It was one of our infrequent day trips: four middle-aged women, professional colleagues, off to the US for a day of cross-border retail therapy and a lot of fun.
Crossing the Canadian border at Ogdensburg, New York that sunny autumn day, we meandered around the few shops the economically depressed town offered. Our unsophisticated habit was to hit Price Chopper, purchase fresh bagels, cream cheese, and a six-pack of orange juice before continuing east to Massena.
Armed with our high carb lunch, the front seat passenger doled out the goodies, the drive east passing pleasantly as we chatted and lunched.
Shortly before Massena, we passed through a tiny town with three lovely Victorian homes, one of which displayed a sign proclaiming it was a gift shop. “SHOP” being the operative word, we pulled off the road and went in.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I’m not one for “kitsch” to clutter my abode. But there was something that caught my eye. A silly white woolly sheep, three feet from nose to tail, head at right angles to the body. The dear garden ornament had beautiful brown glass eyes and strong metal picks on the ends of its fluffy legs that promised to keep it perky in the garden.
Talk about tacky!
I bought her!
No sooner had we four secured our purchases in the car trunk than we decided we should name my lamb. Freda, Susan, Vi, and Lillian were vetoed. We agreed that because this sheep was most definitely female the name had to be special. This sheep was a EWE!
Suddenly someone suggested Effie! Everyone was in favour of alliteration, so we hoisted our orange juice and christened Effie Ewe!
For years Effie grazed in my garden. Her acrylic fur grayed slightly but her brown eyes remained bright. When I moved to a spot near Carleton University her domain was smaller. She didn’t mind.
One day something terrible happened! Effie’s eyes had been enucleated, pulled from their sockets, and hanging, like big brown tears from the knotted ends of grimy strings, one on each side of her dear little nose.
Had one eye been injured, I would have suspected a nasty squirrel or raccoon. But two eyes? I lived next door to three party boys who, in their spare time, attended Carleton University. I suspected they were the culprits.
I attempted emergency corneal transplants on the dining room table.
The surgery failed. Heartbroken, I decided to bid goodbye to Effie and carried her body out for garbage pickup that was due that day.
About ten minutes later, I looked out. Effie was gone!!!
She was now standing proudly in my student neighbours’ garden and her sight had been restored! Two Labatt’s’ Blue bottle caps had been firmly pressed into her eye sockets.
I wrote a thank you note to the expert practitioners next door.
“Thank you for restoring Effie’s sight. She’s been humming “Gonna make my brown eyes blue” for months.”
My neighbours did not acknowledge me after that day. Effie disappeared. Perhaps she became their indoor pet. Wherever she is today, I hope she is happy.
Although I hunted, I didn’t find another adorable sheep like Effie. I settled for a less enchanting lamb, a large pewter broach.
Her name is “Effie Ewe Two”!
By Joan Alexander