One eighty
Wednesday, March 22nd, 2006It was starting to get dark as the sun set behind the few scattered trees and the main house. They were ahead of me in the truck, driving slowly to a large tree around the side of the house. I was walking slowly, making sure not to trip on any wires or big rocks in the low light of dusk. I could just make out the high beam of the gallows behind the tree, and the truck was parked beside it. Barry was already out of the truck by the time I got there, and a tied up sheep had given up trying to escape from the pickup and lay still. The deed was already done by the time I arrived, as the other sheep lay dead with it’s throat cut on the ground and Barry was starting to remove it’s hooves. It didn’t affect me as I thought it would, though maybe if I had seen it killed it might have been worse. This was a normal part of life out here on the sheep station, but it felt like a million miles away from Sydney and the opera, where I had been just a few days before. [read on]