Stories of Our Other Animals

Sheepie Becomes Murdoch

by Jeanne Toomey

When the driver of a fire truck accidentally ran over and killed a woman, he went berserk, broke the windows in his home and fled the area, leaving behind the family cat and another animal.

Sympathetic animal activist Carolyn of Harwinton brought the cat to the Last Post and then casually observed, "There's another animal left homeless there, but no one has been able to get her.  I think it's a female.  I heard the local vet even tried, but no luck! No one can get near this creature, it seems."

"What kind of animal?"

"A sheep."

Next day the wind struck me with savage force as I went out to the old Caravan used for transporting animals to the Last Post.  March is a rough month in the Northwest Corner of Connecticut.

Carolyn had given directions.  We headed south to fashionable Litchfield, passing R.W. Commerford and Sons exotic animal farm in Goshen. As we rolled into the small farm where the sheep was said to be, I could see the silent house with the broken windows.  There were a few stalls opposite.  I looked around and spotted a shaggy looking animal, our quest watching from a  nearby hilltop.

It took several trips before the animal could be decoyed into a stall.  A halter was put on her and she was led to the Caravan.  She stood erect in the back seat on her woolly haunches, for all the world looking like a human, looking out the window, as Jim drove us back to the Post.

"The neighbors called her 'Sheepie,'" Carolyn had remarked.

"No animal at the Last Post shall be called 'Sheepie,'"

I said with determination, "She shall be called 'Murdoch!'"

Murdoch became a favorite with visitors and staff.

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