So I've been hacking for four days now. And my lungs burn and gurgle.
Because Skye got lose four days ago while I was down at the barn feeding the cows. I was bending over, lifting a bale of hay onto the 4-wheeler when I caught a blur of brown, an explosion of sheep running and barking - lots of barking.
The sheep took off across the cattle guard, into the yard and through an open gate that feeds into a large (very large) pasture.
For some reason, I ran after them, yelling, SCREAMING Skye's name at the top of my lungs.
She never even acknowledged me.
For whatever reason, the sheep circled and ran back the way they came, back down to the barn.
By this time, my lungs were on fire. For those of you who know me best, you know I don't run. But combine running, the altitude and piercing cold, and you have my lungs.
I managed to run/hobble to the barn where Skye had a ewe by the back leg, trying to drag her down. I ran over, the sheep got an extra burst of energy and jerked free and Skye knew her moment of fun was over. She cowered over to me.
I couldn't even speak, much less scold. Or walk, much less kick the shit out of her, which is what I really wanted to do.
So I grabbed her leash, stumbled to the 4-wheeler, barely made it in the door and collapsed on the couch. I couldn't even speak to explain what had happened - Micah just looked at me and kept asking if I was okay.
That's when the coughing started and it hasn't stopped.
Why, oh why, must I own an animal who INSISTS that chasing and killing sheep is fun? It's not only fun, it makes her so proud.
And why, oh why, do I love her anyway?