But What If Fiona Liked Being Alone?
We don’t talk enough about introverted sheep
It was the name that grabbed my attention, first. Fiona is not an uncommon name in Scotland, though less commonly used for new babies now, so hearing it in a news report didn’t prick up my ears initially. But when the newsreader then followed the name up by “the sheep”, I did a double-take.
If you’re not plugged into the Scottish news cycle, you may have missed the saga — you can read about it here, bad puns and all, but to bring you up to speed: this one sheep has been living by herself for roughly two years. A kayaker saw her in 2021 at the foot of a very steep hill at the edge of the Cromarty Firth, in the east Highlands. The woman thought it was a slightly unusual location for a sheep, but that if it had got itself there it would likely get itself back, and thought nothing more of it.
Then she kayaked the same route a few weeks ago and saw a sheep in the same place. How, two years on, she knew it was the same sheep I’m not entirely sure, but I suppose it wasn’t an illogical conclusion. This time she contacted the SSPCA who seemed to say (and I paraphrase) “sucks to be that sheep” and hoped the whole thing would go away.
But by now it was a whole thing. She was given a name, there were daily updates on social media, and Fiona became the ‘fun’ piece at the end of evening news broadcasts. “Britain’s Loneliest Sheep” was firmly in the spotlight.
By all accounts the farmer whose sheep it was had tried to rescue her, but it became apparent that this was too dangerous for him to do alone, with limited equipment. Enter five Heroic Farmers who decided they would stage a rescue mission, which involved ropes, winches, relay systems, and some mighty big balls.
Having made it down the cliff, found the sheep hiding in a cave, and hoisted her up the steep incline, the SSPCA (who by now had found an inspector who was willing to take the credit) stepped up and proclaimed her healthy as a … well, sheep, other than needing a good shearing.
The Heroic Farmers have now found Fiona (really, must they?) a new home in Dumfries, in south west Scotland. There were some protests (drones! Placards! Free Fiona!) as it was feared that she would become a ‘spectacle’, although the Heroic Farmers and her new caretaker have both assured concerned enquirers that she would be well looked after and that the farm provides outstanding animal care. She is now sheared: 9kg of wool lighter.
Happy ending, back-slaps all round, everyone clapped.
But honestly, I’m not so sure how Fiona feels about all this. I will admit to feeling a spot of kinship with her that goes beyond our shared moniker. I too enjoy time spent alone, and am not super-keen on unannounced visitors. I enjoy not hearing strangers eat, play their music, or loudly discuss their relational difficulties without regard for anyone in unfortunate earshot.
Fiona had plenty of grazing in her wee idyll — she’s a healthy weight for a sheep — and a cave for shelter. Sheep don’t need a huge amount of water, but it’s Scotland so fresh water from rainfall would have been plentiful when she wanted it. There were even gorgeous coastal views, pesky kayakers aside. Maybe she occasionally missed the company of the rest of her flock, but on the whole it sounds like a lovely wee life.
And then one day these guys turn up with their ropes and loud voices and yank her up the hillside, submit her to some glory-hunting inspector for examination, and criticise her haircut. Then she’s shipped off to the other end of the country and rehoused in a barn surrounded by noisy livestock.
I’m just saying, I wouldn’t thank you for it. Even for a good haircut.
Alone doesn’t mean lonely. Won’t somebody think of the introverts?
Disclaimer: I am a city girl who knows fuck all about the habits of sheep. None of the above constitutes even the tiniest modicum of animal care facts.