Sheep at I-90: Missoula in a Nutshell

By Big Sis, 6-05-07

This Sunday, I was biking home from a leisurely brunch downtown when I was stopped abruptly by livestock in the road.  A lot of livestock.  Yup, right in the middle of Van Buren Street—30 yards north of the busy Broadway intersection and directly blocking several cars backed up on both the on- and off-ramps from I-90—several hundred sheep were crossing the road.  I hopped off my bike and gazed at the scene.

Now, this might sound bizarre in and of itself, as you don’t see a whole lot of sheep-herding through city streets in our grand year of 2007.  But add in the following factors to the sheep-crossing scene and the bizarre-o-meter creeps higher—or perhaps just serves to illustrate Missoula in a perfect time-space nutshell:

• A middle-aged man on a bicycle in front of me was taking rapid-fire pictures, literally on top of the poor, confused sheep.  He attempted to balance a wooden guitar slung across his back, his bike between his legs, and his zoom lens, all while staying clear of flailing hooves.

• A cowboy on a 16(+)-hand horse stood guard directly in the middle of Van Buren.  I knew he was a real cowboy not just because of his spectacular statue-like posture in the saddle, but because he had on for-real spurs, hat, and Wranglers.

• A very non-cowboy-looking (yet still very good-looking) young man was running vigorously (and slightly desperately) amidst the thigh-high sheep wearing typical Missoula summer flair: Chacos, a North Face backpack, hiking shorts and an old t-shirt.  He appeared to be using a stick in an attempt to direct sheep traffic.

• A homeless man stationed at the Interstate off-ramp put down his cardboard sign and sidled up next to me to share these heartfelt observations:

  “Listen, the sheep are saying my brother’s name: ‘Maaa-aatt.’ I used to tell him that way back, when we were out on the ranch.  He’d get pissed and call me ‘Dickhead.’ But since my name is Dick, I just laughed harder and told him, ‘Hey, what’s the name of that thing you wipe your feet on when you come in a door?’ Yeah…we had some good times with our names, man.  Good times.”

  The man grinned at me, then chuckled as he gazed at the baa-ing sheep running toward Mount Jumbo.  I chuckled with him.

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