Two months since becoming the owner of 10 Mongolian sheep. Have I become happy?

It has been almost two months since I became the owner of 10 sheep in Mongolia.
Simply put, this is an experiment where I took 30,000 yen—the kind of money that easily disappears if left alone, leaving you wondering, 'Wait, what did I spend that on?'—and turned it into 'fluffy assets' called sheep in Mongolia.

These fluffy creatures live somewhere in western Mongolia, likely at an altitude of 1,500 to 2,000 meters (that's a very rough estimate).

Meanwhile, I am in Japan.

Just to be clear, I do nothing for the fluffy ones (the sheep). I don't help lambs nurse from their mothers, I don't gently stroke their bodies, and I don't feed them.
I have entrusted all of that to my husband, who is currently in Mongolia, and his nomadic relatives. I am a completely hands-off owner.

Even so, there have been some small changes since I became a fluffy-owner.

First, I've started spouting sheep trivia to my family, friends, and colleagues based on the videos and photos my husband sends me. In March, which was right during the birthing season, I was sent photos every day of not just our sheep, but also the sheep and goats owned by my husband's parents (my parents-in-law), all packed together.
They were just so cute.
Not wanting to enjoy them all by myself, I started catching part-time workers at the office to talk about sheep from time to time.

"Please look at these sheep! Many lambs are born in Mongolia during this season."

The part-time workers at my company are all surprisingly kind people, so they usually say things like, 'Wow, how cute!' or 'That's wonderful.' Each time, my self-esteem is filled just a little bit. So, this is what it feels like to be a doting parent.


The idea of 'cute' is an extremely personal emotion. A parent thinking their child is the cutest, someone thinking their favorite idol's performance is the best in the world, or me saying, 'Aren't these sheep cute?'—it's all pretty much the same. To others, they are just sheep. But, as if to say, 'I don't care what you think,' I push my 'Aren't they cute?' on them.
I am that annoying, doting sheep-owner parent.

Just the other day, the sheep finally moved to the grasslands. My husband's parents are currently at their permanent settlement, not the grasslands. This is because they sold most of their livestock, so the numbers have decreased. They let them give birth at the settlement, and now they are finally heading to the grasslands. That seems to be the flow. Even among nomads, things vary.

With that, like the song 'Dona Dona,' the lambs are apparently being shaken in a truck, setting off on their first adventure to the grasslands. It's an all-you-can-eat grass buffet.

What is happiness?
I like to think about such things aimlessly.

In the corner of my mind right now is the fact that my fluffy ones are thousands of kilometers away. It's not so I can be envied by others; I just feel a sense of romance and smile to myself at the fact that my fluffy ones exist in a corner of the world.

Charles M. Schulz, the creator of Snoopy, once said, 'Happiness is a warm puppy.' It could be a puppy, a sheep, or an eggplant from a home garden—anything is fine. To possess something that cannot be evaluated or appraised, yet is irresistibly lovable and tangible.


Thinking about it that way, for me, happiness might be finding my own light in something that others might consider a waste.

Thinking about such things, I read the diary written by my nomadic husband. This is the third piece I've asked my husband to write for note since he unexpectedly became unemployed.
I would like to introduce it just as he wrote it in the original.

Nomadic Husband's Diary 3: The Children's Departure

I raised them in the enclosure for 20 days and safely helped them give birth.
Now, they can finally go out to pasture and feel freedom. These lambs and kids are walking around the enclosure, but they don't know where to go at all and seem a little scared.

It must be very unsettling for them to be separated from their mothers for the first time in their lives. But everyone, you will be fine. I have put your mothers on a different vehicle. You will be able to go out into the grasslands and reunite with them soon. Don't worry, my cute little ones.

It is a very heartwarming scene. I can picture the lambs and kids 🐐 feeling the outside world for the first time.

From now on, you will grow bigger and bigger while eating the grass that will soon sprout in the vast grasslands with your mothers. We will meet again around autumn in November. I hope everyone is healthy then.

I thought about putting everyone in my car, but it wouldn't fit, so I asked a friend to help and we are moving these little ones in my friend's car.

I plan to hand them over to my father's cousin, who lives 30 kilometers away from Khovd Province.


This is the first time I have had livestock give birth in Khovd Province.
They safely gave birth to healthy little ones. I was very happy. However, most of them were born as male lambs 🐑 and kids. But well, that's okay.

There is an old proverb that says the more male livestock you raise, the more the number of livestock will increase. That is why I think there will be even more next year.

The End

*Khovd Province is a city in western Mongolia where my husband's parents live.

As a company employee in Tokyo, I married a younger nomadic husband in my 40s, and I am experimenting with how to live happily between Tokyo and the grasslands.

🌱🐑 I have compiled my experiences with my husband in a magazine.