No, not me. But to start from the beginning, last Saturday morning my sheep were sheared and then let out onto my large front lawn to graze that down before the ankle-deep grass rose much higher. The sheep aren’t always keen on being sheared but it’s a lot better than being encased in solid wool over summer and suffering from heat prostration, so like it or not, one by one they lined up and Shayne fleeced them. Elly Mae had the most trouble with it, not the actual shearing but the outcome. Her offspring, a large sturdy ram lamb, was confused when she was returned to him. He’d started the day with a large, comfortable, round, warm woolly mum, and what had been returned to him was angular, smaller, almost nude, and…he backed away and bawled. This wasn’t his mum, it was some stranger making unwelcome advances.
“Mum? Mum? Where are you?” The stranger assured him that she was his mum. Oh yeah? Instant disbelief! He didn’t know what was behind these claims, but that angular harridan screaming at him wasn’t his mum, definitely not. Elly Mae insisted she was, her lamb was convinced she wasn’t. She shrieked angrily, He should come to her at once – he backed away. Her intentions could be sinister, heaven knew that she looked the part. He tucked himself into the middle of the other sheep and ducked down. If she couldn’t see him maybe she’d forget he was there. She didn’t. The shrieking continued all afternoon and into the evening while she tried to persuade him that she was indeed his mum and not some would-be lamb molester. By now he was also thirsty,( he’s still drinking from Elly as dessert to a good grass dinner). And I decided that listening to a sheep screaming outside my window for the past eight hours was quite enough. I went out and ran everyone into the very small back paddock for the night. The yelling would not only be muffled, but over time in close proximity that fool lamb might get the message – that Elly was telling the truth. He did. I let them out at 7am and they’re happily back together again – thanks be. The pleasant thought about that is, that next time Elly is sheared, junior will have been long since weaned and I won’t have that carry-on again. Although on past experience, another of the flock will find something else to do that keeps me occupied. That’s farm life- and sheep.
Weeping on the Lawn
28 November 2012
No, not me. But to start from the beginning, last Saturday morning my sheep were sheared and then let out onto my large front lawn to graze that down before the ankle-deep grass rose much higher. The sheep aren’t always keen on being sheared but it’s a lot better than being encased in solid wool over summer and suffering from heat prostration, so like it or not, one by one they lined up and Shayne fleeced them. Elly Mae had the most trouble with it, not the actual shearing but the outcome. Her offspring, a large sturdy ram lamb, was confused when she was returned to him. He’d started the day with a large, comfortable, round, warm woolly mum, and what had been returned to him was angular, smaller, almost nude, and…he backed away and bawled. This wasn’t his mum, it was some stranger making unwelcome advances.
“Mum? Mum? Where are you?” The stranger assured him that she was his mum. Oh yeah? Instant disbelief! He didn’t know what was behind these claims, but that angular harridan screaming at him wasn’t his mum, definitely not. Elly Mae insisted she was, her lamb was convinced she wasn’t. She shrieked angrily, He should come to her at once – he backed away. Her intentions could be sinister, heaven knew that she looked the part. He tucked himself into the middle of the other sheep and ducked down. If she couldn’t see him maybe she’d forget he was there. She didn’t. The shrieking continued all afternoon and into the evening while she tried to persuade him that she was indeed his mum and not some would-be lamb molester. By now he was also thirsty,( he’s still drinking from Elly as dessert to a good grass dinner). And I decided that listening to a sheep screaming outside my window for the past eight hours was quite enough. I went out and ran everyone into the very small back paddock for the night. The yelling would not only be muffled, but over time in close proximity that fool lamb might get the message – that Elly was telling the truth. He did. I let them out at 7am and they’re happily back together again – thanks be. The pleasant thought about that is, that next time Elly is sheared, junior will have been long since weaned and I won’t have that carry-on again. Although on past experience, another of the flock will find something else to do that keeps me occupied. That’s farm life- and sheep.