Yesterday was my birthday! My mom and I sat outside with the babies for a while, which was nice. I haven’t had as much time lately to sit with them as I’d like. Angel moved out this week, so there’s plenty of ruffled feathers to soothe. The move was a little bit ahead of schedule, but she weaned herself a long time ahead of schedule, so there wasn’t much point in her staying in the house anymore.
Watcher broke Angel’s bottle last week, (I was very upset, that was Mira’s bottle. Echo is my favorite dog now.) so there was much scrambling to obtain a replacement bottle before the hungry yelling blew anybody’s eardrums. She was very happy and relieved at first when I managed to find one for her, but after one or two feedings she decided she didn’t like the new bottle anymore and wanted her old bottle back. Which unfortunately wasn’t possible since the old one was in several pieces.
“This isn’t my bottle, why are you trying to trick me?”
I really didn’t want her to be weaned so early, but she apparently decided she’d rather go without entirely than drink from the awful, terrible, completely unacceptable new bottle, so after a day or two I gave up on forcing her. She was even less happy about the barn than she was about the bottle, but she seems to be settling in just fine now.
“I can’t pose right now, I have to eat lots of grass to make up for all the milk you mean people aren’t giving me!”
“Go away, Griffin! I can’t play, I have to eat! I’m starving, they won’t give me any milk!”
She was offered milk. Over and over she was offered milk. She’s just too finicky for her own good. I don’t know how she ended up like that, it’s not like anyone else in her family is spoiled at all.
“Do I get crunchies for your birthday, Mommy?”
Mira got crunchies for my birthday, because she always tends to get her way. Then Angel had to come running over to see what Mira was getting. I’m not sure I like being outnumbered here.
“Where are MY crunchies? Don’t I get crunchies for your birthday, too!”
Angel got crunchies for my birthday, too. Mira wasn’t happy. There was squabbling. Business as usual.
Drake took advantage of the ruckus to try to eat the tags off of our camp chairs.
“I’m gonna eat this!”
He did actually manage to rip it off, which led to me chasing him around trying to snatch it back before he swallowed it. I did manage to get it away from him, but Nova got mad about me mistreating her poor little baby and shuffled him away.
“Why do you always pick on MY babies? My babies never do anything wrong!”
What is it about lambs that makes their mothers so indulgent? Case in point, my tolerance of Angel’s blood feud with my foot. She says living out with those bratty boys she needs to practice her head-butting. I say living with all these bratty sheep of both genders I deserve to not have my feet pounded to pulp.
Of course the lamb wins that argument. Those lambies always seem to get their way somehow.