Crissa and the Lambs

Excerpt from Dillon’s Tale
by Rob Mahan
Copyright © 2025

“Doc McGowan! Crissa! Welcome back to Murphy Farms.” Dressed in a wool sweater and jeans, young Jack Murphy walked up and shook their hands. “I’m sorry for bringing you out all this way for one of our old horses. I’ve checked her over as best I can, but she’s still limping a bit. I hate to see any of our animals in pain.”

“Your father always felt the same way, Jack,” Doc said. “I think that’s why he applied for your farm to become a Special Area of Conservation when you were barely out o’ your nappies.”

“Aye, that, and he was nearly bankrupt back then, too. Our family has been raising sheep on this land for over two hundred years, and it’s always been a struggle. But we wouldn’t be Irish farmers without a struggle now, would we?”

Crissa looked toward the big red barn. “For as long as I can remember, Murphy Farms has been a special place. I’m glad you’re a working sheep farm and still open to the public.”

Jack nodded and smiled. “And to my recollection, you and your folks visited us nearly every lambing season. How old were you the first time you visited our farm?”

Crissa tilted her head and pursed her lips, tapping a finger on her rosy cheek. “Hmm. Probably about five or six. That would have made it around 1997, I guess.”

“Then I would have been about sixteen,” Jack said. “That sounds about right. A lambing would have yielded us about twenty or so babies back then. That’s a fair bit of wool, you know. Kindhearted man that he was, when my dad applied for our special status, he made sure that all Galway sheep raised at Murphy Farms would only be sold for their wool. Our sales contracts stipulate that when a Murphy Farms sheep gets too old to produce enough wool, they are returned to us to live out their time in our pastures.”

“Your dad was a fine man and a good friend for many years,” Doc said. “I especially appreciate people who go out of their way to care for creatures when they get too old to be productive.”

Crissa patted Doc’s arm before she turned back to Jack. “I know you’ve grown the operation since you took over. How was the lambing season this year?”

Jack broke into a broad smile. “Just under a hundred babies this past spring.”

“Wow, a hundred? That’s amazing. I guess it’s been a while since I’ve been here for a lambing. Are they …” Crissa turned and looked toward the big red barn.

Doc and Jack were both smiling when Crissa turned back around. “Aye, they’re in the barn right now. Alexandria is watching over their morning feeding.”

“Crissa, why don’t you go and take a look at Jack’s lame horse?” Doc teased. “I’ll check on the lambs in the barn.”

“I thought you were supposed to be the funny one on this team, Doc.” Crissa wagged her finger at both men. “That’s not funny!”

“It’s not?” A slightly embarrassed chuckle shook Doc’s stooped shoulders. “Well then, why don’t I look after the horse …” Crissa turned on her heel, waved over her shoulder, and set out for the big red barn before he could finish.

When Crissa slid one of the big barn doors back on its weathered iron track, she gaped at a fantastic sight. A cream-colored ocean of six-month-old lambs filled the entire barn floor, undulating shoulder-to-shoulder. Pink ears jutted out the sides of every fuzzy head, paired with widely set black eyes. At the sound of the door opening, one of the closest lambs raised his head and bleated an alert. A grand chorus of other voices answered the loud baa, and a wave of bleating, baaing, yells, screams, and mehs filled the barn. Crissa marveled at the variety of individual baa sounds. She laughed out loud at the thought of an unseen black sheep yelling “Humbug!” from the shadows.

Motes of dust swirled upward, highlighted by thin shafts of sunlight streaming through gaps high in the gambrel roof overhead. In the center of the wooly little creatures, balanced on a rickety three-legged milking stool, a young girl with long, dark hair waved frantically.

“Hi, Crissa!” she called over the bleating cacophony surrounding her. “Daddy said you were coming today!” A compact black-and-white Australian Shepherd put her paws on the edge of the stool and barked her greeting, too. Mindful of the sheepdog’s bark, the lambs momentarily quieted.

“Hi, Alexandria! Hi, Luna!” Crissa called back, waving. “Wow, what a lot of lambs to all be in one barn!”

“I’ve named seventy-eight of them already!” Alex yelled as the lambs started to bleat again. “Only twenty-one to go!”

“Why haven’t you named the last twenty-one yet?” Crissa shouted back as if naming the first seventy-eight lambs was an entirely expected accomplishment.

“Because I haven’t figured out the names that fit all their personalities yet!” Alex signaled to Luna, who smoothly boosted herself onto the milking stool and into open arms. “We’d come over to see you, but we’re kind of lamb-bound right now!”

Out of nowhere, two creatures shot past Crissa and leaped onto the closest lambs. The agile gray and brown barn cats scampered across the expanse of tightly packed lambs and disappeared out the other end of the barn before Luna could even bark at them.

“Oh my,” Crissa called as she slowly waded into the lambs. “Who was that?”

“That was Cat and Mouse,” Alex called back. She bent and let Luna jump out of her arms. “They think they’re funny, but Daddy says they earn their keep. I guess they do. I haven’t seen a rat in weeks.”

Luna met Crissa well before she got halfway to the stool in the middle of the barn. Crissa knelt among the lambs and cradled the clever dog’s face. “Hi, Luna. Who’s a good lassie?” The sheepdog’s eyes shone with an unquenchable eagerness to please her human companions. Luna woofed and turned, gently but firmly nudging lamb after lamb so Crissa could simply stroll to the middle of the barn where Alex was waiting.

“You made it,” she said, hopping down from the stool.

“I’m not sure I would have without Luna’s help.”

“Do you want to stand on my stool?”

“I really do,” said Crissa as she boosted herself up. After carefully turning and scanning the entire expanse of young lambs, she looked down at Alex’s upturned face. “I was way younger than you when my folks started to bring me to Murphy Farms. Before you were even born, I think. I remember being a little scared of the lambs back then, especially when they would look me in the eye and bleat. I may have cried once or twice, but I’ve always loved your lambs.”

Alex nodded with a sympathetic expression well beyond her years. “I’ve never been afraid of them, but I’ve always had Luna to look out for me. I bet you wouldn’t have been scared if you had Luna when you were little.”

“I’m sure you’re right,” Crissa said as she hopped off the stool. “Every wee girl should have a Luna in her life, don’t you think?”

Alex answered by kneeling and wrapping her arms around her constant companion and protector. They both looked up and grinned as Crissa started to work her way back through the lambs toward the open barn door.

From the opening, Crissa turned and waved to the inseparable pair, once again perched on the milking stool. “Bye, Alex! Bye, Luna!” She slid the heavy barn door shut and set off to find Doc and Jack’s lame horse.