Sheep-elot

Loyal readers are familiar with Jacqueline, our courtyard sheep whose incessant nighttime braying used to drive me bananas. Earlier this year she was blessed with a daughter, who I named Caroline. Caroline was born beautiful, with a sleek shiny coat of downy black and white fur. I remember when she, as a miniature sheep-ly wonder, took her first timid steps, not long after she was born. Her first days were filled with wobbly periods of standing, then collapsing on all fours.

Eventually she was deemed old enough to leave the courtyard under Jacqueline’s watchful eye. The kids in the courtyard were responsible for dragging Jacqueline out to the periphery of the soccer field where she would chew on grass and bleat loudly. Caroline dutifully followed, and walked in circles around her mother during the day, practicing her hops and bounds. Her adorable, carefree antics melted my heart.

When Dave and I returned from Ghana, we noticed that Jacqueline and Caroline weren’t tied in the courtyard. At first we thought that they were just spending time out by the soccer field. Then we realized that while we were away, Tabaski had occurred – although normally male sheep are sacrificed, so that didn’t seem to be relevant. We noticed that feed was still being put out in the usual spot in the courtyard and telltale sheep droppings were still present. Finally, Dave asked family members about Jacqueline’s disappearance. He was given the following information:
-Our host mother, ~58 years old: “Jacqueline was from the Sahel, so she wasn’t accustomed to the cold weather of our region. She caught malaria and died.”
-Our host nephew, 6 years old: “Jacqueline’s neck turned too much so she died.”
-Our other host nephew, also 6 years old: “Jacqueline caught a cold and died.”
-Our host cousin, 12 years old: “Jacqueline got strangled by a rope, caught malaria and died.”
-Our host brother, late 30’s: “Jacqueline ate a plastic bag and died.”

The real victim here, of course, is Caroline. I realized this when I finally saw her, while I was out running in the soccer field. I didn’t recognize her at first. Her sleek coat was now a matted, wild-looking shag rug. She was bigger and moved awkwardly. Seeing her wandering the periphery of the soccer field, alone, clumsy made me think about whether she, as a sheep, was traumatized by the early passing of her mother. When her mother was alive, the two were inseparable. If Caroline wandered too far away from her mother, it was as if she suddenly realized this and ran right back to Jacqueline, bleating the entire time. Even when Jacqueline was tied up in the pasture and Caroline unfettered, she never left Jacqueline’s side.

And now, much like Bambi, Caroline has to walk alone. It made me feel sad to see Caroline looking like a sheep’s version of a homeless schizophrenic, wandering around with a crazed look in her eyes. The family allows her to roam during the day freely, knowing that she’ll return to the courtyard where she was born, the only shelter she has ever known. They think she returns for the familiarity and free food and water. But I wonder if she’s looking for Jacqueline. Is a sheep capable of developing the same complex emotional bonds that humans cling to, and if so… is Caroline suffering?

I recently listened to a “This American Life” podcast where a hedgehog owner from Janesville, Wisconsin admitted that her hedgehog, after multiple surgeries to remove cancerous growths, is now on anti-psychotic medications. I want to believe that animals don’t have the capacity for the complicated emotional machinations that humans suffer through, but I think I want to believe that because I don’t know how I could help animals otherwise.