The Great Ram Chase: A Hilarious Dive into the Arctic Brook

Another one of those essential farming tasks rolled around on the calendar: catching rams to separate them from the ewes to prevent lambing chaos in late April. Naturally, this job always seems to fall in the first or second week of December, the coldest time of year, because why not add a little Arctic adventure to our farm duties?

On this particular day, the thermometer decided to hit rock bottom at a bone-chilling minus 5°C. Perfect weather for ram-wrangling, wouldn’t you agree? So off we went, with the tractor, trailer, my dad, our trusty sheepdog Buster, and myself, ready for a frosty round of "Catch That Ram."

We had ten rams to capture, and the first eight were rounded up without much fuss, thanks to Buster’s impeccable sheepdog skills. He was like the James Bond of herding, cool and efficient. Then came ram number nine, who thought a marathon sprint would be a great idea, but after some huffing and puffing, we got him too.

Now, onto the last one. This ram, whom I suspect had been secretly training for the Olympics, seemed to thoroughly enjoy the chase. He sprinted around the field with the grace and speed of a gazelle, making us look like a bunch of bumbling amateurs.

After what felt like hours of running in circles, we finally cornered him near a deep brook at the field's edge. "Aha! We’ve got him now," we thought. This brook was our secret weapon, or so we believed. But, of course, our athletic ram had other plans.

As we approached, he bolted like a rocket. My farmer instincts kicked in, and I dove like a goalkeeper going for a penalty save. I caught him, but the momentum sent us both flying backwards. And where did we land? Right into the freezing, icy depths of the brook.

Picture this: me submerged in freezing water, clinging to a very disgruntled ram who probably thought this was a new low in his day. The current dragged us a bit until my dad, laughing his head off, managed to catch up and secure the ram.

Buster, meanwhile, sat on the bank with a look that clearly said, "What on earth possessed you to go swimming in these temperatures?" I swear, if dogs could roll their eyes, Buster would have been doing just that.

So, ladies and gentlemen, as you now know, I missed a golden opportunity to patent the Iceman (Wim Hof) cold bathing technique. Imagine the brand potential: The Icefarmer! I could have been leading seminars on the benefits of involuntary icy plunges, all thanks to my ridiculous farm adventure.

But alas, instead of fame and fortune, I just got a good soaking and a new level of respect from our sheepdog. Such is life on the farm, where the mundane becomes absurd, and every day is a potential comedy sketch.