Today, as on many other days, I remember the old sheep. I remember the day a friend, a farmer, came to me and asked if his old sheep – the ones he was about to put down because they were falling ill and could no longer be bred or sold and were too expensive for him to maintain – could spend a last summer eating grass in my pasture before they would go to slaughter. I had a big empty pasture and was glad to have them and Red and I worked them very carefully and slowly and I took photos I much loved of their tenderness and connection with one another.

At the end of the summer, there was a great controversy about them leaving, one of those clashes between the pet people and the people who have animals on farms, but they left in September and I was very grateful to have seen them and known them. They brought me to consciousness about sheep and I loved them. They were touching and graceful in every way, much as they struggled with their failing bodies. I have never seen animals so solicitous of one another, so tender with one another. It was a privilege to host them and to photograph them.