Winter is Coming

I’ll skip the ubiquitous picture of Sean Bean.You’re welcome.

Last week the weather suddenly went from “how is it this hot in November?” to “oh great, my hand just froze to the gate.” The sheep were thrilled by the cold weather. I was less thrilled.

The forecast for the next week or so is slightly warmer and rainy, but I don’t expect it to be long before winter sets in for good. I am thrilled by finally getting some rain. The sheep are less thrilled.

On this drizzly, dreary fall morning, the sheep devote their attention to one of the most fundamental urges of the season…



Stuffing their faces full of food as fast as possible. Granted, this is a pretty strong urge year-round, but there’s an extra frantic note to their munching when they’re all crowded around the same feeder instead of spread across a whole pasture. Seems to me they wouldn’t be so crowded if they didn’t insist on all trying to eat the hay on the right while ignoring the hay on the left. I don’t know why the hay on the right is so much better, since it all came from the same bale at the same time.

And yes, that’s a knocked down feeder they’re standing on. I’ll get around to fixing that. Again. Eventually.

The main flock went over the hill to see if they could find anything still green to eat, leaving only Liam to poach the boys’ hay.


“Walking over the hill is a long way, I’m just going to stay here and eat. Besides, I’m a boy, so it doesn’t count as poaching!”

I think Liam could use the exercise of a long walk, but I’m not going to argue with him.


“Ahem, while we’re on the subject of poaching…”

Duke and BB are more preoccupied by the other fundamental fall urges. Duke is Not Impressed by the usurper, and it’s not hard to see his point when the two are standing side by side. No way would BB be able to compete with Duke if they were in the same field.

Fortunately for BB (and the genetic diversity of next year’s lambs) neither ram has been able to get past the butting board on the fence.

Unfortunately for BB, the girls still haven’t cycled, so he’s spending a lot of energy on fruitless declarations of love.


“Nope, not interested.”

“But I love you!”

“Too bad, so sad.”

Meanwhile, Mira is making progress on her Cunning Escape Plan.


“Maybe if I pull this stick out, the fence will fall down!”

Her head comes almost to the top of the fence when she stands on her hind legs. When did she get so tall?

Once everyone is sorted into the right field and fed, I am free to devote my attention to one of my fundamental cold weather urges: curl up on the couch with a lap throw, a book or a knitting project, and a nice pot of hot tea.


8 thoughts on “Winter is Coming

  1. Even though we haven’t had rain for over six weeks and our idea of cold weather in November is 65F, I like the book/knitting tea or cocoa too!

    Gosh, you must be feeding Mira SuperCrunchies to get her so big. Give Mr Shrimpie some too.

  2. Dear Sara,
    I’ve been snickering and giggling so through this post that Nutmeg kitten, who is cozily wrapped on my knees, woke up, looked at me and said “rrrrppprrrrppp??”, a brief high barely-audible trill meaning “What’s so funny that it’s rocking my cradle?” Steady on, kitten. You’re a baby and spayed and the humor won’t amuse you. Back to sleep, now.

    Prince Bran is trying to take after Liam. Don’t you notice the similarities in their consuming interest, not to mention their rear view?

    A very happy Thanksgiving to you, and may rain come in the night but leave tomorrow a glove-free day,


    • Babies are very fussy about laps moving around while they’re trying to nap on them. Mira and Watcher both got very annoyed at my fidgeting when they were babies.

      Bran is his father’s son. πŸ™‚

  3. Yes, Happy Thanksgiving! Oh that Mira…..who’d a thunk she turn out like this? Enjoy your warm drinks. We are getting rained on and rained ON…snow not far behind though.

    • He’s a brilliant actor (I don’t watch GoT, but I liked him in other roles), but my brain still can’t get over its annoyance about the fact that his name doesn’t rhyme. πŸ˜€

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