Today marks the start of the Iditarod sled dog race in Alaska. Watcher, Mira and I watched the ceremonial start this morning on my laptop. There’s a fiber arts challenge that goes on concurrently with the race called the Iknitarod that also started today. I’m crocheting a pullover tabard-style vest. I think I should be able to get that done in time, unless I overdo it and my wrist gives out, or one of the other girls decides to foist her lamb off on me and I die of exhaustion or a heart attack. Seriously girls, no more bottle babies!
In honor of the Iditarod (and the Iknitarod!), here are some pictures of Watcher bravely forging his way across the arctic tundra of the back yard on Official Escort Duty.
“Ooch-eech-ouch! My poor frosty toes!”
He needs some boots like the sled dogs wear, but I think he’d probably just pull them off and eat them.
“Are you coming, Mommy? Hurry up, this snow is cold!”
He barked frantically at the gate while I went in and fed the girls, then escorted me back to the house.
And then back out again to feed the boys. He can’t escort me all the way because of the electric netting, but he plants himself firmly just outside and whuffles unhappily under his breath until I come back.
“I hope you’re happy; now my tail is frosty, too.”
When I came back in and starting straightening up a bit, I found a tiny holly wreath I’d looped over Princess’s horn last year for a Christmas picture. I tried it on Mira and was very amused to find that it easily slid completely over her head and settled around her neck.
“Mooom, this is silly and it itches. When can I have another bottle?”
She and her appetite are both growing quickly. I can hardly keep her contained anymore. I’ve concluded that she’s going to be polled (hornless) like Duchess, as she’s two weeks old and there’s no sign of any horn buds. Nova’s horns didn’t erupt until she was a little over two weeks old, but you could feel the buds growing under the skin well before that, and I don’t feel anything but a cowlick in the hair on Mira’s head. Considering what a spoiled brat she’s turning into, it’s probably just as well she’s not going to be armed with sharp pointy spikes on her head.
Now I’m off to put the girls to bed and put a few more rows on my Iknitarod project! I’d like to get as much as possible done before the rest of the lambs come, which could be any day now.