Chapter 10. Thain: The Sheep of His Pasture

 ‘Nae then, laddie,’ the old shepherd said, nodding to a grassy spot nearby. ‘Sit thasel’ doon an’ we’ll hae a bite afore the mams and wee lambies stir theirsel’s.’

 He’d abandoned the carefully articulated speech he’d used with Pippin’s father, and at the lad’s quizzical look he threw back his head and laughed. ‘Tis the way of a shepherd, laddie,’ he said. ‘Tha’ll soon learn to talk fit an’ proper, that yon'r sheep can understand thee.’

Pippin nodded, and accepted the still-warm fruit pockets and deep-fried sausage-wrapped hard-cooked eggs the shepherd offered, tearing off a goodly chunk of fragrant bread to round out the meal. As they ate, the shepherd pointed out various personalities amongst his charges. That one, there, was a wanderer born. Had to keep a sharp eye on her or she’d be off, finding her own way, leading her lamb astray with her. No sense, that one. And that young rascal over there, then... Now see t’other one over there, aye, with the crooked ear, she was a rare combination of good mother and good milker.

 ‘Good mother and good milker?’ Pippin said. He was trying to take it all in, even as he noticed that one of the dogs had crept close enough to rest a pleading nose upon his knee. He broke off a piece of sausaged egg and offered it tentatively, and the treat was delicately accepted.

It seemed the ewe was especially valuable. She bore twins every year and took great care of her babes, such that they required no supplemental feeding or fostering. In addition, her twins when ready for market were fully as large as the singles that other ewes bore, for her plentiful milk grew them quickly in strength and size.

 ‘And this’n,’ the old shepherd said, as a ewe came over to sniff at their breakfast and present her back for a good scratching. ‘She’s an auld love, she is.’

Pippin reached out to touch the soft wool. His father’s sheep shied away from casual touch, but this old ewe tolerated him, even leaned into his tentative hand.

The dogs were getting edgy, and the old shepherd chuckled. ‘Best tuck into breakfast afore they begin to nip at our heels,’ he said. ‘It’s past time for going, and they know it all too well.’

Pippin wolfed down the rest of his breakfast, sharing the last bit with his new friend.

 ‘Let’s move’m out!’ the old shepherd called, and the dogs moved purposefully into the fold. A great noise set up, mothers baaing for their lambs, little lambs bleating, and suddenly the sheep were in motion, streaming through the opening and into the field beyond, where they started to scatter, only to be bunched together by the dogs, working in concert and without direction from the old shepherd, who was folding up the rest of the food in a cloth and tucking it into a sack that he handed to Pippin. ‘Earn tha keep,’ he said.

Pippin shouldered the sack and the two hobbits followed the stately procession. ‘You don’t even whistle the dogs?’ he said.

 ‘They ken verra weel our way,’ the old shepherd said, and Pippin nodded. He was growing more used to the old-fashioned speech, and no longer had to think twice before answering.

They walked, and they walked, following the lead ewe with her tinkling bell. The sun rose in the sky behind them, and fleecy clouds scattered in the sky-pasture as the flock reached the lush grassy meadow that was their destination this day.

It was not an arduous day, but it was a hungry one for the tween. Old shepherds do not seem to need to eat as much as growing hobbits, and bread-and-cheese at nooning was about all Pippin received... no second breakfast, no elevenses, no tea, and as the sun was hovering over the western horizon, preparing to seek her pillow, the shepherd arose from the hillside and began to traipse away from the direction they had come from.

 ‘What?’ Pippin said, hurrying to catch him up, thoughts of supper foremost in his mind.

Shepherd Brockbank pointed ahead, where a hill bulked black against the sunset sky. ‘What?’ Pippin asked again, but the old hobbit just whistled, a cheery sound, and the dogs worked the sheep into a compact grouping which began to move into the valley between the two nearer western hills.

 ‘Come ‘long, laddie,’ the old shepherd said, and breaking into a jog he moved quickly to the fore, coming after a goodly hike to a sheepfold built of the native stone to about head-high on a hobbit. He opened the gate in good time for the bell-tinkling lead ewe to enter, and as she went through with her lamb at her side, two more sheep following, he chanted, ‘Aen, Taen, Tethera, Fethera...’ When he reached twenty, he picked up a small rock from the ground. Without stopping the count, he handed the rock to Pippin and nodded significantly.

Catching on at once, Pippin picked up a rock each time a score had been counted into the fold, until six rocks were in his hand.

 ‘Six score?’ the old shepherd said.

 ‘Aye,’ Pippin returned.

 ‘That’s fine then,’ the shepherd said. ‘Good day’s work, and supper’s waiting.’ He closed the gate and turned to the hill behind them, pushing open a creaking door and lighting a lamp just within. The light sprang up on a rude shelter, rough table, two benches, three beds against the walls.

Under the shepherd’s direction, the tween built a fire and fetched water from a spring trickling from the hillside, while the shepherd sliced smoked meat hanging from the ceiling beams and set it frying, and cut generous wedges from a large wheel of cheese on a deep, cool shelf. He took the bucket of water Pippin brought, opened a bag of flour, made a “well” in the flour, poured water directly in, and began to work leavening and salt into the flour and water until he was kneading a loaf. Pippin watched in astonishment: no mixing bowls, no kneading on the table, just a flat loaf neatly formed right in the flour sack and set on the stones to bake.

Muttering cheerily to himself the shepherd emptied the bag at his belt: fresh greens he’d gathered whilst the sheep were browsing.

It was a simple meal, but satisfying, and Pippin ate until he was full and sleepy. He found himself nodding off when, with a nudge, the old shepherd set him to washing up the simple implements while he went out to see to the sheep once more, and to feed the dogs.

When he returned, Pippin had finished washing up and putting away, and had banked the fire. The old hobbit nodded satisfaction and gestured to one of the rough beds with its sheepskin coverlets.

Pippin tumbled into the bed, not noticing if it was soft and yielding or hard as wool-covered sticks, and was asleep before he could pull the sheepskin up to his chin. No matter, for the old shepherd made sure the tween was well-covered before he turned down the lamp and sought his own bed.

Pippin’s last sleepy thought was that the life of a shepherd, if that was to be his lot, didn’t seem to be such a difficult proposition after all.

***

Thanks to Lindornea for sharing her knowledge of sheep and shepherding.