  

Day 21 was his Freedom Day, and Sissy walked quickly into the Little Pasture with a sniff here and a trot there. When my voice registered with him, though, he came right toward me for hugs and, probably, for a little reassurance that his world wasn’t getting rocked again. Then he moved quickly to the gate that separated him and the other sheep and head-butted Cricket multiple times. They both ended that session with bloody foreheads, but Sissy seemed to know that he had moved closer to the herd he’d been watching.  All of them, Sissy on one side of the fence and the other six on the other side, spent that day moving along the fence line together, almost as a dance. Every so often, a head would go down in some sheep statement I couldn’t understand, but no one else ended the day with blood on their heads. Then evening came, and it was time for everyone to come into the Little Barn. 

One of the things I learned early on in my work with Aussies is that I must choreograph movements of the animals before I actually start moving them. Who do I want where and in what order do they go there? I knew I wanted Mary, Cricket, Bella and Duchess to continue going into the center stall, and I wanted them there first. In they went. Then I wanted Willa and Bandit to go into their stall; in they went. Sissy came in last, once the others were safely contained, so I latched his stall gate open and went to let him in. I was very proud that I remembered to close the gate between pastures, but my self-congratulations were short-lived when Sissy decided that he didn’t want to go into his stall first. First, he wanted to trot around the common area leading into the barn. Then, when I had managed to get him into the barn’s play area, he immediately found the gate to the center stall ~ where Cricket and he tried to head-butt each other through not only the wooden gate, but also the metal hay rack. After trotting around the play area several times, Sissy finally glanced into his stall, saw the bowl of grain on the floor, and decided it was time to go to bed. Our three weeks of learning the rules of his new home had begun. 

I slept all that night, knowing that Sissy was safe and could see Willa and Bandit across the three feet of hallway between their stalls. The next morning, I let the six out into their pasture, then Sissy went out into his ~ and we performed this dance every day for almost three weeks, until I noticed those signs that told me he had moved into the “feeling safe” part of his transition. He still loved all the hugs I’d give him everyday, but he had begun wandering the pasture in the cool mornings grazing on the grass instead of standing by the fence near the others and eating hay there all day long. When we said good night, he didn’t call out even once. He just ate his grain, and lay down on the cool pine shavings-covered cement of his stall. It was time to introduce him to his new pasture mates.

Willa and Bandit were the logical choices to introduce Sissy to first. They are completely bonded, and so would help each other feel safe;  Duchess would be with her crew, so Sissy’s tendency to head-butt everyone as a “Hi there” expression wouldn’t hurt her; and he and Cricket could have some more time head-butting through the fence before actually meeting. This step actually went smoother than I had anticipated. When the girls first went into Sissy’s pasture with him, he ran them around a bit. Within five minutes, though, all three had settled down to graze. They stayed together only an hour that first time, but they’ve managed to stay together two full days since then. I’m thinking they’re all probably okay. 

At some point ~ probably a few weeks from now ~ I’ll look for those signs that tell me that Sissy, Willa and Bandit are ready to be in the same pasture as more friends. I’m very protective of Duchess, though, so if that day doesn’t come until she crosses the Rainbow Bridge, I’ll be just fine. They all know they’re safe; they’re learning what’s expected; and they all have friends.  I can’t imagine it would get any better than this for our sheep!