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They’d been riding for an hour when Erin noticed Molly slowing for a farm on the side of the road they were following. The road didn’t follow the Missouri River exactly, but they’d been assured it would be the quickest way towards Independence. Erin frowned, wondering why Molly was slowing. Looking around, she saw the reason. There were sheep in the fields before them. She smiled, shaking her head. Just what they needed, sheep. She wasn’t surprised when Molly called a halt to the plodding oxen, set the brake, and climbed down from the wagon. Erin rode up, calling to King to hold the herd.
“Don’t tell me. You think we should raise sheep too?”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to see if he would trade.” She gestured towards the many piglets in their small herd that were slowing their trot, looking around to see why they were stopped, and then quickly going to the side of the road to root about in the grasses for food.
“I don’t know anything about sheep,” Erin admitted, helping Theo down off the horse and then getting down herself.
“Well, you’re a farmer. I’m sure you will learn,” Molly replied optimistically.
Rolling her eyes, Erin followed her wife, tying off the mare at the back of the wagon. “Stay with the wagon,” she told Theo, who looked like he wanted to argue but knew better. He nodded sullenly. He had hoped to go with them.
Erin and Molly made their way, impulsively holding hands as they walked up the farmer’s drive in the deep ruts from a wagon in the drying mud. Glancing back, Molly saw all the children and the dogs looking on from the wagon. Even a couple of the horses were curious. It was odd to see the horses tied up behind the wagon when they had normally herded them, but Erin had insisted she didn’t want them chased off, and the cattle had been enough to deal with in town. Fortunately, nothing had occurred to spook the animals.
“What’d you do to distract Queenie when you took the pups?” she asked, wondering, since they hadn’t had time to discuss it. Fifty cents for two pups! That was outrageous, but it had been outrageous back in Ohio too.
“I had her go back by King, and the man chose that big male and that big female pup right off.”
“You tell him that male was poorly?” That male was the one that hadn’t recovered since the incident back in St. Charles.
“Nope. He thinks he will probably breed them. I did warn him that breeding siblings is a bad idea, but they were his choice, and I wasn’t gonna argue with ‘im.”
“Language,” she reminded her, smiling at the surprise on Erin’s face. Molly agreed with Erin’s philosophy. If the man was going to try to breed Tervurens, he would soon find out that male wasn’t too bright. In fact, there were a couple of times she thought it had brain damage from the milk Queenie had let down to her pups. They’d all slept it off and Erin was still working on training the pups not to take food from anyone but a family member. She wondered if the man would be able to work with those pups. She shook her head. It wasn’t her concern. The pups were sold and gone. She looked up at the farm they were approaching. They’d been spotted, and a woman was on the porch of a weather-worn farmhouse badly in need of paint.
“Howdy,” Erin said, greeting the woman and making a motion to lift her hat—something she had seen men do for years and adopted as her own. “You Missus Spencer?”
“That I am. What can I do you folks for?” she asked, looking at the two of them holding hands and then beyond them at the large Conestoga wagon and the animals milling about near the road. She could see many children’s faces looking out from the rounded canopy and was that another one or two on the other side of the wagon? This young couple didn’t look old enough to have that many children.
“We’d like to talk to you and your husband about some sheep?” Erin asked, letting go of Molly’s hand reluctantly. She knew most couples didn’t make such overt displays of affection in public.
“Well, Leonard is in the field tending stuff and I don’t expect...” she began as a man came around the corner of a barn. Much to the dismay of her visitors her voice barked, “Leonard, we got visitors!”
The man looked up, waved in acknowledgement and headed for them across the large yard. He was dressed in overalls and a homespun shirt, and he was chewing on what looked like a piece of straw. When he got within speaking distance, she introduced them.
“These folks want to talk to you about sheep,” she said, gesturing to Erin and Molly and then stopped, puzzled. She didn’t know their names.
“Hello,” Erin said reaching out her hand. “I’m Erin Herriot, and this is my wife, Molly.” She still got a thrill at announcing that fact.
“Hello. I’m Leonard Spencer, and this is my missus,” he answered, omitting her first name.
“The shopkeeper in town mentioned you raise sheep. We saw the fine wools you dyed, and my wife admired them,” Erin told him with a smile, including Molly, who blushed slightly but smiled.
“Yep. Learned how to do them dyes from my pa who brought it from Ireland when he came over,” he confided. “It’s a family secret,” he told her, obviously not about to divulge any information.
“My wife was interested in possibly trading for some sheep,” Erin admitted, not interested in the dye used to make the vivid colors they had seen in town. She wondered briefly when Molly would discover the skeins she had purchased.
“Well, whatcha got?” he asked, curious at these strangers. They saw people passing on their way to other towns all the time, but they usually never stopped. It kept his wife busy looking out the windows and gossiping about where they were going, what they were doing, and what they had. So long as she was happy in her pursuits, he didn’t mind. He could tune out her yammering.
“Well, as a matter of fact, I have some fine Tervurens,” Erin answered, suddenly seeing the sense of stopping and grateful that Molly had thought of it. Having sheep would diversify their stock, and she’d heard that lamb and mutton were fine eating, if a bit fatty.
“Tervurens? Them children?” he asked, making as if to walk towards the wagon. Erin and Molly were trailing after him and, as an afterthought, his wife followed.
“No, no,” Erin laughed at the misunderstanding. “Dogs.”
“You got Tervuren dogs?”
“Belgian Tervurens, like Alsatians,” she added, remembering Molly’s tales of some places that called them that.
“Alsatians? What are them?” the farmer asked, clearly confused and having never heard them called that.
“Wolf dogs?” Molly answered.
“You got wolf dogs? For my sheep?” he was alarmed and nearly halted his forward walking.
“Belgian Tervurens are sometimes called wolf dogs, although that’s German Shepherds people are thinking of,” Erin clarified, exchanging a look with her wife. She went to walk on, encouraging the farmer to keep going. “These ain’t...um...er,” she started, correcting herself in front of her wife, “nothing like German Shepherds or wolf dogs.”
As they approached the wagon, the children stared shamelessly at the strangers. They walked past the double yoke of oxen and along the wagon. Erin called to Queenie, who was closest, and she came trotting up, sitting and looking on intently, waiting for instructions.
“Blimey,” the farmer said under his breath, clearly impressed. “You got more of them? They good herd dogs?”
“Yes, she had a litter not too long ago. They are a little young to let go, but if you bottle feed ‘em, I can let you have a couple in trade.”
“How many you got? How many did she have?”
“She had nine this time, but–”
“This time?” he asked, admiring the dog looking at him so attentively. It wasn’t a hostile look, but he sensed so much intelligence from those bright, brown eyes that he felt he was on an equal footing with the dog.
“Yes, this is her second litter. She had nine, but one died.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. You got eight more then?”
“Well, we sold two to someone in town.”
“So, you have six to get rid of?”
“Well...” Erin hesitated a moment, “Yeah.”
“Can I see ‘em?”
“They’re right there under the wagon in that sling.”
They both crouched to look under the wagon, and the heads started popping out of the sling. They looked around and then stared at Erin and Mr. Spencer looking at them. Each of the puppy’s faces was charming and had the telltale Tervuren markings of black and tan. One of them stuck out a paw, almost as though it were going to try and get out of the sling but slid back down. The farmer chuckled.
“You got a right good crop of Tervuren,” he said as though he hadn’t heard of them for the first time today. “Too young, ya say?” he asked, standing up and looking back at the adult dog, who seemed quite proud of its offspring. It was then, he noticed the second adult dog in back of the herd of cows, also looking interested in him. That dog was bigger and broader, and he looked...dangerous. He gulped. He wouldn’t want to get on the bad side of that dog. He glanced back at the pups, wanting them bad. He thought he knew who had probably bought the pups in town, and if he was right, it was someone else who was raising sheep. “How much ya want?”
“Well, you’ll have to hand feed them,” Erin cautioned him again. “We got two bits a pup.”
“Two bits!” he gasped at the price of the pups. He glanced at the dog near them and then looked under the wagon again at the pups he could see. “Could you fetch one out of there?”
Theo, who had followed the adults around the corner of the wagon, obliged the man. He was saddened that Erin was trying to get rid of more pups. They were his and the other children’s playmates. He came out holding a squirming pup and handed it to the farmer.
“Blimey,” the man said and then repeated, looking over the apparently healthy pup. “He’s a squirmer.” He laughed.
“Oh, yes. They are lively,” Erin agreed, glad the big male that had been so slow was gone. He hadn’t been too active anymore.
“Tervurens, you say?” he asked just to say something. He was wanting the pups something bad.
“Yep,” Erin agreed, not willing to try a hard sale. The pups were a little too young to go, but she did have to get rid of them eventually, and opportunities like this didn’t come along very often. She glanced at Queenie, who was watching the man closely as he examined her offspring. She was very intent.
“Walll, I don’t know that I could take all six,” he began doubtfully.
Erin was stunned. She had never thought to get rid of all six to the same person. She glanced at Molly and saw she was equally surprised. “Well, would you be interested in trading some piglets too?” she asked, gesturing to the back of the wagon where the sow was standing and grunting, thinking in the way that pigs had, looking off into nothingness with a vacant look. They began to walk back there, the farmer still holding the pup and petting it. It kept trying to mouth him, looking for a way to lick or maybe chew on the man’s thumb, squirming. He expertly held the pup, so it couldn’t bite, even accidentally.
“You really got a lot of animals. Think you can get them all to Oregon?” he asked, knowingly.
“Who says we’re going to Oregon?” Erin asked, alarmed that it was so obvious they were moving house.
“Oh, you aren’t heading to Independence with this here wagon?” he asked in return, sounding surprised now. He started looking at the large piglets, obviously not full-grown, but long-legged teenagers.
“Yeah, we are,” Erin admitted, not liking that people knew her business.
“Walll, you could be heading for Californay,” he admitted, hinting for more information.
“Yeah, we could.” She didn’t add more. Changing the subject, she asked, “You interested in some pups and pork for sheep?”
Completely distracted by Erin’s question, they began to discuss how much and how many and in trade for what. By the time they left the farm, they were four pups and six piglets lighter, but Erin now had a small, unexpected flock of sheep, some sheering equipment, and plenty of helpful advice from the farmer.
“I blame you,” Erin later told Molly as she set up the temporary fold for the sheep away from the cattle. The sheep believed in the premise of the ropes and poles more than the cattle and horses had.
“You blame me for what?” she asked, laughing at her wife, who wasn’t really complaining. They had gotten a good trade for their animals. If they didn’t lose any of the remaining animals, although they weren’t foolish enough to believe they could get them all to Oregon, they would be well on their way to establishing a farm. She watched as the children became enamored with the new additions to their ark, petting the sheep and baaing back to them. The sheep helped them get over the sad loss of the puppies and the piglets. Already, she had begun teaching them every sheep rhyme she could think of and telling stories as they traveled in the wagon.
“I blame you for all the extra work we have here,” she teased.
“Do you think there will be a problem with the people who organized the wagon train?”
“A problem with what?”
“Well, we said we were bringing some of our stock, but we have much more than even we anticipated.”
“Well, how is Oregon supposed to become populated with farmers if they are without stock?”
“They won’t all make it,” she pointed out sadly, watching the children playing with the sheep.
“No, they won’t,” she agreed, watching the children for a moment before moving on to the many chores that waited as they made camp. She was surprised that much of Missouri was unpopulated. The open fields waiting for farmers disturbed her and she wondered why. Later, she would learn there were large farms, ranches, and many that had begun the great westward move as she had.