We were awakened by the late call of the rooster still jetlagged from nearly 24 hours of travel. The day before we landed in Paris, rented a car and drove 8 hours to my friend's residence in the Bordeaux region. It was dark as we wove through wine country, arriving just before midnight with an ache for food and rest. The travel was not for the faint of heart. Though it wasn't until the morning that we realized we were on a small French funny farm.
We walked down the wide stone staircase into the kitchen where my French friend, Aurelian, waited with cups of hot coffee. After we drank the bitter elixir and exchanged plesantries like how did you sleep he said, "Come I want to show you the property."
A small black dog named Tina followed him out of the French doors. The sun was beginning to peek through the trees hitting the old stone farmhouse he purchased a year ago.
"Can you close the door," Aurelian said. "The sheep are always trying to get into the house.
"You have sheep?" I asked.
"Of course," Aurelian said.
Then the rough looking rooster strutted across the pavers towards us.
"I had three more chickens," Aurelian turned back to us. "But the fox got them, you know? Somehow this guy is still here. It's like the fox just wants to taunt him. Look at how affected he is. It's like every night he waits to get eaten, but doesn't. Maybe the fox doesn't like him or something," he joked.
The rooster did look a bit unhinged. Two Maincoon kittens wove between our legs before running of into the field to chase mice. While Sam, the completely deaf pure white cat with blue eyes, lingered carefully in the background. Then I noticed the sheep snuggled together beneath a palm tree. One black. The other white.
"This one is César," Aurelian pointed to the black ram with curled horns. "And that is Rosalie." She was a quintessentially white, fluffy female.
"Who are they named after?" Marc asked.
"Characters from a movie." Aurelian responded.
"And what's the movie called?" Marc asked.
"César and Rosalie and it's about ... César and Rosalie," Aurelian laughed before Marc could ask another follow-up question.
I shrunk down to sheeps eye-level and stuck out my hand. Slowly, César walked over to me until his face was even with mine. I petted the top of his head. His matted wool ready to be shaved. Behind him, Rosalie waited cautiously. Aurelian spoke in French as he rubbed the top of César's head which made his short, nubby tail wag with excitement. A sight I never imagined I'd witness.
We continued our tour of the land, walking past the rotting wood deck that encased an above-ground pool that was too old to use. César and Rosalie followed us as we headed for their dark wood-sided pen. Inside the rooster walked across the shavings on the floor. Aurelian showed us the various fruit trees on the property that bore apples, figs, kiwis and walnuts.
"Try one. They're good," Aurelian said about the apples.
Marc ripped the small pale green sphere from the tree, rubbed it on his shirt and took a bite. His eyes widened. "Whoa. That's so good. We could make a tart with it."
"We can and we will," Aurelian said.
Over the next few days we drove the narrow country roads until we hit Medevial towns where we shopped for fresh food at farmer's markets and drank capuccinos in the square. We veered off in any direction when we saw a sign that read Brocante (thrift store) along the way. Everytime we returned home to the overgrown, but gated driveway we were greeted by the sheep, cats, dog and rooster.
Four days later Aurelian had to leave to film a short film on the East side of France. Faites commes chez vous he told us as he pulled out of the driveway. Inviting us to live as if it was our home. The bittersweet goodbye came too soon, but we were grateful for his hospitality and the chance to live out our French fantasy at his vintage château in the countryside of Bordeaux.
That afternoon we were in the garden with the animals. We hung clothes from the line. Took pictures of the animals and each other. We drank tea on the patio as the cats climbed trees and hunted field mice (they loved to torture those little suckers). At one point Marc was over by the apple tree with the sheep. I walked over with my camera.
"Look. They're eating the apples," he said. "Rosalie has the whole thing in her mouth. It's crazy. Look at them go."
The peaceful serenity shifted quickly when Rosalie started whipping her neck violently to the left and then right. She sneezed. She coughed.
"Whoa. Marc, I think she's choking," I said.
"She's peeing."
And that was true, she did squat down and begin to relieve herself... but the hacking sound continued.
"Oh my God. I think she is choking," Marc agreed.
My mind immediatly thought how do I Heimlich a sheep? A sequence flashed through my synapses where I hoisted Rosalie in the air and perfomed the Heimlich maneuver. But that couldn't work? She didn't have a belly button. How would I know where to thrust up and back?
"What do we do?" Marc said. The stress mounting in his voice.
César closely followed behind Rosalie who continued to whip her head back and forth while making the same horrific coughing sound. Foam began to leak from her mouth.
"I knew she was taking too much at once. Aurelian just left! And now his sheep is going to die on our watch," Marc said. "This is too much."
"We're going to figure this out," I said, trying my best to remain calm. I was already consulting Google. "Okay this article says to grab her and massage her throat/esophagus to help break up the mass," I told him.
"Yeah. If we can catch her," Marc said.
We began to chase her around, but César and his horns were ready to keep us back.
"We're trying to help her, César," I pleaded.
Rosalie had been skiddish ever since we arrived. She looked weak as she trotted away. César put his neck over Rosalie's back to comfort her as she coughed. It was heartbreaking. Finally Marc caught her. I straddled her hind legs and held onto her wool for support as Marc traced his pointer finger and thumb along her throat.
"Can you feel anything?" I asked.
"No. I can't," he said. "This is so stressful man."
"Just keep doing it," I said.
"Who else do we know that could help us?" Marc said.
We couldn't get in touch with Aurelian. We didn't know any local farmers. I was almost desperate enough to walk down the road and start knowing on doors. But I thought of what farmers I might know... who knows livestock. Oh I know.
"I'm calling John Henry," I said.
John Henry is a guy I know from Missouri that buys and sells livestock. A couple of summers ago I went with him to the auction in Mexico (Missouri) where we bought 6 hogs, and 8 cattle. At his house he has an assortment of horses, donkeys, mules, ducks, bunnies, goats. If anyone could help, it would be him. Quickly I dialed his number, hoping he would pick up. The international dial-tone sounded until I heard the 'bidi-ba-bidi-ba' of the auctioneer in the background. He was at the auction in real time.
"Well hey there Shelby," John Henry said.
"John Henry! I need your help. I'm in France right now and there is a sheep on the property that is choking on an apple. What do I do?"
"Pray for it Shelby," he said spiritedly.
"You're kidding. Really? There's nothing we can do?"
"Not much, unfortunately."
"We tried massaging it's throat," I said.
"That's a good idea. Let me know how it goes," he said before hanging up.
"So what did he say?" Marc yelled from across the yard.
"He said to pray for her."
"Jesus Christ. This is too stressful man. This sheep can't die on our watch. Look how sad they are."
For the next forty-five minutes we kept a close eye on Rosalie. The hocking, whipping, frothing continued until she looked tired and defeated. She rested beneath the palm tree, but eventually, she stood up, whipped her head and a chunk came out.
"Hey! I think she's good!" I yelled to Marc.
"Seriously?"
"Yeah I just saw her cough something up. Look, she seems fine," I said.
Rosalie pranced about on her little stick legs as if nothing had ever happened. She went out to the field with César to chew on grass. Crisis averted. Marc became very attached to the sheep that day. Anytime after if they went near the apple tree, like a true shepherd, Marc drove them off with a large stick.
Needless to say, César and Rosalie were the main event of our eight-day séjour in the Gironde countryside. They did get inside when we left the front door open by accident. We heard their hoofs on the wooden floorboards of the second story. They had climbed all the stone steps to the bedrooms. We yelled at them in English to get down, completely forgetting that they speak French. I do too, but not generally with sheep. They even escaped out of the iron gate of the driveway as it was closing. César sprinted into the street with Rosalie always close behind. Cars came speeding around the corner 50 MPH. Marc chased them in the neighbors yards while I held my hand up to vehicles as if I was a crossing guard. We started saying this is just life on the farm.
Even now, Aurelian will call me to share updates. "The sheep got out again. You know the property across the street on the hill that has donkeys? Today they went over there. I called up the guy, the farmer and asked if I could come get them and he said no. And I said why not? He said because they escaped into the woods with the horses. So tomorrow I have to go hunt for my sheep in the woods," he laughed.
It's all about the sheep.
Fin.
What a great little story, I throughly enjoyed it well done Sushi
It is all about the sheep. I just loved that story. I actually started coughing as if that would help the apple to come out. 😄