So, the editor said at our last staff meeting that we all needed to come up with something to write about for our annual “New Year, New You” issue. Basically, it’s anything to do with reinventing yourself without actually saying “New Year’s resolution.” Most of the time, it comes down to writing about self-improvement projects, like taking up hot yoga, quitting drinking, getting a Peloton, or buying those puffy new running shoes that somehow make jogging in Overton Park at the crack of dawn appealing. The advertising folks will be selling to local businesses who specialize in such services, so it all tracks.
I have threatened for years to write about adopting a sheep for this issue, because, well, not using the headline “New Year, New Ewe” just seems like a wasted opportunity. And since 2025 is looming like the open cellar door to the end-times, I figured it was now or never.
I did a bit of research and read that a ewe is a female sheep, which I already knew. And I quickly learned that my word processing program unhelpfully corrects “a ewe” to “an ewe.” It’s ewes-less to try to reprogram it, I discover, so I move on. After all, I’ve still got to figure out how to get a new ewe in the new year.
Here are some other sheep terms I became familiar with: A male sheep used for breeding is a ram or a buck. A male that has been castrated and that will be used for meat is a wether. And, of course, the little cute ones are called lambs. Whether a lamb grows up to be a wether, a ram, or a ewe (or a chop) is all in the roll of the sheep dice. But for purposes of this story (and maintaining a commitment to the pun), I’m only thinking of ewe, dear.
A mature ewe weighs 200 to 225 pounds, which seems like a big-ass sheep. So once I get my new ewe (on Amazon?) I’m going to need to figure out a way to keep it fed. It should be able to graze off my yard for much of the year, I’d think, but I don’t have a big lawn, so I might have to supplement it with a couple of hay bales or something. Plus, I could probably walk it around the neighborhood and let it graze in my neighbors’ lawns as we stroll along. I don’t think they’ll mind. In fact, I suspect that my ewe and I would soon become a legend on nextdoor.com — not to mention, the talk of the Memphis Reddit community. Once my sheepish girl has gotten her fill of yummy Midtown zoysia, we’ll just make a ewe-turn and head back home. And, of course, I’ll carry a sheepy-bag for the ewe-doo, just in case. I know the rules. I’m not a savage.
And here are some of the lifestyle improvements attendant with getting a New Ewe in the New Year: Exercise — walking around the neighborhood every day, hefting the occasional bale of hay, not to mention carrying the 12-pound bags of ewe-doo home from your daily walk. You’ll be fit and buff in no time. Free Wool — You just shear your ewe once a year and voila, a big bag of premium wool, ready to be spun into yarn and turned into a sweater by your dear old Aunt Nedra.
And I’m sure that there are other benefits of ewe-ownership besides exercise and free wool but they’re not coming to me right now. Let me think … Nope. In fact, it’s beginning to become obvious that I’ve written this entire column just to justify using a stupid pun that I’ve resisted using every Flyer New Year’s issue for years. And that’s not fair to you, the reader, or to Ewe, my sheep, who’s been caught up in this awkward transition to urban living through no fault of her own.
I had another option, too, which makes this all the more tragic. If I had gone with the alternative plan, it would have been easier for all of us. Get a shrub. Plant it. Keep your head down and hope for the best. New Year, New Yew.