Late winter is always such a slog. (I know we’re technically only a third of the way through winter. Let me delude myself it’s almost over.) Mud, rain, mud, wet hay, more mud, wet sheep, mud, and wet dogs. Blah.
We’ve had some high winds lately, so Mira’s been kept busy moving the resulting sticks around to whatever mysterious pattern pleases her.
“Stupid sticks just laying around all willy-nilly, never in the right place!”
She does not at all want me to help, but she still makes sure to glare at me at regular intervals. I’m not sure what she’s blaming me for, exactly. Maybe it’s my fault the wind keeps blowing sticks into her field.
“Nobody appreciates all my hard work around here!”
We had two different loads of hay this year from two sources, and we’re close to the end of the first batch. Yesterday I decided to fill half the feeder with the old hay and half with the new, thinking if I mixed it for a few days they wouldn’t know the difference.
I should have known better than to think I could sneak something past them. I think they noticed.
The people have spoken. Fortunately it’s the new hay they like better, it would be bad if I had half a winter’s worth of hay they wouldn’t eat! I left the old hay in the feeder and put new on top of it today hoping they’d decide to eat it. Initial signs were not promising.
Every feeder overcrowded except the conspicuously empty end of the covered feeder. Oh well. Tomorrow I’ll move it to the fence feeder, sometimes that will make them eat hay they’d previously rejected.
As I was leaving, Daisy pulled her face out of the hay long enough to look at me from where she was having to reach awkwardly over Liam’s head to reach the “good” hay.
“I KNEW you were holding out on us, hoarding all this tasty hay in the barn all winter!”
I think the sheep and I would all be happier if there was fresh grass to eat instead of hay, but we still must slog through a few more months of mud before the grass comes back.
Shepherd Life 