“Hey, this shelter is suddenly working again! How about that!”
The tarps on the demolished shelter have been replaced, so now it’s time to place bets on how long it’ll be before “windows” start showing up. I know the tarps will last a lot longer if I can keep the hooligan Dukelings from dancing on the roof with their pointy little hoofsies.
“Hey girls, how you doing?”
The clock is also counting down towards the crazy days of breeding season. Duke’s taken to following the girls down the fence line more devotedly than usual. He’s not going to be too happy that I don’t intend for him to sire any lambs this year. He’s fathered twelve lambs, of which nine are still in the flock. That’s plenty. Not to mention that out of those twelve lambs, only three were ewes. That’s ridiculous. He’s fired. I’ll either rent a ram or use Cedar this year.
“This sun feels good. I like the grass.”
Sandy has racked up an impressive amount of time on his clock. He’s officially seventeen and a half years old. When he was younger, we used to have to keep a careful eye on the back yard fence to keep him from escaping and setting out on a path to world dominion, (He’s a terrier, he can’t help it, world-conquering is in his genes) but now he gets to go out in the front yard with no fences at all.
Reason one, he prefers sleeping to exploring nowadays, and his fastest arthritic shuffle is a bit slower than my normal walking speed, so he wouldn’t get far if he did decide to run off.
Reason two, the back yard is off limits, because a seventeen and a half year old terrier doesn’t do well with two big three and four year old collies. I don’t think either Watcher or Echo would try to hurt him, but they both play rough and could squoosh him without even trying.
“This is my lap! Not Watcher’s, not Sandy’s, and not that silly baby sheep’s!”
Besides, I only have two hands, so I can only pet two dogs at once, especially since Echo gets just as jealous of my lap as Mira does. When a seventy-six pound dog decides you’re going to sit down and he’s going to sit on your legs, there’s not much point in arguing with him. You might as well get comfortable and wait for him to decide to get up. Sometimes it’s a long wait.