Truths about Sheep

1. If the ground is soft, sheep hooves do not wear down and must be trimmed.
2. We've had 43+ inches of rain this year.
3. The hooves must be trimmed.
4. Sheep do not particularly care for hoof trimming.
5. Neither do I.
6. If one wishes to practice good animal husbandry, neither 4 or 5 matter.

7. A sheep chair makes trimming hooves easier.
8. Unlike humans, sheep do not go, "Ah, a recliner" and hop in.
9. A dog cannot put a sheep into the chair (in the correct position).
10. I can get the smaller sheep into the sheep chair, but not the heavy, husky ewes.
11. The majority of the flock is heavy, husky ewes.
12. If one wishes to practice good animal husbandry, neither 8, 9 or 11 matter.

13. If I catch, halter and tie a ewe, I can trim her hooves.
14. My ewes are not fond of being caught, haltered or tied.
15. Sheep are built low to the ground.
16. Trimming hooves requires a lot of stooping, bracing and contorting.
17. A dog cannot trim sheep hooves.
18. If ones wishes to practice good animal husbandry,  none of this matters.

19. To accomplish the task and save my body, I trim 4-5 sheep a day.
20. When one has 30 ewes, the process takes a week.
21. Not a single ewe said thank you.
22. Not a single ewe admired her pedicure.
23. Not a single ewe asked when we could do that again.
24. Neither did I.

Lamb TV

To create an attention-grabbing scene, start with lambs, green grass and sunshine.

When working outside this weekend, I let the two ewes and four lambs into the yard to graze.

All work stopped as I watched the one-week-old lambs zoom around the pasture and leap into the air.

But, I'm not the only one who whiles away the hours watching Lamb TV.

When I stepped into the barn this morning, I discovered the barn cats, too, indulge in this pleasure.

Trick the Cat opts for a balcony seat and observes the goings-on from his straw bale.

Leslie the Cat chooses a front row seat in the lamb pen where the lambs give her a good sniff before showing off their dance moves.

Meet Apollo and Bon-Bon

After months of calling them "the Boys," we had a naming contest for the white ram lamb and his buddy, an almost 2-year-old Dorper/Katahdin wether.

It reaffirmed what I knew: I have lots of creative friends.

Suggestions included lots of pairs: Lenny and Squiggy, Simon and Garfunkel, Harry and Lloyd, Shaggy and Scooby, Gandoff and Frodo, Woodward and Bernstein, Bill and Ted.

And then there were descriptive suggestions: Ebony and Ivory, Salt and Pepper, Coffee and Cream, Mounds and Almond Joy.

One contestant tip-toed into the political with Bernie and Barack.

Several suggested variations on the beer theme: Pale Ale and Stout, IPA and Stout, Suds and Stout.

That led to a few discussions in the household where I'm an IPA fan and my husband is a stout fan.

IPA would be a good name for the ram lamb because, like IPAs, he won't be around for long. After breeding season in the fall, he will be sold and hopefully go to another farm. The black wether will be kept to be a companion for the next ram lamb. He is like many stouts, kept around longer and getting better with age.

The name Warlock, a favorite stout in our household, was floated around, until my husband pointed out that no wether could have a name like Warlock.

And, so this was the winning entry:

Phoebus Apollo - Usually just called Apollo. A son of Zeus and Leto and Artemis’s twin, he is the god of Light and Truth, the master of Poetry and Music, and the god of Archery. His Oracle at Delphi is revered for her powers of prophecy and truth. this is for the white one. the black one I name bonbon.

This made me laugh... and I'm sure if anyone hears me yelling, "Apollo! Bon-Bon! It's time for dinner," they, too, will laugh.

The Inefficient Farmer

As I carried four flakes of hay to lambs in the front pasture, returned to the barn with a bucket full of ice and walked back to the pasture with a bucket of water, I thought of a farm planning book I'd read years ago.

Minimize your steps. Efficient farmers design their layout so that few steps are involved in the daily chores.

I didn't follow that advice, and for the past month, I've been highly inefficient, and walking thousands of steps during morning chores so that I can offer hay and water to lambs in one pasture, to breeding ewes and a ram in another pastures, and to dry, or unbred, ewes that I use for sheepdog training in a third pasture.

It's not like this most years.

Most years I schedule the lambs to go to the butcher in early November. But scheduling conflicts pushed the date to December, when the pastures have little grass left and when water freezes overnight.

That changed this weekend when the lambs went to the butcher; I then moved to the ram and wether to the barn and merged the ewes into one flock.

On Monday morning, I walked 10 steps to feed the horses; 15 steps to feed the ram and his friend, and 15 steps to feed the ewes.And, with chores completed and extra time on my hands, I lingered in the barn, petting the cat, watching the ram nibble his hay, burying my hands under the horse's mane, and still the model of inefficiency.

How to Stop a Flock

With rain in the forecast, I did what I'd done dozens of times.

I sent Raven, the Border collie, out into the pasture to round up the small flock of dry ewes (those without lambs at their side) and bring them through a six-foot gate, through the yard and into the paddock with an overhang.

As I opened the gate, the calico barn cat rubbed against my legs and rolled in front of the gate.

I snatched her up and put her on my shoulder where I could pet her and keep her safe from the sheep who were trotting toward the gate.

That cat brought the flock to a stop. The lead ewe eyed the cat that spent its days rubbing against the sheep and llama in the barnyard.

What was it doing on my shoulder? Was this some kind of trick? Would that cat attack the flock?

The lead ewe would happily walk by me; she would walk by the cat; but she would not walk by me with a cat on my shoulder. And, until the lead ewe walked forward, none of the other ewes would either.

Cat on shoulder, I took a few steps away from the sheep and flanked the dog back and forth, until finally the ewe was convinced it was safe to move forward.

A Sunny Day in December

Christmas comes every year, but not so sunny days in December.

When those warm days come on a weekend, I say the Christmas stuff can wait.

The horses' ears perked up when I brought the saddle into the barn; and they watched with interest as I left the barn to retrieve a second saddle with a longer girth.

Roxie, the barn cat, joined in the action. Winters get boring for the barn cats who find great amusement in harassing their humans.

After working the horses, I headed to the sheep pasture where Raven and I continue to work on shedding, or splitting, the flock of sheep. No photos were taken because I have yet to master watching the dog, watching the sheep and taking a photo.

Then it was off to the garden, where I cleaned up the asparagus bed--and marveled at the weeds that never give up. The garden's fall chores aren't quite done, but I still have another week until winter officially begins.

And I studied the radish cover crop that I planted in the garden in late spring. Some of the radishes are rotting--and some may still be growing. I have yet to decide if this was a success or not.

Before the sun sets, I'll take the Border collies on a walk through a few fields that we seldom walk. Then I'll turn my thoughts toward Christmas gifts--and wonder if others consider a sunny day in December a fine gift indeed.

That Sweet Spot

Walking into the barnyard in the morning light, I hear bleating--softer and higher pitched than the demanding ewes.

Lambs! Four of them, scattered around the barnyard.

But that can't be, I argued with myself.

October, September, August, July, June...

Counting the months backwards finally rouses me awake. But it took me a few more minutes to settle from the nightmare.

I love lambing season--but I also am reveling in these carefree November days.

We are in that sweet spot of the year when our livestock numbers are down--and I'm carrying very little hay and water.

The lambs went to market last month, and we sold the two rams earlier this month. No longer do we deliver water to the lamb pasture, the breeding ewe pasture, the ram pen, the dry ewe pasture.

The 15 remaining ewes and the llama all hang out together. With pasture still available and a warmer-than-usual fall, that means I deliver one five-gallon bucket of water to the sheep daily.

The winter flock. No, the one playing the wheelbarrow game is not a ram; she's a ewe. I checked--multiple times.

The horses, too, are able to graze the pasture at night. During the day, they receive only one flake of hay each.

Earlier this fall, we sent the young roosters to the butcher and merged the young chicken flock with the old chicken flock. We're only delivering food and water to one group.

That means chores take 15 minutes, morning and night. And most of that time is spent playing with the barn kitty.

These carefree days will end soon, when freezing temperatures arrive and I become the ice breaker. Eventually pastures will be grazed down and I'll become the hay hauler. And the 15 minutes will become 20, then 25 and 30.

For now, though, I'll enjoy it--and try to avoid those sheep dreams.

Better--Without the Dog

For many farm tasks with the sheep, I rely on a Border collie for help.

Need to move sheep to another pasture? I call a dog to assist. Need to persuade sheep to go into the barn? I call the dog.

But just because I have a dog trained to work sheep doesn't mean that the dog is always the best tool for the job.

When sorting sheep in a stall or close quarters, I prefer to work alone, without the dog. Why add a dog to the close space and risk the dog or me getting hurt?

The one task that I've always struggled with is the trailer load.

Sheep fear dark, enclosed spaces--and they don't care for the rattle of the trailer. Dogs and people cannot persuade sheep that it's a good idea to go inside a trailer. My husband and I get the task accomplished, but not without high anxiety for sheep and people.

Until this year.

This fall, we parked the trailer in the pasture where the market lambs were living. Once a day, I'd put some hay in tubs inside the trailer. Within hours the sheep figured out the trailer was a place for food. They jumped in and out of it throughout the day.

On the morning they were to go to the butcher, I put some hay inside the trailer. The lambs jumped inside to snack on their morning meal. I slid the trailer door shut.

"Lambs are loaded and ready to go," I told my husband.

Neither of us had touched a lamb during the loading process.

As if Chores Weren't Hard Enough...

After spending three weekends at sheepdog trials and clinics, I turned my attention to the farm.

The chore list was long: groom the dogs,

 (So glad only two of the Border collies are rough coats)

sort out the ram lambs,

clean up the horse paddock (actually a joy now that it's finally drying out),

mow (it may have stopped raining, but the grass is still looking lush)

weed and mulch the garden...

and watch the kitten.

Between four Border collies and trap/neuter efforts, we've kept stray cats to a minimum on the farm. But this one appeared while I was at a sheepdog clinic. And so far, I've found no one who wants an adorable kitten--so, for now she's staying.

She thanks me constantly by being underfoot. So, I've resorted to holding her while I'm moving ram lambs, feeding the chickens, dragging around the muck bucket.

She purrs, delighted with the arrangement.

Respecting the Mama

The lambs are just a week old, but they've already learned to listen to mama--both the one with fur and the one with feathers.

The chickens roam the pastures and paddocks on the farm.The lambs learn at an early age to ignore them.

Sometimes a hen will hop on a ewe's back. Often in the afternoons, the hens and ewes snooze together under the overhang.

When the hen jumped into the lamb pen, mama ewe  paid her no attention. The lambs followed mama ewe's lead--and another generation of chicken-sheep coexistence begins.

Born in Sunshine

Our first set of lambs came on a snowy night. The second, on a rainy night.

Then, for a week, there were no more lambs.

But on a sunny first day of April, I came home to find a set of twins and a set of triplets, born in the afternoon sun, dried off by their mamas and the afternoon breeze.

Their first sights were of greening grass and bluebirds fluttering nearby. They heard their mama's bleats accompanied by a cacophony of birdsong.

Lucky lambs, lucky lambs.

Bottles Lambs at Ten Months

In 10 months, they've gone from just too cute...

just so adorable....

to teenagers....

to almost grown up...

to still occasionally cute....

to mostly obnoxious.

Yes, that is my knee in the photo... and that is a lamb chest. My dogs don't try to jump up on me, but the 100-pound bottle lambs do. The twin bottle lambs are 10 months old now, and not afraid of people, not afraid of dogs, not afraid of leaving the flock to explore the barn, not afraid of jumping on humans.

We haven't had lots of bottle lambs in the past, but until now, they've been singles. As they grew, they assimilated with the flock.

Not so with the twins.

Oh, they hang out with the flock, but they also are content to hang out with humans.

And, they aren't shy about demanding food or attention.

While photographing chickens for the blog, the dark-faced one jumps on my back.

"Not cute," I tell her, suddenly aware that while I understand how horse and dog mamas correct their young, I have no idea what sheep mamas do.

Surviving the Deep Freeze

The temperature was stuck at -6 degrees and the winds blew at 20 mph, sometimes faster, and the Haflingers didn't care.

The sun was shining; they'd eaten breakfast; it was time for their midday snooze in the sun. Butts facing the wind, and using the pine trees as a windbreak, they stood side-by-side and dozed.

Temperatures in our area plummeted to below zero overnight Sunday, and stayed below zero Monday and Monday night. Today, it's supposed to warm up to 2 degrees. The winds are expected to gust again today, eventually settling down to a more reasonable 10 mph on Wednesday.

Most of the farm's critters didn't get the memo that it's cold outside.

The sheep, closed inside the barn, are quite happy to be eating the third-cutting alfalfa hay rather than the first-cutting alfalfa mix. And the chickens are inside their hen house, eating grain, and a little bored.

The Border collies are running laps around the house, and anxiously awaiting their long daily walk.

The only critters showing the pains of the cold are Mickey, the old Border collie, and Leslie, the older barn cat. Mickey gets cold paws after about 10 minutes outside in subzero weather.

Leslie the Cat lives in the hay and equipment barn, and must make a daily trek to the back porch or livestock barn for food and water. Yesterday, she was more than happy to come into the mudroom to eat, drink and warm up. But this morning, she is already growing restless with being indoors. This afternoon, when it reaches above zero, I'll let her outside again.

As for me, I'm staying warm carrying buckets of warm water from the house to the barn. But I, too, am looking forward to long walks around the fields again.

The Ram: Counting the Days

A fellow sheep farmer was commenting about his ram.

"He is so lazy. All is does is lie around and eat," he said. "I had to trim his hooves because he wasn't moving enough to wear them down."

I can't say that about our ram.

He likes to ram.

A pipe gate was his victim this week.

Apparently, he was quite offended that I'd put ram lambs nearby. So he began banging the gate, until I moved the lambs.

He is happy now.

And, he'll be happier in a few weeks when I let him out to pasture with some ewes.

And in a few months, I'll be happier when he is delivered to the butcher shop where he will become sausage.

Not Quite a "Nice to Meet You" Moment

When Mickey approached the seven male lambs in the field, the Good Mom triplet walked toward her.

"Hey, remember me from all the times my mom came into the barn aisle for grain?" he asked. "You were the Border collie hanging out in the corner, right?" He wanted to sniff Mickey all over.

A brown lamb faced Mickey and stomped. He was going to protect the flock. Another lamb, inspired by the brown one's confidence, also faced Mickey.

A few lambs, intent on grazing, paid no attention to the dog.

The ram lambs were all new to being worked by a dog. So Mickey had some training to do.

Many times the lambs are introduced to the dog while still with the big flock. When the introduction is done with the elders around, the lambs learn to follow the older ewes' lead and turn when the dog approaches.

That wasn't the case for the ram lamb introduction.

But, at 11, Mickey is an experienced sheepdog and knows how to adjust to her sheep.

When she saw that her steely eyeball and predatory crouch weren't going to intimidate them, she upped the ante.

She air-snapped in front of their noses.

That got several lambs' attentions... but not all. She did a few cutting horse moves, snapping and moving into their space.

They got the picture and turned toward the barn.

When we got to their pen, she had to air snap and cut again.

The next day went better.

By the third, they turned toward the barn when she approached.

Introduction complete.

And again, as I often do, I marvel at what a talented, special dog that Mickey is.

Alas, No Wings

When I first spotted the red ewe lamb in the yard, I paused.

In all of our years of raising lambs, we've never had one escape the pasture. Upon finding no holes in the mesh that separated the yard and pasture, I chalked it up to wings.

Weeks passed before, once again, I found a red ewe lamb in the yard. Was there some gap between the ground and fence?

Yesterday, when photographing sheep, I found the problem.

A concrete block had been moved, thus creating an opening. As I put the block in place, the lamb ran up the driveway, through the yard and toward the barn.

I followed.

Try as I may, I could not find wings.

I was hoping for wings.

But when I returned home from work today, I found this same lamb in the yard.

She looked at me and winked.

The Brown Ewe: Part 2

We chose brood and hoped we had made the right choice.

Each year, we choose three ewe lambs for breeding replacements. Fern, aka 1055, aka the Brown Ewe, was our top choice from the 2011 lamb crop. She had a good pedigree, conformation, temperament and color.

When she became ill, I didn't expect to breed her. But a few months after her near-death experience, she was fat and healthy looking. We didn't know if she had some health problem lurking that we knew nothing about.

When, one March morning, we found her with twin ewe lambs, we were relieved.

The lambs are 60-90 days old now. Mamas and babies are mostly shed out. As we trim hooves, vaccinate and tag the ewe lambs, we evaluate them, noticing their temperaments and weights.

"I can tell these are Fern's babies," comments the husband. "They have the same soft expression that she does."

The Brown Ewe: Part 1

Food or brood.

Last fall we debated what to do with a yearling ewe that had almost died a few months earlier.

On a July afternoon, I'd found the brown ewe standing by herself in the paddock. Head down, she was drooling. When asked to move, she was unsteady, especially on the left side. She'd gone blind in one eye.

A consultation with my sheep books gave me lists of possibilities: rabies, poisoning, a list of diseases. With no definitive answers and a concern it could spread to the rest of the flock, I called the vet.

"I've got a ewe exhibiting neurological symptoms," I said, and then went on to explain what I'd observed.

"I'm in the area, I'll stop by," he said.

When he arrived thirty minutes later, the ewe's temperature had spiked to 105 degrees and she was not moving.

With no obvious diagnosis, we threw everything at it: anti-inflammatories, antibiotics, b-complex vitamins, fluids. He also drew blood for testing if she should die.

My husband and I would give her three shots, twice a day, for the next five days.

For two days, she stood, head down, next to a stall wall.

"If she hasn't died yet, she'll live," a doctor friend and fellow sheep owner said.

On day four, she nibbled some hay.

My husband, who held a bowl of water to her lips several times a day, named her Fern.

Fern lived. In the coming weeks, she began eating and gained weight. Her gait improved. Her eyesight returned. By fall, she was fat; her coat, glossy.

I called the vet to report on her progress.

"What should we do with her?" I asked.

"You could use her for food and brood," he said.