Greetings Dear Ones!

Today is the Summer Solstice here in the Northern hemisphere—the astronomical start of summer—though we all know that “summer” in Vermont might just be a few hours where we whip off that last layer of wool sometime in mid-July or August. Still it’s nice not to have to light the stove to thaw digits and dogs each morning. It’s beautiful to bask at twilight in the chorus of the bug choir and see the fire flies (some call them lightening bugs) twinkling in the meadow like the whole farm is the scene of Edward Robert Hughes’ painting “Midsummer Eve”—though instead of an enchanted barefoot sylph of a maiden with a wreath of flowers in her hair, picture a stocky, middle-aged woman in grubby overalls and welly boots.

The lambs are getting big—they are two thirds the size of their parents already. I have one friend in particular (the one whose mama tried to smash him every day for the first week of his life) who comes and stands next to me every time I am near. He just stands, quietly, looking up at me. He has appointed himself my special assistant at feeding times and he always lingers at the gate for extra cuddles and scratches before going out to join the rest of the herd. We have a unique bond that was born in his trauma, when it was safer to be close to me than to his own mother. He probably has no idea why he likes me anymore—he just knows that he does. He’s moved on with his life but his lingering connection to me feels like Gratitude. Naturally, I can’t help feeling like he is my secret favorite.

My secret least favorite is the little white lamb I helped birth. She wouldn’t be here either, without me, but she shows no damn gratitude whatsoever. She never goes where she is supposed to go (with the other sheep) and blazes her own trail around the outside of the pen instead. She is as skittish as a fawn and refuses to be captured or caught, even with the temptation of a scoop of grain. Sometimes, I have to get the entire herd in and out of the field several times before they are all united and little miss smarty-pants has joined the group. She’s the reason my next dog will probably be a Border Collie. She’s bigger than the other lambs because she is a singleton and has all her mother’s milk for herself. The other lambs, being sets of twins, must share.

“Why don’t you follow the rules?” I ask her.

“I don’t like rules,” she says impudently.

“No one does,” says Prudence, “which is precisely WHY we need them. If everyone just did the right things, then there would be no need of them.”

“Rules help keep everyone safe,” I say.

“I will keep myself safe,” she says, still balky. “I know what I am doing. Rules are fine for others, not me. I’m ok without them.”

She is as infuriating as the dog-owner who lets her dogs run free off leash in public areas and yells to everyone they jump all over “They’re just being friendly!” I have met these dogs twice now and they are NOT friendly. They are young, stunningly gorgeous pit-bull terriers whose “pack” mind takes over when an elderly Jack Russell tries to pick a fight with them. (Despite foggy eye-sight, half his teeth missing, and poor hearing, my delusional darling thinks he can take on two pit-bulls in their prime, especially if I hold him up high enough to reach them.)

“They’re friendly!” screams the owner of the pit-bulls as they bolt towards us.

“My dog’s NOT,” I bellow back, “He’s going to start a fight. CALL OFF YOUR DOGS!!!” I struggle to maintain my grip on eleven pounds of enraged rascal as the growl and bark of the younger dogs gets more intense. Jaws are snapping in my face and their claws are scratching my back, arms, legs as they try to get to him.

“They just want to play!” their owner calls, totally deluded about the tenor of their growls.

Their blood is up. I know better than to run. I do my best to stand firmly and to speak with authority to the animals: “NO, OFF, BACK” but they ignore me and the situation escalates with each leap, turn, twist and snap. It takes the woman several agonizing moments to cross the distance to us and manage to pull her dogs away.

“PLEASE,” I pant, “keep your dogs on leashes. This is not safe.”

“They were not going to hurt him,” she insists defiantly.

“Yes, yes they were. You cannot trust pack animals in a prey situation.”

“They’re good babies,” she says, as she struggles to pull them away.

I lose my temper.

“Keep your dogs ON A LEASH.” I yell, “THIS IS TERRIFYING!! YOU HAVE TO KEEP YOUR ANIMALS UNDER CONTROL. THEY ARE NOT UNDER CONTROL!” I am shaking all over.

“Ma’am, you’re FINE,” she yells back, as if I am being ridiculous. “They would never hurt you.”

I march away.

“Have a blessed day!” she screeches after me in a tone that tells me I can actually do otherwise. It’s Christian for “Go engage in sinful lust with yourself.”

I stomp to my shop, where a bride is waiting for an appointment. She’s early. I ask if I can have a moment to compose myself. I cannot stop shaking.

Just then, a tenant from down the hall arrives.

“I saw the whole thing,” he says. “I tried to film it for evidence for you but then I realized you were in trouble so I started to run to see if I could help, so the video is just of the ground as I run… But let me know if you file a report. I’d be glad to testify as a witness.”

I haven’t considered filing a report. I haven’t considered anything. I am still flooded with rage, disbelief, relief, and adrenaline. I thank him. It feels good to be witnessed, even if I never saw him. All I could see was those hot pink mouths, popping like firecrackers in my face.

“She was not the least bit sorry, was she?” I ask.

“No,” he admits. “She wasn’t.”

She was the one with her dogs off leash acting like I, the one with a dog on a leash getting jumped on, scratched and barked at, was being unfair and unreasonable. When did the leash law become optional?

Doing the bridal fitting helps me calm down. The bride is “a dog person” and can sympathize with all sides of the issue. I have nothing against pit-bulls. These dogs are beauties and all dogs deserve to be walked in public—but On A Leash! What’s so hard about that? That woman clearly has NO control over them, which just makes having them unleashed all the more dangerous. It’s Dog Owners who are ruining things for dogs. There are trails in town that say “No Dogs Allowed” at their entrance, no doubt as a result of irresponsible owners. How sad is that? The dogs will be the ones to suffer in the end.

Another building tenant comes to visit. He’s heard of the incident and has a dog himself. He tells me the lady with the pit-bulls is not a tenant. Even though this incident happened on the campus of our building, I should not report it to our management as it could jeopardize the rights of us tenants to bring our dogs to work. None of us want that. We are happier and our animals are happier when we can live respectfully in community with each other. My dog sleeps in a little bed underneath the sewing table. Most customers have no idea he is there. He is content just to be near me, instead of home alone, having anxiety attacks and destroying things with nervous energy.

I can’t wait to get home at the end of Monday to be with the sheep. I need to talk things out and find my Peace again.

“Why don’t some people want to follow the rules?” I ask them.

“Rules are not fun,” they admit blithely, stating the Obvious.

“Rules are inconvenient,” says Willoughby, “Restrictive.”

“Your problem is that you get upset that they don’t follow the rules. It’s like it shakes your faith or something. You get insulted when people don’t respect your boundaries and disregard your safety. You make it all about you. But that’s silly. That’s not their job—to take care of your feelings. It’s not their way. They DO just think of themselves. You need to accept this and not get upset,” says Watson.

This is hard to hear but it lands like Truth.

“Yeah,” says Waterlily, “How are people any different from us? We all want to get to the feed room door and find it open and get in there and gulp down anything we can. That’s just the way of things.”

“It’s not your job to grieve the fate of the world and get all morally indignant about rules. Just keep the feed door shut and the grain bins sealed. No emotions are required,” says Prim.

“But LEASHES are…” I protest woundedly.

“Hey, Wait! Is the feed room door open?” ask Molly, who hasn’t been paying attention.

“NO,” we all say at once. I say it with authority, they say it with regret. I go back to mulling over what we are calling The Incident.

“I’m not upset with the dogs… This is just what poorly trained dogs do,” I say.

“Dogs are just coyotes you let live in your house,” say the sheep shuddering. “We ARE upset with the dogs, just as a matter of principle. All dogs, any time, any place.”

“I’m upset with the people,” I say. “People have a CHOICE. People have access to reason, consciousness, compassion that enables them to create and follow laws that make it possible for everyone to play fairly and survive.”

“Are you saying that people are better than animals??” asks Prim, backing up with flared nostrils.

“Well…. I’m with Aristotle on this. He says something like ‘At our best, we can be the noblest of animals. Separated from law and justice, we are the Worst.’” The noble animals around me just listen, considering. Some of them wander away to graze on some fresh poison ivy they have found.

“I definitely felt like the Worst sort of animal today,” I admit. “I’m upset that I lost my temper and screamed at her but secretly, I really wanted to bite that lady myself. Now I am afraid to take my daily walks. She truly doesn’t care and this has happened twice and will just keep happening. John Locke is right: The end of law is not to abolish or restrain, but to preserve and enlarge freedom. For in all the states of created beings capable of law, where there is no law, there is no freedom.”

“He sounds like the type of guy who kept his dogs on leashes and his grain bins sealed behind doors,” observes Wally.

“Yes, he does.”

I sit in the deepening gold of evening, surrounded by munching lambs and gradually feel better, grounded, Resolved. I’m glad I live in what John Adams called “a country of laws not men.” Laws are important though it’s disappointing to need them in the first place (as a replacement for what should be common moral decency amongst the citizenry) and even more disappointing to have to enforce them through a justice system. I want to live in a world where we all respect each other and our good boundaries but I live in a world that IS—where our Natural (animal) instincts are fiercely subsurface at all times, and where unleashed pit-bulls and politicians run violently amok. In THIS world, where selfishness occasionally runs rampant, where everyone from dog walkers to presidents thinks it’s ok to flout the law… our choices are to protect our Laws or surrender our freedom. Either way, it’s a nasty fight.

“Fight,” says the white lamb, “fight.”

For a cute little lamb, she certainly is a tough one.

Love yourselves to itty-bitty bits today, Dear Ones! We’ve got some mending to do! I love you Sew Much. Thanks for your Good Work.

With Liberty and Justice for all,

Yours Aye,

Nancy

P.S. May your Mid-summer’s Eve be Magical!!!