Will Scarlet (now more often called Wail Scarlet, Weeping Willie, or Will You Pipe Down Already) finally took a short break from screaming this afternoon. Instead he sat in the Boys’ Clubhouse and pouted. The same clubhouse he passionately hates to go into every evening, and the same one breaks out of every night. Apparently during the day it’s the best place to lay down and have a nice long sulk.
“Mean old ShepherdPerson, making me come over here. It’s not fair, I don’t want to be weaned! I’m just going to sit in the mud and wallow in my misery.”
He already hates me enough, I just can’t wait to see what he thinks of me once he’s wethered in a couple of weeks. I’d considered keeping him as a ram, but he’s too closely related to all the same ewes that Duke is, so it wouldn’t do me much good to keep him intact. Unless somebody pops up out of the blue wanting to buy him as a ram, he’ll be wethered at the same time as Little John, probably in early/mid July.
“Can I Pleeease go stay with the big boys?”
Poor Jeb. Someday I’m going to let him go in with Duke, and he might decide lambs aren’t so bad after all.
We’ve been getting a lot of rain lately, so I took advantage of the first (relatively) clear spell to sit with the girls for a while. They’ve been terribly neglected while I’ve been laid up, but the stitches are out of my shoulder now and the doctor says I can use my arm again, as long as I “don’t do anything stupid.” She very unhelpfully failed to elaborate on what constitutes stupidity. I’m interpreting it to mean that if it feels like the thing is pulling open I’m probably doing something I shouldn’t.
“Oh, it’s you. It’s about time you showed up! Do something about this rain, it’s interfering with my grazing.”
Princess has obviously been pining in my absence. Since Bran’s been weaned she’s starting to gain back some weight. Princess is always a beautiful sheep, but I think she looks especially pretty this time of year when she’s freshly shed out and her sleek new coat is just starting to grow in.
Little John was happy to see
crunchies me. He’s two and half months old, but he still has that wide-eyed innocent look of a newborn lamb. Must be his father’s influence; if I remember correctly Nova was practically born with a smug, cocky grin on her face.
“Do you have any food? I want food!”
Mira was ecstatic when I came and sat by her; she was very unhappy about being wet, and obviously I had come so she could use me as a towel. The minute I sat down she soaked my shirt rubbing herself against me.
“I’m weeeet, Mommy! Fix it!”
She quickly got distracted by the texture of my shirt and abandoned her efforts at drying herself in favor of chewing up my clothes. All the Soays are compulsive chewers, and Mira has been chewing on my clothes practically since she was strong enough to move her jaw. Note the preexisting sheepy teeth marks in my belt. Souvenirs of Mira’s first few weeks of life.
And she wonders why I couldn’t sit with her while I had stitches. Silly girl.