Why can’t supervillains ever just stay dead? I thought the Evil Tree of Thorniness we cut down was the last of its kind on our farm. It appears I was mistaken. The sheep, enterprising little things that they are, have managed to find another one. And get thorns stuck in their wool. Again.
There is only one place this survivor could possibly be hiding, and that’s the tiny area of brush in the lower corner of the field. The one I thought the sheep wouldn’t bother with when they had so much grass to eat. This will be my third winter of sheep keeping; I shouldn’t be so naive by now.
“I’m sure the sheep wouldn’t voluntarily wade into that tiny little patch of brush with this whole big field to play in,” said the foolish ShepherdPerson.
“Hey ShepherdPerson, you know that tiny little patch of brush way down in the bottom corner of the field? Well, we were playing down there and found the strangest tree…”
I mean, really? Why do you do these things to me?
“Does this branch make my butt look big?” Little John asks worriedly.
“Yes!” yells Prince Bran, in true older brother fashion.
“Your butt is going to look tiny if I keep having to chop the wool off of it!” cries the poor ShepherdPerson, who is theoretically raising these critters for wool production, not stick collecting.
“Man, these thorn trees are a pain in the neck! And shoulder… and side…”
I could not agree more. I love trees, but these crab apple/osage orange/Deadly Thorny Death Trees are definitely my absolute least favorite kind of tree.
In other news, the sheep jumped out of the field again this morning, and Nova managed to get tangled in the netting on both sides of the aisleway at the same time, which was pretty ambitious of her.
Also, while I was writing this post someone broke open the gate between the boys and the girls, so I had to jump up and run back out to chase everyone back again, at which point I started to give serious thought to that ridiculously-stupid-yet-ubiquitous myth about shepherds breaking their sheep’s legs in order to train them not to wander off. (yes, that is a myth. I don’t care how tenderly you take care of the broken leg, that sheep is not going to forever love and trust you. He’s only going to remember that you broke his leg. I feel like this should be obvious.)
Even though the pasture still has a good bit of grass, I gave the girls some hay in an attempt to keep them in the field and out of the thorny brush. Mira took to hay a lot faster than she did to grass.
“All this yummy hay belongs to me and Princess!”
Hopefully the novelty will keep them out of trouble for a while, though I’m not too optimistic about that. Silly little woollies are driving me crazy.