The Tails of Pippin and Peach

Arriving at sanctuary some weeks ago, it quickly became clear that despite their oh-so-friendly natures, something was wrong. The culprits? Two crudely placed rubber rings—the tools of industry-standard tail docking—left to do their damage without oversight, without compassion, without pain relief and without a second thought.

While the Code of Accepted Farming Practice for the Welfare of Sheep (Victoria) recommends tail docking (read amputation) between 2 and 12 weeks of age (and mandates anaesthetic if over 6 months), the truth is, it’s a code—not an enforceable law.

And it failed Pippin and Peach, as it routinely fails their kind.

By the time kindness found them, their tails had swollen below the rings. The lower portions were already shrivelling—starved of blood supply, slowly dying. Ironically, their thick wool had delayed the rings’ full effect, prolonging the pain and drawing out the cruelty. Had they not been found, the result could have been necrosis, septicaemia—and death.

A slow, agonising death.

With hearts in our throats and empathy swelling alongside those failing tails, we scheduled surgery. We did what the rings had not. Only this time, with care, compassion and the pain relief they were always owed.

And the saddest part?

Pippin and Peach likely stood gently still as those rings were applied. Calm. Trusting. Vulnerable souls who had no reason to expect betrayal.

Humans failed them. Animal protection laws forgot them. But thankfully, human kindness did not.
Today, tailless though they may be, the cheeky Pippin and affable Peach are thriving. Their story is now one of healing—not harm.

And it asks us to reflect: why do we protect the animals who share our homes, but abandon the ones who are farmed?

Because if we listened to all animals the way we do to those curled up on our couches or snuggled in our beds, we might remember something simple:

Every animal born with a tail deserves to keep it.

Tails serve a purpose. At Edgar’s Mission, our policy is clear: if they come in with a tail, they go out with one—unless a rare medical issue, like misdirected urination, requires removal.
Nature rarely makes mistakes. Sadly, we humans too often do.

Tails play vital roles in hygiene, communication, thermoregulation and expression. A raised tail can signal alertness or joy; a tucked one, fear or submission. A sheep will wag their tail in delight—sometimes even flicking it around in wild, abandoned glee. They shake it to scatter dung. They lift it to cool down. They use it to speak in ways we’ve simply forgotten how to hear.

And right about now, that old saying comes to mind: “In two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
It exists for a reason—because lambs do exactly that, when they are happy, healthy and whole.
So let’s make sure they get to keep shaking them.