As an avid sheep lover, I’ve began to rely on various books, websites and feed-store workers for all my Sheep 101 needs. My newest favorite, information-filled publication for all things sheep is: “Wild And Woolly”. It’s a sheep and goat newsletter, published by Susan Schoenian who happens to be a Sheep and Goat Specialist, with The University of Maryland Extension. I’m not completely sure, but anytime you see the word Extension after a college or university, does it mean it's the rural version? Maybe it's because whenever I see the term Extension after the name of something, it seems to be out in the sticks, somewhere. Not sure about that whole Extension thing.
Anywhose, Wild and Wolly is a publication I receive in my email each quarter which I read cover to cover. It focuses on sheep and goat education, which includes things like deworming, the importance of quality rams, pasture management, and so much more. Sheep and goats are very similar, yet not at all alike. I always learn from this newsletter, and often wished I lived close to West Friendship, Maryland, so that I may go to their Kidding and Lambing School or How to Shear a Sheep weekend conference. It all sounds so fun and friendly. What's fascinating to me are the recipes they include in each issue. African Goat Meat and Jasmine Rice, Lamb Sliders, Red Pepper Goat Cheese and Lamb Tacos, all locally sourced. They are serious about eating their lamb and goats.
One of the recent issues had outlined sheep shearing education opportunities. I had even suggested to David that we could fly to Maryland to take a weekend course on this. It would be a hands on seminar to help people like us figure out how to shear their own sheep. I even bought sheep shearers, from Sears of all places, in preparation. David asked why would we go all the way to Maryland to do that? Long story short, we did not go.
I may have mentioned in a previous blog that I did attempt to shear my own sheep, after consulting a feed store worker and YouTube. And Belle in particular, would be my first attempt. I have three Dorper sheep that are self-shedding sheep. It's great! But something went wrong this spring. As spring turned into summer, the sheep weren't shedding. And now it's 108 degrees and I have sheep walking around with a thick, wool coat on. What the heck. It gets worse. Actual sheep shearers are hard to find! I knew I should have gone to Maryland.
I may or may not have put a collar on Belle, tied her to the fence/gate and turned my Sears brand sheep shears on - to do it myself. No one was hurt. No one got sheared.
Needless to say, the sheep are still walking around with their wool coats on. So after much googling and calling random people, I have found Jerry who is a sheep shearer. I don't know anything about him except that he does not live close, but comes to the area periodically to shear people's sheep around here. And now, after being on his "Wait List" for 2 long hot months, my name has hit the top - and it's MY turn.
Fast forward to Today's The Day. It's my day. My turn for the sheep shearer to come to our barn. Jerry is to arrive at 1pm, and he does not disappoint. As I awaited his arrival, I was texting and catching up with my daughter, Lauren, when all of a sudden I saw Jerry's truck. I texted Lauren: He's here! Gotta Go. I'm nervous. My babies. It was all my feelings wrapped up in 2 word texts. Each arriving separately. And off I go, to head outside to actually experience what sheep shearing is all about. I felt like a helicopter sheep mom.
Down the gravel road, driving slowly, is a red dually truck with many things in the bed of the truck. I go out front to meet Jerry, and he's a tall, thin man who is extremely nice. As I spend the next hour of my time with him, I notice he picks his words carefully, and knows everything there is to know about sheep. As he glances to the pasture, where the sheep are, he can't help but ask if I can get them in a smaller space. Sure, I can! And off I go to bring them into their barn space, better known as the Sheep Pen. I do this by going to get a touch of their grain and pour it into their bowls. They know the sound of this, and come running, through their little sheep-door into their barn area. I quickly go back outside the barn and shut the little door to their sheep entrance into the barn. Their sheep-door is just like a doggie door, except it's sheep size, and allows the sheep into the barn without opening a gate. And the best part is, David made a little door for it (about 2 1/2 ft by 2 ft?), and I'm going to shut it to keep the sheep inside for awhile. While the sheep are nibbling on their treats, Jerry is setting up shop to shear. We are talking, and I'm learning. I had no idea what's going to happen. Do I need to help? Is this where the sheep need to be? Many unknowns are dancing in my head.
Jerry says he will handle things. He really wants me to put the sheep in a smaller space. I do have a smaller pen, but after he sees how tame they are, he changes his mind. He had no idea it was like a petting zoo situation. And that you can go into the sheep pen and pet them. 'Ohhhh, it's like that,' I can hear him thinking. He's busy looking around. Analyzing. Thinking. Getting his things ready. He already said it will take longer to set up, than to actually shear the sheep. Wow, this will be fast. Because now he's ready.
First up, would be Sam The Ram. Why? Because he's the first to walk up to Jerry to be petted. He's a very friendly ram who, for some reason, esp loves males. As Jerry realizes that he won't have to chase any sheep at our place, he has me open the gate, so he can "guide" Sam to his shearing area, inside the barn (where the sheep don't normally have access to because it's where the chickens are, and the sheep will eat all the chicken food). Jerry is a master at controlling the sheep, one by one, by holding one hand under the sheep's chin, and the other hand at the tail. Doing this, he is able to guide them, almost like driving them, in the direction he wants them to go. Once at his make-shift shearing station, he wrestles Sam to the ground very quickly, and once a sheep is off balance sitting on their butts, they are helpless. He has Sam between his legs, balancing on his butt, legs in the air like he just doesn't care, and Sam is still. This is how you control a sheep. Jerry turns his clippers on, and moves Sam side-to-side all while shearing him and taking his wool coat off in one magical piece. He started up the legs, down his sides, down the neck, and finally down the back to finish it off, all while taking the wool off in such a way that I could wrap it around me, or put it down like a rug. And just like that, Sam is naked. Jerry quickly maneuvers Sam to his feet in the blink of an eye, does his usual hand guiding under his chin and by his tail, and boom, back in the Sheep Pen. Whhhhhaaaattttt? I've watched the YouTube video of the 20 Easy Steps to Shear a Sheep. I knew then and there, after watching Jerry do that, that I would never attempt it. Nope. I'll be calling Jerry.
Now, it's Belle's turn. My sweet Belle was going to be wrestled to her bottom, just like Sam was. My heart hurt a little bit. I watched - and video'd this time. I stayed back while Jerry "guided" her to the shearing spot, in 2 seconds she was on her bottom, legs in the air stiff as a board, and in another 1 1/2 minutes, her wool coat was now my wool coat. And she too, was nakey - and stunned. Back to the Sheep Pen she goes. Now, Eve has watch all this action. She knows she's next. And she refuses to be caught. She's frantically running around their Sheep Pen, while Sam and Belle are just standing there, still stunned by what has just happened. Jerry finally gets ahold of Eve and she fights the whole time. She's putting up a fight while being "guided", and then gives Jerry a run for his money to get her on her bottom. It's like watching WWF Wrestling. Except it's in my barn. Who will win? Eve's a big girl. But Jerry's experienced, and after a couple of tries, he has Eve off balance. But wait, she's still fighting it all, legs are kicking in the air, and she loses her mind when Jerry turns the shears on. Finally, she begins to calm just in time that she's now nakey, too. And back to the Sheep Pen she goes. Done. There's wool everywhere, and three sheep who are stunned. Quite frankly, I'm stunned.
It's at this time that Jerry calmly begins packing up his things. He proceeds to tell me in a subtle way, that my sheep are very tame, very spoiled and very well fed. I'm not quite sure how to take this. Then, Jerry begins talking about pasture management, lambing, and why they did not shed themselves.
First, he knows we will have lambs because we have a ram. He encourages me to have more sheep because I have pasture room for them. And explains about movement of sheep in the pasture(s) to assist with the natural living things out there. He explains that lambing will happen, and I will be okay, and the sheep will be okay. Just let them have their babies, and they'll be fine. Encouraging me to not intervene as my book says might happen. No, he says. They'll be fine. Then the finale. Your sheep are not self-shedding because they are no longer wild, although they are woolly. They are completely tame and well taken care of, therefore, their body's natural instinct to shed will probably not occur. And oh, one more thing, he says. He suggest I not give them grain except for 3 times a month. Not 3 times a day. As much as I wanted to discard his information, I know he's right. He knows everything about sheep. Everything. And he gave me more advise and information than I have room to write. But it's in my head.
I appreciated him coming so very much. My sheep are sheared, and they look fabulous!! As he's leaving, I gift him my sheep shears I had bought from Sears. I won't be needing them, I tell him. He's happy to take them off my hands, and very grateful. I paid him his sheep shearing fee. And he heads to his truck. I walk along with him, telling him goodbye, and that I'd see him again next year. He's putting me on his regular schedule. We have mutual gratitude, and have both seen some new things we had not seen before. He saw a helicopter sheep maaaaaama, and I saw an experienced sheep shearer working his craft and making his living.
As he drove away, I thought, I now have someone I can text and ask my sheep questions to. He said I could, knowing full well, that there's no telling what questions are going to come his way.
My text will look something like this: Jerry, Help! Belle is moaning and about to give birth!!!! Now, what do I do!?!
Poor guy.
By the way, he reads Wild and Woolly, too.
Cyndi
Saturday, July 28, 2018
Tuesday, July 24, 2018
Meal time around here
Breakfast and dinner time is a busy time. Interestingly, there's not a "set" time that everyone is always ready to eat. It depends on the weather, the temperature, and how hungry everyone is that day. When it's so very hot, as it has been lately, the Great Pyrenees dogs, donkeys and sheep are not hungry until later in the evening, as the heat begins to let up. Usually, I may know when it's time to feed, because the sheep will start Baaaaaa-ing. When that happens, the donkeys will bray, sometimes both of them in unison. They are alerting us that they are hungry, and are ready for dinner.
Whether I'm inside or outside, I can hear them, and head to the barn. Once I start walking towards the barn, any chicken out free ranging in the yard comes running at full speed, knowing what is to come. Granted, the chickens have food out at all times, they know there will be new scratch and mealworms put out for them. They know this. They run from all directions towards me and then to the barn. I adore how chickens run. It's one of my most favorite things in life to watch. I mean, a full all-out run, making a bee-line to follow me and stay with my quick pace to the barn. They are quite fast! At least for a short distance. They line up behind me, and beside me as if I'm the piped piper of chickens. Since there is no roosters here, they view David and I as their round-up crew. From what I understand roosters have many jobs, and one is to keep the flock all together and not let them get separated while out free ranging. Since we do not have a rooster, during the day there are chickens everywhere. In the front pasture, inner sanctum (fenced front yard), side pasture, in the barn and even down in the back pasture. I've only heard this to be true. Don't quote me on it, but without a rooster, our Ladies are everywhere. There's many openings and spots where they can sneak through fences, to go from one location to the next. And they all know where these openings are, and move from location to location rather quickly.
As I head to the barn, the sheep always ask to be fed first. They cry out Maaaaaaa, I mean, Baaaaaa. They graze freely all day, but the grain we give them seems to be the highlight of their day. We feed them All Stock Creep from the local feed store. It's a feed meant for multi animals like cows, goats, and sheep. What's interesting is the Copper (Cu) level is low in this particular feed. When feeding sheep, cooper is their kryptonite. Sheep are the species most susceptible to copper toxicity because of the narrow range between requirements and toxicity. If the sheep's liver storage capacity is exceeded in regards to copper, death is normally the result. So anytime I'm buying feed for the sheep, the tag on the feed bag which outlines the nutrients and elements must be evaluated closely. I typically stick with the same feed for the sheep. Sheep are ruminants that have "four stomachs" (four chambered stomach). This means they are cud-chewing creatures. Think of it like a food bolus that they regurgitate, rechew and reswallow. They have to, as their stomachs dictate it. And if their tummy gets upset, it's a big deal. Bloat, dun, dun, dun. It's not like when I get bloated and crampy. A sheep who gets their digestive system out of wack, can result in bloating and this can mean death. No amount of acid reducer or pepto bismol can fix it. Take away? Stick to the sure thing with sheep. I try to keep their diet consistent and evade the possibility of stomach problems. So, what is it sheep prefer for treats? Well, I have googled that many times and tried many things, but my sheep don't care for fruits, and other things google says to give them as a treat. My sheep like bread. Straight up bread of many types. Bagels, white bread, rolls, and such. Nothing fancy, nothing on the bread. They like for me to put it in bite size pieces, in their feeding pails. They used to like dog food, but they don't seem to care for it as much, and we have made sure they rarely have any, due to the uncertainty of copper levels in it. The three sheep fight for their position in front of the two feeders. It's fun to watch. Like a sheep rugby match, of sorts. Nothing too crazy, but just how sheep do.
As I give the sheep their grain in their feeders, I do also add some of the chicken's scratch to it, and the sheep really think it must be their birthday. Chicken scratch is normally a seed/grain/corn mixture that not only the chicken's adore, but so do the donkeys and sheep. Not as a meal, but as dessert. I give it sparingly to the sheep, but the donkeys can have pretty much whatever you want to give them. The donkeys are our hearty eaters. They will eat most anything and everything. Anytime we go out to eat at a restaurant, we get a to-go box that will certainly have scraps that go to the dogs - or the donkeys, most likely. The donkeys also graze all day on grass and such, and they have little to no dietary requirements, and have a sweet tooth you won't believe. They love tortilla chips from the mexican food restaurant, peppermints (yes, the small hard ones!), muffins of any type, all bread products, carrots and fruit. Their range of food is wide. Their feeders have many different foods in them, depending on what I have to give them at any given time. They will even eat the chicken food, cat food or dog food. They are good at letting me know what they like - and what they don't like. A favorite item for them is a dog biscuit.
So while the donkey's will get whatever is available, the Great Pyrenees dogs, Levi and Whisper, are more particular. They have dog food typically, but I like to mix up their diet with wet, canned dog food and our food leftovers. They work hard for us, guarding everyone 24/7. Don't get me wrong, so do the donkeys. But Levi and Whisper are diligent and relentless at their jobs. As I always say, they are the reason everyone is alive. The chickens, the barn cats, and the sheep can rest easy because of Levi and Whisper. And I am most grateful for all they do.
Speaking of barn cats, they themselves have several food stations to chose from. Our community of barn cats are all around the property. Therefore, we have automatic cat food feeders in 3 places. First, the barn, of course. Then, in the garage, and lastly in the laundry room. Yes, I just wrote that. The laundry room of my house. So I have a side door into the house, that takes you into a large laundry room. This laundry room has a dutch door, that opens to the house. I keep the dutch door shut to the house, or leave the top portion of it open with a screen (so the cats won't jump over it). The door into the laundry room has always had a doggie in it to allow our city dogs to come into the house. Well, not the house, but at least the laundry room where their beds, food and toys are. As time has moved on, most every barn cat has discovered the magic of the doggie door, and made their way into the laundry room. Therefore, we have placed a cat feeder in there so that when it's really cold, really wet or a cat just wants to be inside, they can come in and take cover. The cats don't mingle much in there, surprisingly. The cats enjoy the outdoors, where they chase mice, rats, birds and even snakes. Our cat community keeps all these pests at bay. Thank goodness! I appreciate all the barn cats, many of which have been "given" to us, donated to us or found their way to our place. They are as follows: July (head barn cat), June Bug (sister), May (other sister), Kitty, Preston, Sweet Pea, Smokey and Blackie. We have some "visiting" cats that come and go. Boots, Kitty-look-alike and another random black cat. Not sure if they really have a home, but they are truly feral and will not approach us. But they will eat our cat food. Along with random raccoons, making their way to the cat feeders to devour as much as possible. And raccoons are big, my friend.
To sum up feeding time, going to the barn in the morning and evening is always the bright spot in my day. It settles my soul, calms my spirit and brings a smile to my face every time. I really just want to live out there. I probably could. But it seems a bit odd to even say that. That's how much I love being out in the barn. I look around, and the chickens are fed, and have their treats of scratch and mealworms. The donkeys have something yummy from a range of food items available. The Great Pyrenees dogs are given food they like to nourish their bodies for their hard work they do. The sheep are greedily inhaling their grain, and the barn cats have their tender vitals at will. (Despite many questions about this topic, the cats do not bother our chickens whatsoever. Amazing to me, too.)
We are fortunate to have this eco system whereby no one eats one another. It's a balance. My favorite time of the day? Feeding time.
Cheers,
Cyndi
Whether I'm inside or outside, I can hear them, and head to the barn. Once I start walking towards the barn, any chicken out free ranging in the yard comes running at full speed, knowing what is to come. Granted, the chickens have food out at all times, they know there will be new scratch and mealworms put out for them. They know this. They run from all directions towards me and then to the barn. I adore how chickens run. It's one of my most favorite things in life to watch. I mean, a full all-out run, making a bee-line to follow me and stay with my quick pace to the barn. They are quite fast! At least for a short distance. They line up behind me, and beside me as if I'm the piped piper of chickens. Since there is no roosters here, they view David and I as their round-up crew. From what I understand roosters have many jobs, and one is to keep the flock all together and not let them get separated while out free ranging. Since we do not have a rooster, during the day there are chickens everywhere. In the front pasture, inner sanctum (fenced front yard), side pasture, in the barn and even down in the back pasture. I've only heard this to be true. Don't quote me on it, but without a rooster, our Ladies are everywhere. There's many openings and spots where they can sneak through fences, to go from one location to the next. And they all know where these openings are, and move from location to location rather quickly.
As I head to the barn, the sheep always ask to be fed first. They cry out Maaaaaaa, I mean, Baaaaaa. They graze freely all day, but the grain we give them seems to be the highlight of their day. We feed them All Stock Creep from the local feed store. It's a feed meant for multi animals like cows, goats, and sheep. What's interesting is the Copper (Cu) level is low in this particular feed. When feeding sheep, cooper is their kryptonite. Sheep are the species most susceptible to copper toxicity because of the narrow range between requirements and toxicity. If the sheep's liver storage capacity is exceeded in regards to copper, death is normally the result. So anytime I'm buying feed for the sheep, the tag on the feed bag which outlines the nutrients and elements must be evaluated closely. I typically stick with the same feed for the sheep. Sheep are ruminants that have "four stomachs" (four chambered stomach). This means they are cud-chewing creatures. Think of it like a food bolus that they regurgitate, rechew and reswallow. They have to, as their stomachs dictate it. And if their tummy gets upset, it's a big deal. Bloat, dun, dun, dun. It's not like when I get bloated and crampy. A sheep who gets their digestive system out of wack, can result in bloating and this can mean death. No amount of acid reducer or pepto bismol can fix it. Take away? Stick to the sure thing with sheep. I try to keep their diet consistent and evade the possibility of stomach problems. So, what is it sheep prefer for treats? Well, I have googled that many times and tried many things, but my sheep don't care for fruits, and other things google says to give them as a treat. My sheep like bread. Straight up bread of many types. Bagels, white bread, rolls, and such. Nothing fancy, nothing on the bread. They like for me to put it in bite size pieces, in their feeding pails. They used to like dog food, but they don't seem to care for it as much, and we have made sure they rarely have any, due to the uncertainty of copper levels in it. The three sheep fight for their position in front of the two feeders. It's fun to watch. Like a sheep rugby match, of sorts. Nothing too crazy, but just how sheep do.
As I give the sheep their grain in their feeders, I do also add some of the chicken's scratch to it, and the sheep really think it must be their birthday. Chicken scratch is normally a seed/grain/corn mixture that not only the chicken's adore, but so do the donkeys and sheep. Not as a meal, but as dessert. I give it sparingly to the sheep, but the donkeys can have pretty much whatever you want to give them. The donkeys are our hearty eaters. They will eat most anything and everything. Anytime we go out to eat at a restaurant, we get a to-go box that will certainly have scraps that go to the dogs - or the donkeys, most likely. The donkeys also graze all day on grass and such, and they have little to no dietary requirements, and have a sweet tooth you won't believe. They love tortilla chips from the mexican food restaurant, peppermints (yes, the small hard ones!), muffins of any type, all bread products, carrots and fruit. Their range of food is wide. Their feeders have many different foods in them, depending on what I have to give them at any given time. They will even eat the chicken food, cat food or dog food. They are good at letting me know what they like - and what they don't like. A favorite item for them is a dog biscuit.
So while the donkey's will get whatever is available, the Great Pyrenees dogs, Levi and Whisper, are more particular. They have dog food typically, but I like to mix up their diet with wet, canned dog food and our food leftovers. They work hard for us, guarding everyone 24/7. Don't get me wrong, so do the donkeys. But Levi and Whisper are diligent and relentless at their jobs. As I always say, they are the reason everyone is alive. The chickens, the barn cats, and the sheep can rest easy because of Levi and Whisper. And I am most grateful for all they do.
Speaking of barn cats, they themselves have several food stations to chose from. Our community of barn cats are all around the property. Therefore, we have automatic cat food feeders in 3 places. First, the barn, of course. Then, in the garage, and lastly in the laundry room. Yes, I just wrote that. The laundry room of my house. So I have a side door into the house, that takes you into a large laundry room. This laundry room has a dutch door, that opens to the house. I keep the dutch door shut to the house, or leave the top portion of it open with a screen (so the cats won't jump over it). The door into the laundry room has always had a doggie in it to allow our city dogs to come into the house. Well, not the house, but at least the laundry room where their beds, food and toys are. As time has moved on, most every barn cat has discovered the magic of the doggie door, and made their way into the laundry room. Therefore, we have placed a cat feeder in there so that when it's really cold, really wet or a cat just wants to be inside, they can come in and take cover. The cats don't mingle much in there, surprisingly. The cats enjoy the outdoors, where they chase mice, rats, birds and even snakes. Our cat community keeps all these pests at bay. Thank goodness! I appreciate all the barn cats, many of which have been "given" to us, donated to us or found their way to our place. They are as follows: July (head barn cat), June Bug (sister), May (other sister), Kitty, Preston, Sweet Pea, Smokey and Blackie. We have some "visiting" cats that come and go. Boots, Kitty-look-alike and another random black cat. Not sure if they really have a home, but they are truly feral and will not approach us. But they will eat our cat food. Along with random raccoons, making their way to the cat feeders to devour as much as possible. And raccoons are big, my friend.
To sum up feeding time, going to the barn in the morning and evening is always the bright spot in my day. It settles my soul, calms my spirit and brings a smile to my face every time. I really just want to live out there. I probably could. But it seems a bit odd to even say that. That's how much I love being out in the barn. I look around, and the chickens are fed, and have their treats of scratch and mealworms. The donkeys have something yummy from a range of food items available. The Great Pyrenees dogs are given food they like to nourish their bodies for their hard work they do. The sheep are greedily inhaling their grain, and the barn cats have their tender vitals at will. (Despite many questions about this topic, the cats do not bother our chickens whatsoever. Amazing to me, too.)
We are fortunate to have this eco system whereby no one eats one another. It's a balance. My favorite time of the day? Feeding time.
Cheers,
Cyndi
Thursday, July 19, 2018
Forbading Joy
I enjoy biking (bicycle, rather than motorcycle) to work. I really do. Yes, it requires me to get up early to get on the road. I’ve gotten my things ready ahead of time, like a change of clothes, cleanup supplies, makeup, lunch for the day, and other miscellaneous things necessary to move through my day. I arrive sweaty at my workplace, and like all Disney princesses eventually do, I change into a normal person once I arrive, so as to blend in with all the others.
Today in particular, as I was riding to work, my mind slowed down. I smelled the delicious scent of the corn fields. Once the corn stalks have grown, and the sun dries them to a complete light brown color, the smell is simply delicious. It’s a smell that’s a cross of sugar cookie, a fresh baked pie and bread just out of the oven. I can never put my finger on it, because it’s not just one scent. But as I ride by these vast fields of dried corn stalks, it smells like that of a grandmother’s kitchen. Sweet, comforting aromas that make me smile. I smile even without realizing I’m smiling. I just am. I know how fortunate I am. To begin my day in this manner is beyond words. Simply simple. Nothing fancy, just watching the world go by as I make my way to the organized chaos of what we all call work. I don’t think about work, typically, while on my bike. That’s my time. My time to relax, drift into lands of a blank mind. I’ve traveled these roads on many occasions, but yet every time, it’s brand new. I see new things. Today, a truck pulls out from their gravel road driveway onto the street in front of me. A dog - their dog - is desperately trying to run beside the truck, as if saying, You forgot me! As this truck pulls onto the road, I watch the dog try to keep up with the truck that is pulling away slowly, as if it’s unsure to actually leave, or turn back around. The dog runs after the truck until the truck is no longer in its site. The dogs Owner is now gone. Off to work, most likely. And the dog has given up the fight to keep up. It can’t, and it knows that. Slowly, the dog turns around to head back down the road, and back to its home. To wait. To wait for it’s Owner to come back. As I then bike by the dog, it looks at me. The dog does not bark or chase me, but if it could talk, it might have said, "Why? Why do My People leave me?" Even the look on the dog's face speaks volumes. The dog makes it way back toward the gravel road, toward the house, where it will wait for their return.
It's at that moment I think about my own animals. What are they thinking as they see us come and go? If I could just shut the front gate, down our gravel road, and put a CLOSED sign up, I would. And then I would stay here on the Farm all the time. I'd leave for things I need, then hurry back home. I know in my own mind this would never work. I need space to roam, and enjoy doing things. So I re-analyze my intentions and realize it's more about scarcity, than it is anything else. Being out in the world with people brings about the need to be vulnerable. I've improved in one particular area of my life - that of being me, more like me, and true to me. But the vulnerable part? It's hard. I’m “okay” at it at home, but out in the world, I'm not that great at allowing others to see me, should I chose that. Maybe it's because I don't want others to know me or see me. I'd like to be invisible as I come and go to work. The words "belonging" and "vulnerability" are things I'm working on. I know this because as I bike to work, I'm thinking how if the people at my new work saw me at home, they may realize there's so much more to me, and could see through my quiet nature while at work. I don't know these people. They don't know me, and they don't understand the things I do. There's lots of questions about riding my bike to work, drinking unsweet tea, and eating banana and peanut butter. Things like, "Is that your lunch". I'm a mystery, but aren't we all?
As I begin to come out of my Cyndi-shell, I'm required to be vulnerable to those around me. Answer questions, and show who I am. If I chose not to, I'm allowing scarcity to thrive. I forbade joy and happiness when I don't allow myself to be vulnerable. Forbidding joy is something many of us are experts at. For example, I think how great the chickens, sheep and barn cats are doing. They are thriving, in a rhythm that brings them continuity and comfort. I love seeing this, and it warms my heart. We work so hard at creating a safe, nurturing environment. But then, what if something happens? What if another predator gets one of them? What if they get sick again? I'm doing it again. I'm putting my protective armor on. I'm forbidding the joy of it all, in an effort to protect myself from any "possible" pain that could arise. Can I not enjoy the moment without thoughts of doom? Because after the thoughts of doom, come the thoughts of combating it. Well, if something bad does happen, then........insert here....problem solving for a problem not yet occurred. Forbading joy once again.
The book I’m reading (for the fourth time), Daring Greatly, by Brene Brown, shows through research we start developing this forbading joy thing and armour-suit-wearing at an early age. Middle school to be exact. Then we live our lives saying, “This life I live is great! Uh oh, that must mean something bad is about to happen.” We steal our own happiness from ourselves, thinking we are protecting ourselves and preparing for the worst. Guilty.
As I ride on my bike, twisting and turning down numbered roads where few people actually live, I pass fields corn, cows and occasional houses. I smell the smells of life. I’ve been working for awhile about not thinking the worst. My faith trumps those thoughts, most of the time. Yet when I’m tired or feel out of control of a given situation, I find myself armour-ing up, in preparation for something bad that’s not likely to happen. I love it that this book can bring this to my mind in a way I can translate it in my life, and find solutions. Instead of thinking these thoughts of what bad things might could happen, I do this upon her recommendation: I say quietly Pain, Pain, Pain. Because that’s really what I’m feeling. The pain of the What Ifs. So instead of making silly game plans in my head of what I’m going to do “when” my chicken flock falls victim to illness, I’m going to push it away with my acknowledgment of how much it hurts, and steer towards joy instead.
Starting my day off with joy, out on the road, is my favorite-est way to begin another beautiful, potential-filled extravaganza. Minus pain, plus joy equals where I try to be. I try to keep scarcity in my rear-view mirror, and wholehearted living in plain view.
Pretend windshield wipers are needed from time to time, to clear the way,
Cyndi
It's at that moment I think about my own animals. What are they thinking as they see us come and go? If I could just shut the front gate, down our gravel road, and put a CLOSED sign up, I would. And then I would stay here on the Farm all the time. I'd leave for things I need, then hurry back home. I know in my own mind this would never work. I need space to roam, and enjoy doing things. So I re-analyze my intentions and realize it's more about scarcity, than it is anything else. Being out in the world with people brings about the need to be vulnerable. I've improved in one particular area of my life - that of being me, more like me, and true to me. But the vulnerable part? It's hard. I’m “okay” at it at home, but out in the world, I'm not that great at allowing others to see me, should I chose that. Maybe it's because I don't want others to know me or see me. I'd like to be invisible as I come and go to work. The words "belonging" and "vulnerability" are things I'm working on. I know this because as I bike to work, I'm thinking how if the people at my new work saw me at home, they may realize there's so much more to me, and could see through my quiet nature while at work. I don't know these people. They don't know me, and they don't understand the things I do. There's lots of questions about riding my bike to work, drinking unsweet tea, and eating banana and peanut butter. Things like, "Is that your lunch". I'm a mystery, but aren't we all?
As I begin to come out of my Cyndi-shell, I'm required to be vulnerable to those around me. Answer questions, and show who I am. If I chose not to, I'm allowing scarcity to thrive. I forbade joy and happiness when I don't allow myself to be vulnerable. Forbidding joy is something many of us are experts at. For example, I think how great the chickens, sheep and barn cats are doing. They are thriving, in a rhythm that brings them continuity and comfort. I love seeing this, and it warms my heart. We work so hard at creating a safe, nurturing environment. But then, what if something happens? What if another predator gets one of them? What if they get sick again? I'm doing it again. I'm putting my protective armor on. I'm forbidding the joy of it all, in an effort to protect myself from any "possible" pain that could arise. Can I not enjoy the moment without thoughts of doom? Because after the thoughts of doom, come the thoughts of combating it. Well, if something bad does happen, then........insert here....problem solving for a problem not yet occurred. Forbading joy once again.
The book I’m reading (for the fourth time), Daring Greatly, by Brene Brown, shows through research we start developing this forbading joy thing and armour-suit-wearing at an early age. Middle school to be exact. Then we live our lives saying, “This life I live is great! Uh oh, that must mean something bad is about to happen.” We steal our own happiness from ourselves, thinking we are protecting ourselves and preparing for the worst. Guilty.
As I ride on my bike, twisting and turning down numbered roads where few people actually live, I pass fields corn, cows and occasional houses. I smell the smells of life. I’ve been working for awhile about not thinking the worst. My faith trumps those thoughts, most of the time. Yet when I’m tired or feel out of control of a given situation, I find myself armour-ing up, in preparation for something bad that’s not likely to happen. I love it that this book can bring this to my mind in a way I can translate it in my life, and find solutions. Instead of thinking these thoughts of what bad things might could happen, I do this upon her recommendation: I say quietly Pain, Pain, Pain. Because that’s really what I’m feeling. The pain of the What Ifs. So instead of making silly game plans in my head of what I’m going to do “when” my chicken flock falls victim to illness, I’m going to push it away with my acknowledgment of how much it hurts, and steer towards joy instead.
Starting my day off with joy, out on the road, is my favorite-est way to begin another beautiful, potential-filled extravaganza. Minus pain, plus joy equals where I try to be. I try to keep scarcity in my rear-view mirror, and wholehearted living in plain view.
Pretend windshield wipers are needed from time to time, to clear the way,
Cyndi
Monday, July 9, 2018
Laying track
As I fall into the hum of the fan in my room, with a small single-serving size vanilla Blue Bell ice cream cup in my lap, loaded with rainbow sprinkles, I melt into the bed. I've poured so many rainbow sprinkles on the little ice cream cup that I can barely put the spoon in it to get a bite without it spilling over the top with sprinkles. But I'm gentle, making sure not to spill one sprinkle out. I'm laying heavy on the bed, leaning into it as if to give my body over to it. All the while, I notice the train horn blowing loudly, alerting everyone the train is coming. I love that train. All the trains. The horn that blows tells me life is moving out there. Beyond my bed, my house, there's trains everywhere carrying important things to people. And I love to listen to the rumble, the train horn blowing, and it takes me to a different land.
I've been laying tracks in my own life. I'm laying a foundation of what's to come. I've spent far too many years letting the train decide where I'm going. I was riding the train, allowing it to take me here and there. That train of life took me to great places, to meet wonderful people and provided me a life full of love and ease. It seems like ease now, as I rode that train of life, allowing it to make my decisions and steer the way. It was fairly easy, doing what other people preferred me to do. Being what I felt like I was supposed to be, and being what others wanted me to be. It wasn't bad, don't get me wrong. Over time on this train ride, I realized I wanted off. I wanted to depart and be the train. To lay tracks and go where it is I want to go.
We all spend our lives beating ourselves up for not being this way or that way. For not having this or having that. For not living up to standards that we think fits everyone across the board. It took awhile, but my inner voice was telling me to lay my own tracks, which will set my path in a direction I desire to go. I may not always go where everyone else is going, or do what everyone else is doing. Doing something different does take courage, and being different appears wrong to many people. I always love hearing people tell stories about themselves that show their authenticity, their uniqueness, and what makes them happy. I'm like a sponge soaking up as many whole-hearted people as I can find.
It's each of those stories that fuels the track I'm laying. When you lose yourself to a life you do not recognize, it's easy to stay on the train and ride it out. Losing yourself does not happen all at once. For me, it happened one complacent inability to say No, at a time. Call it low self-esteem, low confidence, or just plain easy. I woke up one day awhile back and found myself. I found my voice. No one was hurting me, or forcing me to do anything - work or personal. I was just riding the easy train of what I thought I was supposed to do and what others expected me to do. This easy train of life worked out well for a long time.
Time, wisdom, age and longing took me to a new train station. A place where I picked up all the pieces of me, and started working on putting me back together in a way that served who I am, who I want to be and where I want to go in life. I've loved the ride so far. It's been a great ride. Now, the tracks I lay will take me to new places. Sounds a little selfish, doesn't it? Dreams are lovely, but they are just that. Dreams. I'm going to Do. I'm going to forge ahead with my God-given remaining time and put myself out there. I'm going to represent me and what it is I want. I want to be the sun, the light in my life that takes me where I want to go. I'm not leaving anybody behind, merely listening to my inner voice, and going in it's direction.
As I narrate my own life story, it feels good to not explain or apologize for who I am. There's no fairy tale. There is no Why. It's about singing my song, dancing my dance and being the sun. When I love life so hard, it's so easy to love the life all around me. Happiness for me comes from being who I am.
So how did I get to this point in life? Well, I think the answer is I got tired of my own bulls$!t. Really, I was always making up things in my head about this and about that. I got to where I called bullshit on myself. Your full of bull, Cyndi.
It was time to change those records in my head. Matter of fact, I needed a whole new jukebox of records. I love my new records, and yes, every now and then I put a old album on in my head. But it doesn't sound that good anymore. It's worn and scratched. Some are reminiscent and remind me of good times, or I like a particular melody. Mostly, I like my new records that play loud and clear.
As I lay tracks for where I'm going, it's hard to say exactly where that is. You know me, that does not matter. My free spirit can take me most anywhere. As much as I enjoy roaming on my bike or on foot, home is where my heart and soul reside. It's a place where I want the things around me to make me smile. It's a place I desire to be uncluttered, to have what I need, and to also have things around me that make me happy. All these puzzle pieces fit together to bring happiness to my soul. I recently read the book, How Is Your Soul? It was a gentle reminder of how we never ask that question to each other, but we probably should. I take inventory of my soul now and then, which is what propels me to keep laying tracks. Tracks that will take me to where I desire to go, be who I want to be, and focus on being who God has blessed me to be.
I feel like the scope of my life has broadened - yet became narrower at the same time. Is that possible? I can see all around me, what others are doing, but I'm happy in my bubble, bouncing around it all. I fine with others not understanding something I do, or why I might do something. With time, they will feel their own version of what I feel in life. With time. There is no hurry, as everybody picks the train they want to ride. It's taken years to understand why my mom wanted to move away to live and do what she wanted to do. To quit living her life for others, and live her life. It's taken years for me to understand that what other people try to think I want, just because they wanted it, doesn't mean I have to like it or want it too. It's taken time to realize there's only so many Golden Years, and I better get cracking early so I can kick back and enjoy as much of it as I can. I've learned that I can live my life and own up to the fact that's okay. The Power of kNOw is a wonderful thing. I enjoy saying Yes in my life, don't get me wrong. I'm not completely full of No's. Sometimes I say No to saying Yes. Mostly, I listen to my inner self and ask, "What is it you'd like?" Wisdom comes late in life, but thank goodness it gets there. Better late than not at all. I'll take it.
In this season of my life, laying tracks feels good.
Cyndi
I've been laying tracks in my own life. I'm laying a foundation of what's to come. I've spent far too many years letting the train decide where I'm going. I was riding the train, allowing it to take me here and there. That train of life took me to great places, to meet wonderful people and provided me a life full of love and ease. It seems like ease now, as I rode that train of life, allowing it to make my decisions and steer the way. It was fairly easy, doing what other people preferred me to do. Being what I felt like I was supposed to be, and being what others wanted me to be. It wasn't bad, don't get me wrong. Over time on this train ride, I realized I wanted off. I wanted to depart and be the train. To lay tracks and go where it is I want to go.
We all spend our lives beating ourselves up for not being this way or that way. For not having this or having that. For not living up to standards that we think fits everyone across the board. It took awhile, but my inner voice was telling me to lay my own tracks, which will set my path in a direction I desire to go. I may not always go where everyone else is going, or do what everyone else is doing. Doing something different does take courage, and being different appears wrong to many people. I always love hearing people tell stories about themselves that show their authenticity, their uniqueness, and what makes them happy. I'm like a sponge soaking up as many whole-hearted people as I can find.
It's each of those stories that fuels the track I'm laying. When you lose yourself to a life you do not recognize, it's easy to stay on the train and ride it out. Losing yourself does not happen all at once. For me, it happened one complacent inability to say No, at a time. Call it low self-esteem, low confidence, or just plain easy. I woke up one day awhile back and found myself. I found my voice. No one was hurting me, or forcing me to do anything - work or personal. I was just riding the easy train of what I thought I was supposed to do and what others expected me to do. This easy train of life worked out well for a long time.
Time, wisdom, age and longing took me to a new train station. A place where I picked up all the pieces of me, and started working on putting me back together in a way that served who I am, who I want to be and where I want to go in life. I've loved the ride so far. It's been a great ride. Now, the tracks I lay will take me to new places. Sounds a little selfish, doesn't it? Dreams are lovely, but they are just that. Dreams. I'm going to Do. I'm going to forge ahead with my God-given remaining time and put myself out there. I'm going to represent me and what it is I want. I want to be the sun, the light in my life that takes me where I want to go. I'm not leaving anybody behind, merely listening to my inner voice, and going in it's direction.
As I narrate my own life story, it feels good to not explain or apologize for who I am. There's no fairy tale. There is no Why. It's about singing my song, dancing my dance and being the sun. When I love life so hard, it's so easy to love the life all around me. Happiness for me comes from being who I am.
So how did I get to this point in life? Well, I think the answer is I got tired of my own bulls$!t. Really, I was always making up things in my head about this and about that. I got to where I called bullshit on myself. Your full of bull, Cyndi.
It was time to change those records in my head. Matter of fact, I needed a whole new jukebox of records. I love my new records, and yes, every now and then I put a old album on in my head. But it doesn't sound that good anymore. It's worn and scratched. Some are reminiscent and remind me of good times, or I like a particular melody. Mostly, I like my new records that play loud and clear.
As I lay tracks for where I'm going, it's hard to say exactly where that is. You know me, that does not matter. My free spirit can take me most anywhere. As much as I enjoy roaming on my bike or on foot, home is where my heart and soul reside. It's a place where I want the things around me to make me smile. It's a place I desire to be uncluttered, to have what I need, and to also have things around me that make me happy. All these puzzle pieces fit together to bring happiness to my soul. I recently read the book, How Is Your Soul? It was a gentle reminder of how we never ask that question to each other, but we probably should. I take inventory of my soul now and then, which is what propels me to keep laying tracks. Tracks that will take me to where I desire to go, be who I want to be, and focus on being who God has blessed me to be.
I feel like the scope of my life has broadened - yet became narrower at the same time. Is that possible? I can see all around me, what others are doing, but I'm happy in my bubble, bouncing around it all. I fine with others not understanding something I do, or why I might do something. With time, they will feel their own version of what I feel in life. With time. There is no hurry, as everybody picks the train they want to ride. It's taken years to understand why my mom wanted to move away to live and do what she wanted to do. To quit living her life for others, and live her life. It's taken years for me to understand that what other people try to think I want, just because they wanted it, doesn't mean I have to like it or want it too. It's taken time to realize there's only so many Golden Years, and I better get cracking early so I can kick back and enjoy as much of it as I can. I've learned that I can live my life and own up to the fact that's okay. The Power of kNOw is a wonderful thing. I enjoy saying Yes in my life, don't get me wrong. I'm not completely full of No's. Sometimes I say No to saying Yes. Mostly, I listen to my inner self and ask, "What is it you'd like?" Wisdom comes late in life, but thank goodness it gets there. Better late than not at all. I'll take it.
In this season of my life, laying tracks feels good.
Cyndi
Tuesday, July 3, 2018
Bellwether
Sam The Ram was a purchase I'll never forget. I had just finished running the Cowtown 50K race in Fort Worth, back on a bee-ewe-tiful day in February 2018. Not long ago, actually. It was literally the day after we flew back from Honduras from a riveting and exhausting mission trip. David dropped me off at the race, and drove on past Fort Worth to Mineral Wells to make our first boy lamb purchase. We had pre-arranged it all. Our ram was ready for pickup. He was a bottle baby, 3 months old at the time, and ready for his new home at the Graves Farm. David and I had decided....well David decided.....he would like some baby lambs. But for that, we would need a ram. Our go-to lamb purchases have been mostly from a sheep farm just west of Fort Worth. It is a couple who raise and sell Dorper sheep. They are a lot like you and me, except they quit their jobs (retired?) and raise sheep now. It's a very physical job, from observing their work. I prefer the keeping of (tame) sheep who are my pets. But the idea of having our sheep have lambs was enticing. So a ram we would get.
As I passed each mile at my race that day, I knew David would come back to pick me up with a baby lamb ram in the back of our SUV in a crate we configured to hold him. Sam was $100.00. He was pre-picked out for us. Stephanie and Gary are the sheep raisers in Mineral Wells that we have come to know and love. We buy their sheep that would ordinarily go to "the mill" or "the house" or better yet, straight to the freezer in sausage form. We don't buy their lambs for looks or any of the right reasons you buy a lamb. We got Sam for a deal. I still don't really know what's wrong with him, but Stephanie and Gary probably do.
When David picked him up that day, our baby ram was calm, sweet and Baaaa-ing as if he was lost, confused or both. He still had a hankering for a bottle, but had been weaned from it for about a week, according to Stephanie, The Shepherdess. David paid them, put him in the back of the car, and made his way back to Fort Worth that day, to meet me at a designated Whataburger I would walk to after I was done running the race. We would meet there, and sync back up for the drive back to Gunter - and finally be back home after 10 days in Honduras, running a race, and a lamb purchase. All before we made it back home.
It was on our drive back home that fateful last day of February that we named him. Sam. Sam The Ram. There was no going back. It was likely we would have lambs - one day. Sam would need to get older, bigger and more mature to handle being a lamb dad.
Fast forward 4 months, and Sam is a hefty guy. He has horns that curl on this thick head. He's strong, so strong that he will put the hurt on you if your not paying attention. You must put your hand out to hold him back from butting you, but I usually only have to do it once or twice. He leaves me alone most of the time and just wants me to pet him. He wags his tail just as a dog does, when he's petted. He's extremely tame and loving. Yet, his protective instincts to protect his ewes can't be helped. You have to watch him when your in the pasture. He's large, yet quick. He's gentle, yet rough. I always keep my eye on him. He's curious, and wants to taste everything. The fresh cut grass on the mower, or anything I have in my hands, as he plays with anything and everything. He's a boy through and through. He wants to head butt the box in my hand, or knock anything I put down on the ground around. Nothing is safe from his curiosity and boyish ways.
Thus far, we noticed the ewes have not gone into heat. I understand it may be more around Sept when this may happen. He'll be a good age to handle that situation by then, I imagine. Time will tell.
My thoughts on his future have been myriad. We had planned on only one set of lambs, therefore his destiny is uncertain. There's only so many choices. 1) Leave him as is and keep him - with his protective ways of the ewes (and new lambs-to-be), 2) Sell him, 3) Give him to the Feed Store, as they raise dorper sheep there, too, 4) make sausage, or 5) my favorite, have him become a bellwether. I just like that word Bellwether. It's defined as a ram who has been castrated that becomes the leader of the ewes. And wears a bell around his neck so that the shepherd can find the flock at any given time. Because the flock of ewes would be with the Bellwether.
So here's my question. If I pick option number 5, I'll get him "fixed" and keep him, but will he still have all the ram tendencies? Or does that leave him when his man-parts leave him? This is a question I'm uncertain of the answer. I really won't know until we do it. (Well, I'm not going to do it, the vet will.) I really like the idea of having a wether. I doubt I'll put a bell around his neck, as I can obviously see the sheep in the pasture. But the idea of him being the informal leader of the ewes is what I like. I've always been fond of the non-aggresive leader. Strong, yet subtle. It would be a new Sam The Ram. And I can see what having a wether is all about.
As I think of his future, I can't help but think of my sweet ewes who may be lambing in the upcoming months. I reviewed my Raising Sheep book and can't help but be overwhelmed at the list of things I'm going to need to be ready for lamb birthing. The chapter on lambing is long. It has sentences like wash your hands and arms in preparation of assisting your ewe in child birth. Likely because your arm will be in a place you've never imagined it to be. What to do if the hind legs come out first, if twins come out together, or all four legs are presenting at once. It sounds very complicated. The "when to call the vet" part is a little scary.
I can't focus on that just yet, as I don't even have a pregnant ewe at this point. I think I'm more preparing myself for transforming Sam The Ram into Sam The Wether. No bell.
As I passed each mile at my race that day, I knew David would come back to pick me up with a baby lamb ram in the back of our SUV in a crate we configured to hold him. Sam was $100.00. He was pre-picked out for us. Stephanie and Gary are the sheep raisers in Mineral Wells that we have come to know and love. We buy their sheep that would ordinarily go to "the mill" or "the house" or better yet, straight to the freezer in sausage form. We don't buy their lambs for looks or any of the right reasons you buy a lamb. We got Sam for a deal. I still don't really know what's wrong with him, but Stephanie and Gary probably do.
When David picked him up that day, our baby ram was calm, sweet and Baaaa-ing as if he was lost, confused or both. He still had a hankering for a bottle, but had been weaned from it for about a week, according to Stephanie, The Shepherdess. David paid them, put him in the back of the car, and made his way back to Fort Worth that day, to meet me at a designated Whataburger I would walk to after I was done running the race. We would meet there, and sync back up for the drive back to Gunter - and finally be back home after 10 days in Honduras, running a race, and a lamb purchase. All before we made it back home.
It was on our drive back home that fateful last day of February that we named him. Sam. Sam The Ram. There was no going back. It was likely we would have lambs - one day. Sam would need to get older, bigger and more mature to handle being a lamb dad.
Fast forward 4 months, and Sam is a hefty guy. He has horns that curl on this thick head. He's strong, so strong that he will put the hurt on you if your not paying attention. You must put your hand out to hold him back from butting you, but I usually only have to do it once or twice. He leaves me alone most of the time and just wants me to pet him. He wags his tail just as a dog does, when he's petted. He's extremely tame and loving. Yet, his protective instincts to protect his ewes can't be helped. You have to watch him when your in the pasture. He's large, yet quick. He's gentle, yet rough. I always keep my eye on him. He's curious, and wants to taste everything. The fresh cut grass on the mower, or anything I have in my hands, as he plays with anything and everything. He's a boy through and through. He wants to head butt the box in my hand, or knock anything I put down on the ground around. Nothing is safe from his curiosity and boyish ways.
Thus far, we noticed the ewes have not gone into heat. I understand it may be more around Sept when this may happen. He'll be a good age to handle that situation by then, I imagine. Time will tell.
My thoughts on his future have been myriad. We had planned on only one set of lambs, therefore his destiny is uncertain. There's only so many choices. 1) Leave him as is and keep him - with his protective ways of the ewes (and new lambs-to-be), 2) Sell him, 3) Give him to the Feed Store, as they raise dorper sheep there, too, 4) make sausage, or 5) my favorite, have him become a bellwether. I just like that word Bellwether. It's defined as a ram who has been castrated that becomes the leader of the ewes. And wears a bell around his neck so that the shepherd can find the flock at any given time. Because the flock of ewes would be with the Bellwether.
So here's my question. If I pick option number 5, I'll get him "fixed" and keep him, but will he still have all the ram tendencies? Or does that leave him when his man-parts leave him? This is a question I'm uncertain of the answer. I really won't know until we do it. (Well, I'm not going to do it, the vet will.) I really like the idea of having a wether. I doubt I'll put a bell around his neck, as I can obviously see the sheep in the pasture. But the idea of him being the informal leader of the ewes is what I like. I've always been fond of the non-aggresive leader. Strong, yet subtle. It would be a new Sam The Ram. And I can see what having a wether is all about.
As I think of his future, I can't help but think of my sweet ewes who may be lambing in the upcoming months. I reviewed my Raising Sheep book and can't help but be overwhelmed at the list of things I'm going to need to be ready for lamb birthing. The chapter on lambing is long. It has sentences like wash your hands and arms in preparation of assisting your ewe in child birth. Likely because your arm will be in a place you've never imagined it to be. What to do if the hind legs come out first, if twins come out together, or all four legs are presenting at once. It sounds very complicated. The "when to call the vet" part is a little scary.
I can't focus on that just yet, as I don't even have a pregnant ewe at this point. I think I'm more preparing myself for transforming Sam The Ram into Sam The Wether. No bell.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)