Sharon Goes to the Dixon Club
In May and June, we have thousands of baby lambs born. It is a major task, and often hot, thirsty work, to dock the lambs. We typically bring a bunch of ewes and their lambs into a large corral, then sort the lambs into a smaller corral.
Our docking crew usually consists of family members, sheepherders, neighbor kids, and whatever company we can lure into the process. The lambs then go along an assembly line, where they are earmarked, castrated, vaccinated, tailed, and paint branded. The whole process takes less than a minute.
On one hot dry day, we ran out of liquid refreshment by mid-afternoon. We'd split the band into two bunches to lessen stress on the lambs, so had to move the finished bunch away and bring in the second. I decided to make a run into the nearby town of Dixon, and visit its only establishment, the Dixon Club. Now the Dixon Club can be a lively spot, but it was a Tuesday afternoon.
I bellied up to the bar and ordered two cases of pop and one of water (with a hair). While I waited, I chatted with a customer, the lady who runs the Bed and Breakfast in Baggs. The
B & B’s memorable feature is the tame bobcat which has the run of the place. But I digress.
The gal sitting next to her said, “Pop and water? Why when I docked for old J.B., he always sent me to town to buy beer.”
I explained that we usually stuck to non-alcoholic beverages, and besides, half the crew was underaged. She continued on about old J.B. and his belief that a crew should have their beer.
“Tell me,” I asked, “Is old J.B. still in business?”
“Come to think of it, no.”