Besides, if you will be diligent in gathering the loose bunches of wool that you see hanging on the sage I will pay for all that you can gather." We liked Father’s plan so we each gathered wool and would go home with our pockets full. The wool we gathered brought us more money than our dollar wage. However the time for shearing soon came around and our gatherings of wool soon became harder to find. I don’t remember that anybody told us we smelled like sheep. Now-a-days people are so funny. What does it hurt if you carry wool in your pockets and smell like sheep? Now that we were to be paid for keeping the sheep out until sundown we were sure that the sheep did not cross the canal until the sun had settled behind Timpanogas. When the canal was full of water it was sure fun to see the lambs jump into the water and have to swim. If the herd had not had such good leaders that had been trained year after year, we would not have been able to get them to cross such deep water.


        Being so young we had plenty of worries. What would happen if farmers came and learned that our sheep had been in the edge of their hay field? What would happen if we missed finding a lamb that had laid down in the sage brush? We didn’t know that the mother would be able to find the lamb so we had many a hard chase trying to drive the lamb back to the herd. I went home at night feeling happy that one more day was gone. In the morning I arose with a sad heart. I liked the time when shearing came or for any reason we could work with the sheep in the corral. During those early days we never had a horse to ride while with the sheep.


        One of the horses father used in his team was a wonderful, easy riding, fast pacer. We called her Lace. She could pace almost as fast as many horses could run. She must have been well bred.
        One spring she had a colt and then she died. Father said we children could have the colt if we could save it. It really became a great pet. When it was about 18 months old, I thought it old enough to ride. I would get on its back, but it would not leave the yard so I would lead it about one half mile from home, then climb on its back and ride home. It seemed to me my pony was almost flying, but I stayed on its back. I thought it was going to be just like its mother. But, alas, it was gored by a bull and we were unable to save its life. I will always remember our first good work horses and saddle ponies. Oh, happy days.

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