I had my suspicions.....
I looked out into the pasture toward the ridge: No sheep.
I walked to the top of the ridge and peered down into the swamp: No sheep.
I descended the ridge into the swamp: No sheep.
I crossed over the fence into the neighbor's swamp and looked to the ridge again: No sheep.
I ascended the ridge and looked to the west: Finally sheep appearing as little dots in the distance.
"Sheep," I called. And again, "Sheep." A few heads perked up and a few "baahs" responded.
"Sheep. Sheep. Sheep," I called a few more times. They started toward my voice. That is not my homestead but those are definitely my errant sheep.
"Come on, Ladies," I told them, "Its time to go home.
Leading the way, I descended the ridge into the swamp with a line of sheep trailing behind.
Through the swamp and through the fence (I really wish someone--me--would repair the fence) and up the ridge.
Finally, home is spotted and with some baahing, the sheep run past me.
Home again; home again; lickety split. And locked in the paddock until later when they will be locked in the barn overnight.
I do not know what fascination my sheep have with the neighboring homestead, but this is the third time in a month or so that I have had to go fetch them home. Yes, I feed my sheep. The neighbors do not feed my sheep. Guess its jail for them until we get a few feet of snow to curb their wandering spirits.