WOOLLY MAMMALS

Navajo-Churro sheep always appear to have a slight smile on their faces. These gentle-looking creatures are deeply cherished, even respected, by the Navajo people, because they are, in the simplest of terms, life givers. The sheep not only provide much that is necessary to survive in the more rugged areas of the state — from food and milk to clothing and wool for weaving rugs and tapestries — but they also play a role in Navajo spirituality and philosophy.

“In all of our creation stories, we believe that the sheep were a gift from our deity, so they have a central role in our ceremonies and our way of life,” says TahNibaa Naataanii, a Navajo weaver, sheepherder and project director for Diné bé Iiná Inc. (Navajo Lifeway), a nonprofit organization that works to preserve and protect the sheep and their role in Navajo life.

Gifts from the divine? Might explain the smile.

Yet, despite their holy lineage, these sacred animals, the lifeblood of the tribe, were nearly wiped out in an episode that would dramatically change the lives of an entire group of people.

Beginning in the early 1930s, in an attempt to spur economic growth in the wake of the Great Depression, the U.S. government began a series of massive projects, including the construction of Hoover Dam. That project, it turned out, was threatened by excessive levels of silt in the water. The silt, it was believed, came from the overgrazing of the Navajo-Churro sheep, so the government enforced a harsh stock-reduction policy.

Referred to as the Stock Reduction Program, this government-sanctioned initiative eventually came to a halt in 1948, some 15 years after it had begun. But the damage had already been done. Between 600,000 and 800,000 Navajo-Churro sheep had been slaughtered, and in some cases, these sacred gifts were shot in front of their owners.
 

From an emotional standpoint, the loss was heartbreaking. From an economic one, the reduction bankrupted many Navajos. In fact, despite promises by the government, few were actually compensated for their losses, and a once self-sufficient group of people lost their livelihood, their wealth, in a single stroke.

“It was devastating for these pastoral people who relied on the sheep,” says Bruce Burnham, a fourth-generation Indian trader who is married to a Navajo. “There’s a saying in Navajo that literally translates to ‘sheep is life.’ It’s such a simple statement, but the lives of the Navajo people are intertwined and caught up in the plight of the sheep.”

Of course, history is written by the victors, and as such, is subject to point of view. The Stock Reduction Program is no exception. Depending on whom you talk to or what pops up on a Google search, the program was either an arrogant act of government interference or an attempt by a New Deal government to improve the lives of the Navajos, while protecting the environment from further damage.

What is clear is that the federal government failed to understand the importance of the Navajo-Churro sheep to the tribe. From Uncle Sam’s point of view, the wool was too coarse, too difficult to work with and undesirable to buyers outside the reservation. But to the Navajos, the animals themselves were hardy, and the wool was ideal for weaving their rugs and tapestries — it was not greasy like merino or Rambouillet wool. Instead, it was durable, long in staple length and, perhaps more importantly, the wool worked well with the drop spindle and vertical loom, instruments said to be given to the Navajo by their deity, Spider Woman, who also taught them how to weave.

As the Navajo-Churro sheep began vanishing from the landscape, many men were forced to leave home to find work off the reservation. Families were being torn apart. “The old folks still get teary-eyed when they start talking about how life has changed on the reservation because they couldn’t maintain these sheep,” Burnham says.

With extinction inevitable, a resurgence of the species seemed a long shot — but then, as if by a miracle, it happened.
 

Dr. Lyle G. McNeal, a Carnegie professor and founder of the Navajo Sheep Project, never set out to save sheep, but in 1969, he was working at Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo, California, where he also served as an advisor to the animal science club. On an outing with his students, McNeal ended up at a ranch in Gonzales, California, where four-horned rams were kept — and used as sport by Hollywood celebrities who would come looking for that Wild West experience. Intrigued by the animals, McNeal asked the rancher where he obtained his sheep. His response would prove to be ironic: the U.S. Department of Agriculture.

The government had set aside 18,000 acres for a sheep experiment station in New Mexico. The goal was to crossbreed sheep, including purebred Navajo-Churros, to find a suitable breed for the Navajos. But when the station closed in 1967, the remaining animals were auctioned off. The rancher happened to be one of the bidders, and it was from his flock that McNeal procured his first donation of sheep: six breeding ewes and two, four-horned rams. And thus began the Navajo Sheep Project.

“Stock reduction put the Churro on the bottom rung,” says McNeal, who, after realizing how rare the sheep were, decided to breed the animals back. He sought donations, dedicated his time and even risked his life — he contracted hepatitis and the hantavirus looking for sheep that were essentially off the grid, animals hidden by their owners during the reduction — to find purebred Churro. “Sheep is life,” he says simply.

Today, the purebred Navajo-Churro sheep are making an impressive comeback. Before the Navajo Sheep Project began, it was estimated that there were only 450 sheep left. By 1982, McNeal began returning the sheep he bred to the Navajo people. There are now some 5,500 Navajo-Churro sheep living across the U.S., with more than 1,200 back on the reservation.

“We need to take care of the sheep because they will take care of you,” McNeal explains. And the sheep are once again providing for the Navajo people.

“The resurgence of the Navajo-Churro is like a thread to our past,” says Naataanii. “Although many of our young people are not weavers or herders, there are some who are, and this resurgence serves as a bridge to reconnect, to re-educate them on the way of life their grandmothers and grandfathers practiced.”

Perhaps the gods are smiling, too.