Does Anyone Follow Plan A?

 

Did you say alfalfa? The flock in February.

I'm a list maker.

I'm a planner.

I don't know why I have sheep.

On this week's to-do list: separate pregnant and non-pregnant ewes. Move the non-pregnant group to the big barn.

For much of the fall and winter, the ewes have lived as one big flock. They grazed on the pasture and ate first-cutting hay. A few participated in the daily dog training ritual.

Now that the ewes are in their third trimester, they get a break from dog training. More importantly, they get a feeding upgrade. Alfalfa hay is added to their rations.

The non-pregnant ewes do not get alfalfa hay. They don't need the extra calories, and alfalfa hay is expensive.

When I separate the flock, the pregnant ewes remain in the sheep/horse barn. The non-pregnant group move about, depending on the weather. If it's not raining, snowing or blowing sideways, they hang out in the pasture with the pine trees. When the weather is bad, I move them to the other barn that is big and spacious and has neither electricity nor running water.

Fun facts about sheep: When the weather is cold, they eat a lot more hay. When the pasture is snow-covered, they eat a lot more hay. When sheep eat more hay, they drink a lot more water. In fact they drink gallons of water. Water weighs about 8 lbs. a gallon.

We received our first ground-covering snow for the year on Sunday. With temperatures staying below freezing, it's stuck around. When looking at the weather report to determine the best day for sheep sorting, I saw this: 9 degrees, 7 degrees, minus 2 degrees.

Visions of frozen water buckets danced in my head. When temperatures dip to the single digits, buckets of water freeze in less than an hour. Without heated water buckets, it becomes harder to ensure sheep have fresh water.

And, so I made new plans.

Because alfalfa hay was readily available this year, I'd bought more than I planned to use. I'd hoped this would be the year I had alfalfa bales left over. Whether that happens is still too early to tell.

However, I'll be using those extra bales in the coming week to supplement the entire flock with alfalfa hay. The entire flock is staying together until temperatures climb above freezing during the days. They'll stay in the sheep/horse barn that has both electricity and running water. And I'll try not to cringe when I feed the non-pregnant ewes expensive alfalfa hay.

Living on a farm, I've learned that plans are great, but drought, flood, winds, and cold snaps can change them in an instant. Maybe that's why I have sheep, horses, cats and dogs. They've taught me to adapt and to keep adapting rather than getting set in my ways.

How much do sheep like alfalfa? Enough to run over me while I'm putting it in the feeders. Bubba moves them to another pasture so that I can feed.

The Unsung Hero of the Sheep Flock

 

The wether, center, is the decision maker when in with the ram lambs.

Imagine your only purpose in life is being a friend.

That's the role of our wether.

The castrated male sheep moves from pasture to pasture, offering friendship and comfort.

As herd and prey animals, sheep find comfort and safety in numbers. One of the worst things you can do to a sheep is isolate him or her. Yet, sometimes a sheep must be kept from the flock.

Because Katahdins can breed year-round, and we don't want lambs year-round, the ram must be separated from the ewes for several months of the year. But isolating a ram for months on end is cruel, and leads to an aggressive (or even more aggressive) animal.

Thus, the wether and ram spend months hanging out together, usually in a pasture far away from the ewes. When with the ram, the wether grazes by his side and ruminates next to him.

On our farm, the wether's social circle changes several times throughout the year. Now, that it's winter, and we don't have a breeding ram, the wether hangs out with the ewe flock. He bellies up to the hay feeder with the ewes, and says nothing as they have their ewe squabbles.

In the summer, when we wean the ram lambs, he'll move over to the ram lamb flock. Lambs are horrible decision makers, and having a calm adult sheep  helps them negotiate those big decisions in life, like whether to go through the gate opening or try to run through the fence, or whether to run at the sight of a dog or turn and face it. Our current wether is a mellow fellow and brings a calmness to the ram lamb flock.

When we get another breeding ram, then the wether will move in with him.

The wether does this without complaint or protest. Maybe, he realizes that being a friend is not such a bad lot in life.

Counting Sheep

Ask me how many horses I have and I answer promptly.

Two.

How many chickens?

Five. (It's been a rough chicken year)

How many cats?

Two indoor and two outdoor.

How many dogs?

I pause on this question, depending on who is doing the asking. If it's a sheepdog friend, I'll say six. If it's someone else, I'll dance around that question as I don't want to sound like a crazy dog lady.

How many sheep?

This question gets a quizzical look, and it's not because I don't want to appear like a crazy sheep lady. It's that the number varies with the seasons.

During the winter, we keep about 35-40 ewes. About half of those are bred; the others, a combination of older cull ewes and ewe lambs, are kept for training the Border collies.

In late March and early April, the sheep population explodes during lambing season, and the number usually climbs to 70-75 sheep.

Then, over the course of the next several months, the numbers drop.

The ewe flock grazing on a November day.

I sell most of my yearling ewes that I've used for sheepdog training; I often sell some other ewes, either as culls or breeding stock; a few ram lambs are sold for breeding stock; others are sold for meat. Usually, by November or December, the number drops to about 35-40 ewes.

The ram lambs will be with us only for a few more weeks.

The white wether will join the ewe flock.

In the next few weeks, the last group of ram lambs is scheduled to go to the butcher. So, for three months, until lambing season, I'll be able to answer 37.

The Two-Fence Rule

 

The ewe lambs with their two house mothers.

As the days get shorter and the nights colder, our sheep care not about pumpkin spice, camp fires nor elections. For them, it's breeding season.

For me, it's strict adherence to the two-fence rule; two fences must separate the groups of sheep.

On the farm, unlatched gates happen. They don't happen often, but they do. When ewes or rams discover unlatched gates during breeding season, pregnancy happens, and it happens fast. One year, a ram impregnated three ewes in six hours. In another, an eight-hour party resulted in four pregnancies. The two-fence rule is meant to prevent that.

During the summer months and early fall, it's easy to adhere to the two-fence rule. We have two groups of sheep: the girls (mature ewes and ewe lambs) and the boys (mature ram, wether and ram lambs). Because we have several pastures, it's fairly easy to ensure that the girls and boys are not in adjacent pastures.

Now that it's breeding season, we have three groups of sheep: the ram lambs that will go to the butcher in November, the ewes lambs and house mothers that I'll use for working dogs on through the winter and spring; and the breeding ewes and ram.

Sticking to the two-fence rule becomes a three-ring circus. But breeding season is only for three weeks, and then we'll be back to two groups.

Two fences and 40 feet may separate the rams lambs from the ewes, but they're still drawn to each other.

In other farm happenings: Fall cleaning is beginning. A frost killed everything in the garden except for some chard and snow peas, so I'll be cleaning out the garden this week. And, then my attention turns toward field edges and fence rows.

Night Sounds I Don't Want to Hear

This was not the lamb bleating in the night. That would require too much energy for this guy.

Funny how a day after reading about the increased use of melatonin among children, a lamb is keeping me awake.

It is raining, as it has been for hours, and the windows are cracked open to let in a bit of breeze.

They're also letting in the sound of a bleating lamb.

It's not the cry of pain or fear or lonesomeness.

It's the cry of "I'm awake and I want my mommy."

Lambs, like children, play hard and sleep hard.

In the hours before sunset, they engage in lamb races, where the lamb pack runs in circles around the field, hen house or their mothers. After about 20 minutes of this, they fall into a heap, exhausted, and sleep through the night.

But downpours canceled lamb races last night. Instead of racing, the lambs retreated to the barn. And, at 3 a.m., one is not tired.

Usually when a lamb bleats, its mother responds. No ewe responds to this lamb, though.

I'm sure they're doing what parents do everywhere--hiding their heads under the pillows and hoping that someone else will take care of it.

Celebrating too Early?

I was patting myself on the back for a successful lambing season: 34 lambs in 16 days, a nearly 200 percent lambing rate, two gentle assists, no dead lambs and only one undersized lamb who is determined to catch up.

Then, as I was moving the ewes and lambs to pasture, I saw it: a ewe with a bald patch on her side.

My flock are mostly Katahdins with a touch of Dorper. Unlike wool sheep, these hair sheep shed their winter coats in the spring and reveal a short, summer coat. But this ewe wasn't revealing a short coat. She had a bald spot.

I had 3 choices:

I could ignore it and hope it magically went away.

I could take a photo and post it to sheep groups on the internet and receive lots of advice on medications and treatments that may or may not work.

I could isolate the ewe and her twin lambs and call my vet.

When you own sheep, you do most of the vet work yourself. A vet call for a ewe is usually about half the price of the ewe. However, if you're worried about a flock issue--and visions of bald sheep were running through my head--then a vet call is worth it.

I called my vet. While his expertise is horses, he grew up with sheep and is familiar with most diseases, parasites, and other problems that affect sheep.

He ruled out mites and lice and other parasites. She was a big, healthy ewe who wasn't scratching, depressed or worried one bit about going bald. Hormones? This was her first pregnancy. Bedding? He wasn't sure. But he was almost definite it wasn't a flock problem. So, we dosed her with ivermectin and vitamins.

To be on the safe side, he recommended isolating her and her ewes from the flock for several weeks. And, unlike humans in this age of Covid-19, she doesn't have to wear a mask.

Update on 4/16/2020: After posting this, three yearling ewes also showed signs of hair loss. So, I contacted Brady Campbell who leads the sheep team at Ohio State University. I provided him with my vet's report, my hay analysis and a detailed description and history.

He reported that hair and wool loss in ewes post parturition isn't uncommon due the huge nutritional stresses on the ewe. While I was supplementing the ewes with corn due to the bad hay year, their diets were a little light in protein. So, I'm adding protein to their diets until the pastures come on in the next few weeks. 

And, on another note, a huge shout out to state extension services. They've always been a great resource for sheep, farming, gardening, etc. 

Sheep Rolling

Sixty degrees and sunshine in March is a reason for celebration in Ohio.

After weeks of gray, rain and mud, I welcomed warmth and light, and made an outdoor chore list that was long and impossible to complete in a day.

I didn't care.

The sun was shining.

Riding the Gator, I went from pasture to pasture, loading up gates and panels that weren't needed. Some were being used as windblocks, some as training obstacles for sheepdog training. Lambing season is two weeks away, and I needed all of them to construct lambing pens.

While working, I delighted in watching the sheep graze and sun themselves on the hillside. One ewe, though, caught my attention. She was lying away from the others, and something didn't look right.

I walked out to investigate.

She was lying on her back with 4 of her legs straight up in the air.

Was she dead? 

She moved her head and I saw the whites of her eyes.

Not dead. Dying? She peddled her feet, but remained flat on her back.

Cast.

Sometime over the years, I'd read about cast sheep. Sometimes, they get stuck on their back and can't get up. If not helped, they'll likely suffocate and die.

This was not a small ewe. She was large, hefty and quite pregnant.

Sometimes, you don't think, and you just do. So, I knelt beside her, reached over to the top of her shoulder and rolled her onto her side.

She shook her head, struggled to her feet, walked a few steps and gave me the look that said, "Thank you, now go away."

And I did. But I was smiling, because I'd just rolled over a sheep.

Sheep Math

When asked how many lambs we're expecting this year, I pause.

It shouldn't be a difficult question. We consistently have a 200 percent lambing rate. That means if we breed 10 ewes, we expect 20 lambs. Most ewes have twins; a few may have a single or a lamb may die; others have triplets. It averages out to two lambs per ewe.

So, to answer the question, all I do is multiply the number of bred ewes by two.

And, that's where it gets tricky.

I selected 15 ewes for breeding in the fall, marked their backs with a grease marker, and turned them out with the ram. The rest of the flock (the extremely young and the cull ewes), I kept separate for sheepdog training.

A few weeks after doing this, I went to a dog trial. Some unauthorized mingling went on while I was away. Upon finding three delinquents with the ram, I marked them. Past experience tells me they're most likely bred. Because grease marks fade, I re-marked the ewes several times through winter.

Pregnant ewes need extra nutrition during their last 7 weeks of pregnancy. So, last month I separated the "marked" sheep from the unbred ewes. Nineteen ewes looked at my, licking their lips in anticipation of corn and second-cutting hay.

Where did the extra ewe come from?

 In the low winter light, did I mistake dirt for grease markings and mark an extra ewe?

Or, had a clever ewe marked herself, hoping for some better food in late winter?

As I walk through the flock of pregnant ewes, I look for the imposter.

"Not me," these girls say.

No need to ask these two.

I'm sure the answer will be revealed in another month or so.

The Mind vs. the Tummy

Last year's bad hay crop means adjusting feed for my pregnant ewes.

I've got plenty of first-cutting hay that's just fine for the horses and dry (non-pregnant) ewes. But the pregnant ewes need more calorie-dense food.

In the past, that's been a second-cutting, alfalfa-grass mix. Second-cutting hay was scarce last year, and I only secured about a third of my usual hay supply. Thus, I'm supplementing with corn.

As ruminants, sheep don't do well with sudden changes in feed. So, I'm introducing corn slowly, giving a little more each day so that their guts can adjust over the course of a few weeks.

Their minds didn't take that long.

After the third day, they decided they liked corn and wanted more.

Now, whenever they see me, they baa and baa, demanding more. If I walk into the pasture, they come to me in hopes of getting corn.

"Don't get too used to this," I tell them, eyeing the pastures. When they green up, it'll be bye-bye corn.

Good-bye Bon-Bon, Hello ...?

Years ago, we discovered the value of a wether (castrated male sheep).

Katahdin sheep can breed year-round. Because we don't want lambs year-round, the ram is only allowed to be with the ewes for a month in the fall.

So, what do we do with the ram for other 11 months? Being a flock animal, he's nervous and stressed if left alone. Put him with ewes and he breeds. Put him with rams, and he fights. The wether as his companion is the solution.

But here's the problem with wethers. If their only jobs are to eat and to keep the ram company, they get quite large. This fall, our 4-year-old wether, Bon-Bon, was as wide as he was tall. I was unsure how long he'd stay sound--and I certainly wasn't looking forward to trying to trim his hooves. It was time to send him to the butcher and get a replacement.

 Bon-Bon (on left) with Apollo, the ram on the right.
 In this photo, Bon-Bon is not quite a year old.

Hoping the new wether would stay on the small side, I selected our smallest wether to keep.

He's the one in the photo with the hay in his mouth. In the past month, he's been grazing with the unbred ewes and eating like it's his only job. Yesterday, though, he was introduced to his other job: keeping the ram company.

Because he isn't used to being in a flock of two, nor familiar with the ram pasture, I put the wether, ram and two bred ewes in the ram pasture. Next weekend, I'll remove the ewes.

In the meantime, I'll need to come up with a name for him. The ram is Titan.

Fun fact: This past week a friend asked if I knew of the origin of bellwether. It refers to the old practice of putting a bell around the neck of the wether leading the flock.

Meanwhile on the farm: We've already had two mornings this month when I've stepped outside onto snow. Our 15-acre pasture though still has plenty of grass for grazing. Unfortunately for me it's not near the barn. Fortunately for the Border collies, it's a trek from the barn and they get to help move sheep daily.

Little Victories on the Sheepdog Trial Field

The trial field at Edgeworth.

I can fill pages with everything I learned at the Virginia Triple Crown Sheepdog Trials. (But, because this is a blog--I'll refrain, sort of, I promise).

Over the course of nine days, Bubba ran six times on three different fields with three different types of sheep. Emma ran five times.

My main goal was to continue forming a partnership with Bubba. He arrived at the farm in late May, fully trained. But he has a different style than my previous dogs--and I have a different style than his previous handler. We aren't yet a solid team (though we made big leaps over the past few weeks).

I also wanted to get more experience on working on big fields with different types of sheep.

So here's a little about what we learned:
1. A dog that finds sheep at 600 yards away is an amazing thing.
I have never sent a dog 600 yards to find sheep, and I stood at the post, whistle at the ready, watching and hoping. The dogs took off, looking and casting out, running over hills and out of sight a few times, and I had to trust they were on the right path. They were.

2. Both of my dogs did poorly at flanking on the fetch (until they got closer to me).
That means I'm going to have to practice flanking on the fetch, walking out to correct them, and to keep increasing my distance. It'll be a good winter project.

3. Eleven minutes is a really long time.
Over the past few years, I've really worked on focusing and observing what my dog and the sheep are doing on the field (instead of what I hope they are doing). As the dog is working, I'm watching and asking: When I give a flank whistle, does my dog take it? Does he slice his flank? How are the sheep responding? Where is the line? This still doesn't come  naturally to me. Thus, 11 minutes is a really long time. (Most courses I run are in the 8-minute range).

4. Even at a sheepdog trial, you can phone a friend.
With Bubba, I've been working on whistle cues, flanks, timing and shedding, but not so much on penning. After two failed attempts at the pen, I called his previous handler and trainer. "He's a big dog," she said. If he sliced a flank, even a little bit, it would be enough to unsettle the sheep. "Tell him to get out before you flank him," she said. I tried it at the next trial. It wasn't smooth, nor pretty. But it helped and we penned the sheep.

5. Working four lambs is really hard. 
I have lambs at home. I know how unpredictable they can be, especially when they don't have an older ewe as a leader. Working four lambs that were in a new environment and that hadn't been worked in small groups was really challenging. Sometimes they wanted to look at the dog. Sometimes they wanted to run. Sometimes they did a little of both.

6. You can retire, and still be impressed with your dog
Sheep behave differently depending on who is in their group, the dog, the weather and the time of day. At one trial, I ran during a difficult afternoon stretch when the sheep seemed to be winning. They kept running back to the set out pens, and there were more disqualifications and retires than scores on the board. When I sent Emma to get the sheep, she found them, but then a wily ewe got past her and bolted down a hill and out of sight. I could not see what was going on. After scanning the hilltop for what seemed like minutes, I retired and began the 400 yards up the field to find my dog. That's when I heard, "She's got the sheep" being relayed from the set-out person. Several seconds later, the sheep appeared on the hilltop, and Emma was bringing them to me--and handlers were applauding her efforts. She won.

7. At a trial, my whistles sound like a banshee--and Bubba doesn't speak that language.
My trial whistles sound nothing like my practice whistles. Thank you adrenaline. My other dogs have put up with it. Bubba does not. To him, it sounds like I'm yelling at him. Don't let his size fool you. He's a big marshmallow. Halfway through my third run, I realized what was happening and softened my whistles. The improvement was dramatic. Bubba is going to train me to soften my whistles, and that's a good thing.

8. Bubba is also going to teach me to watch for and correct sliced flanks.
Bubba is a big dog and a little slice has a big impact on the sheep. When I saw it and corrected for it, the drive got better.

9. Not all sheep are the same.
Katahdin sheep were used in all three trials--and all behaved differently. At the first trial, we worked four Katahdin lambs that were unpredictable and tricky and not used to being worked by dogs. At the second, we worked two lambs and a ewe that were seldom worked by dogs. While the lambs had a leader, the lead ewe often acted like she had no friends and would split from the lambs. Both of these combinations required a dog that could push the sheep along. At the third trial, we worked three ewes who were used to being worked by dogs. I made the mistake of not stopping Bubba when he reached his sheep and putting the brakes on him. It made for a lively run and a lesson learned.

10. My dogs amaze me.
No, I'm not bragging. I just am amazed at how hard they work and how hard they try to be right and how willing they are to work with me and to put up with my blunders.

Searching for That Sweet Spot

Niki brings in the flock so that I could separate the flock. 

Spring is five months away, and that means sheep breeding season starts today.

Over the years, we've lambed as early at late February and as late as late April--all in an effort to hit that sweet spot when:

--Winter is over.

--The spring grass is coming on.

--Fly season hasn't started.

--The lambs are market weight by late October.

--Lambs are born before sheepdog trial season begins.

We've been raising sheep for well over a decade, and we have yet to hit that sweet spot.

This past year, we opted for early lambing, and ended up feeding hay as we watched winter hang on and on.

So, for 2019, we're aiming for the first day of spring. (A ewe's gestation period is 5 months).

This afternoon, I sorted the flock, separating the breeding ewes from the ewe lambs and dog-working sheep. I turned the ram out with the breeding ewes and moved them to a separate pasture.

In five months, we hope to have lambs born into sunshine and green grass.

Will it happen? We'll just have to wait and see.

Roxie, the mischievous barn cat,  parked herself in front of the pasture gate, making the sheep sorting process more of a challenge.

One Brain Cell

The ram lambs often move as a collective clump.

At four months of age, the ram lambs are separated from the flock and enter their state of bachelorhood. They live in a separate pasture, and graze, ruminate and sleep together.

The time spent on sheep care goes up.

Not only do we have to ensure the ram lambs are getting plenty of food and water, we also must deal with their erratic behavior.

For the most part, the flock of ewes and ewe lambs behave in a predictable manner. The lead ewe, often an older, wiser animal, makes the decisions about when the flock goes to pasture, when it worries about people, when it sleeps, and when it runs.

The ram lambs have no leader. Instead, they act as a collective clump that often makes bad decisions.

Sometimes they startle at the sight of a dog and go sprinting across the field. Sometimes they sprint, just because. Sometimes the group splits, and they stand in a state of wonder. How will they ever get back together?

The Border collies and I must practice lots of patience.

Tonight, when moving the ram lambs to another pasture, three lambs decided to dart into the waterway. Were they older ewes, I would have sent the dog to reunite the flock. Doing that with ram lambs may have sent the three on a suicide mission into the fence. So, I asked the dog to lie down and wait as the one-brain-celled group figured out how to reunite with the others.

Eventually they did.

But will they remember this lesson tomorrow?

I'm not counting on it.

The Border collies learn to keep their distance and to move slowly around ram lambs.

Starting Spring with Creative Stall Building

Lambs and ewes hang out under the lean-to after the storm.

Usually I don't worry about sub-freezing weather or a little snow and rain.

But when the winds blow from the east at 30 mph, and right into the sheep's lean-to, and promise to deliver 5 inches of snow, I take action.

Lambs are pretty hardy creatures, but dampness, wind and freezing temperatures will chill them. So, I had to find some way to bring them into the barn and out of the wind and snow.

Our barn was originally designed for horses. When the sheep came along, we built a lean-to on the east end. It provides shade in the summer, and protection from the west wind. It was offering them no protection on Monday night.

So I spent the evening looking at the horse/sheep barn and tryng to figure out where I could fit the sheep. I didn't want to sort and divide the flock and place different groups in different horse stalls. The odds of getting the wrong ewe with the wrong lamb were pretty high.

So, I did some creative stall building. And in 30 minutes I had a labyrinth in the barn that allowed the sheep to get inside and out of the wind.

Of course, it left me with no aisle ways--and I'm getting better at climbing over gates.

But it seemed to work.

New friends were made overnight.

The winds are supposed to die down tonight--so the sheep can return to the lean-to, and I can reclaim the barn.

Sidenote: I bought the smaller sheep pipe panels last year, and have added them to my While-Didn't-I-Do-it-Sooner List. They're easy to move and configure into all kinds of pens and corrals.

Conversations in the Lamb Pen

We were breezing through lambing season until Ewe #11 gave birth to twins.

The black ewe bellowed in the paddock while her newborn twin lambs shivered in the afternoon breeze. I scooped them up and brought them into the barn and out of the wind.

Unlike the other ewes, she did not follow me and her babies.

She did, though, seem happy to follow a flake of alfalfa hay into the barn--until I shut the door, and she found herself locked in a stall with her two lambs.

Why are you leaving me with them? she screamed.

Sometimes ewes reject their lambs. A ewe with triplets may push one aside. A ewe disturbed during birthing and not given time to bond may reject a lamb. And, as was in the case with this ewe, a first-time mom might just be beyond nervous.

I'm a fan of no-fuss plants and animals. I don't grow roses. My Halfinger horses seem to get fat on air. My Katahdin and Dorper sheep thrive on grass and rarely need assistance with lambing or living.

But I wasn't going to give up on two healthy lambs. I'd first make sure they got antibody-rich colostrum from their mother. To do that, I caught and haltered the ewe, then confirmed that she was making milk. I next directed the lambs to the udder.

She gave me a wild-eyed look.

"You'll warm up to them," I told her.

The few times I've had a ewe reject a lamb, I've had success holding the ewe and allowing the lamb to nurse frequently for the first 24-48 hours. After that, the lamb smells like her mom, and the two bond. It's time consuming, but less so than raising lambs on bottles.

"I'm not sure I'd be wild about taking on twins," I tell the ewe. "But you only have to do this for 90 days, and then you can join the Working Group (the sheep I use for dog training)."

She responds by leaping into me.

When I return to her pen two hours later, I bring a stool. She brings an attitude. After catching and haltering her, I sit on the stool as the lambs nurse.

"You only have to do this for 60 days," I say. "You'll get the best food. You can probably talk some SuperMom into watching them while you nap."

She struggles to escape--and I hold on, and listen to song after song on the radio as the minutes tick by.

During my third visit, it is dark and cold. I bring a stool and my phone. Might as well catch up on the news while I'm holding the ewe. Instead, I get sucked into Facebook and all the photos of lambs nursing from their patient moms.

"Why can't you be like them," I say, showing her the photos.

Sometime after my third visit, another ewe gives birth to twins. After settling them into an adjoining stall, I resume my position on the stool.

"Look at them," I tell the black ewe. "She's standing so quietly while her babies nurse." The ewe still struggles to escape. I am getting better at hanging on.

The ewe is less cantankerous in the morning--but still is not going to stand and allow her babies to nurse.

"Never have I dreamed of spending the pre-dawn hours in a freezing sheep stall," I tell the ewe. Though it's really quite pleasant. The other ewes and horses are munching hay; the cat is perched above me; and snow is falling outside. When I scratch the lambs rumps, they wag their tails and nurse more enthusiastically.

"You have really bad breath," I say while holding her during the dawn feeding. She happily chews her cud.

When I return in the afternoon, she looks at me and stands still, allowing her babies to nurse. Apparently she's accepted them--or decided she'd rather nurse them than chat with me. And I'm okay with that.

State of Wonder

In her first day, the lamb learns how to nurse, tests her jump moves and watches her mom for signs of danger. She mouths hay and dunks her nose in the water. In the evening, she snuggles up to her sister for a nap.

This is our 11th lambing season, and I still find myself drawn to the barn and filled with a sense of wonder.

For the first time this year, we have a lamb with a distinguished sock.

Did it come from his paternal side? Or was there some gene on his maternal side, slumbering for generations and just now showing itself?

Or did he know that he'd enter this world on a Monday when mismatched socks sometimes happen?

I think I'll call him Monday.

Nope, there is not an app for that

After more than a decade of sheep ownership, I've concluded there are no good days to trim hooves, only not-as-bad days.

A 30-degree day with a light dusting of snow and frozen ground is as good as it gets--which is how I found myself spending my Saturday trimming sheep hooves.

"Sheep have cloven feet, so we're trimming eight hooves per sheep, for a total of 152 hooves," I tell my husband.

He's picking out his outfit. As chief sheep wrestler and holder, he needs clothes that allow movement, but also provide protection from sharp hooves.

I swap out my winter gloves for leather work gloves, put on my winter barn wear and a headlamp. I'm the chief trimmer.

Sheep hooves grow like fingernails. In rocky areas, sheep wear down their feet and seldom, if ever, need trimming. We have a lot of clay in our soil, and in years when the summer, fall and winter are wet, the sheep have little opportunity to wear down their feet, and we must trim twice a year.

The job's been on the to-do list for weeks, but it's not something to tackle when sheep have mud-covered feet. When the ground is frozen and the sheep spend time on the snow, then their feet are clean and soft.

And yet the job is tedious. Sheep are low to the ground, so I find myself in a squat as I try to hold the ewe's foot between my legs.

After two hours and trimming a dozen sheep, we take a break.

"There's got to be a better way," I say as I try to straighten.

During the break, the husband searches YouTube for sheep trimming, and we watch a man lead a goat into the chute of a tilt table that is sitting in an open area. We look at each other. None of our sheep willingly walk into a chute. We watch more videos of smiling sales people operating tilt tables and other restraining devices, and sheep that are squirming and kicking.

Shaking our heads, we head back to the barn where the last seven sheep await.

The sheep in the last group are the older ewes, the ones who were smart enough to hang back. But they're also more cooperative, and so I have time to think about things, like how most people I know are spending the day indoors instead of leaning into a pregnant ewe; like how renting the farmland for grain production would be easier than raising sheep; like how some jobs still require getting dirty and sweating a bit.

The last ewe that we trim is a 2-year-old white ewe, the daughter of the Spotted Ewe, granddaughter of the Upheaded Ewe and great-granddaughter of our foundation ewe. She is bright-eyed, alert and has lovely confirmation. She's due to deliver her first lambs in March.

Those lambs will remind me why we have sheep--and they'll make me forget that sheep trimming day in January.

The One New Year's Day Regret

I spend part of New Year's Day doing activities that I'd like to do throughout the year. Lucky for me, the sun came out and the temperatures climbed to the 40s, so I could spend hours outdoors.

 Pictured from left are Tag, Raven, Niki, Jack and Caeli. This was taken right before I released them so they could run in the fields.

I started the day like I do most, with the dog walk. But on this day, because the sun was shining and because I had time, I extended the walk to the far hay field and lingered as the Border collies hunted for mice, rolled in the grass and chased each other.

I followed that up with several rounds of herding training--a treat when the weather is warm, the ground is soft, but not muddy.

I took time to admire the horses, soaking in the afternoon sunshine.

Lily, like always, is front and center. Jet is behind her.

Noticing their bushy bridle paths, I took them in the barn for hair cuts, grooming and lots of peppermint treats. Is there anything more soothing than listening to the barn radio and the swish of scissors while standing over a horse? 

And, while being lulled by the horses, I made my New Year's Day mistake.

I addressed the chicken issue.

For months now, I've been squabbling with the hens who insist on sleeping in the horse barn, rather than the chicken coop. Carrying hens from the horse barn to the chicken coop has become a nightly chore.

I decided to put a stop to that and move them to the other chicken house, the chicken house that has a fenced yard and no direct access to the sheep and horse barn.

I spent New Year's Day preparing the chicken's new home. I cleaned it out, spread fresh straw on the floor and stapled plastic over an opening to cut down on drafts. That evening, I carried 2 roosters and 16 hens to their new home.

This morning, they roamed their new yard and gobbled up butternut squash seeds and apple cores.

They seemed happy, they seemed content.I was happy, I was content.

But as dusk approached, one hen flew over the fence and into the yard. Another flew over the fence and marched to the horse barn.

And so this evening, I did what I'd done on New Year's Day: I moved a chicken from the horse barn to the chicken coop.

The Wailing Lamb

I take great joy in looking out my office window and seeing ewes and lambs grazing in the pasture.

As the morning moves on, the lambs tire of grazing and nap. The ewes though, still nursing lambs and needing calories, keep walking and gobbling up grass.

I write and watch as the ewes move down the hill. Most lambs follow.

But one, snoozing in the morning sun, does not.

When he awakes, he sees no ewes or lambs. They've all moved about 50 yards down the hill.

He does what lambs do, what we adults would like to do when things are not going our way.

He stands up and wails and wails.

As lambs grow older, the ewes respond less and less quickly to lamb wails. A 30-day-old lamb calling for his mother only elicits a couple "over here" baas from mom before she returns to grazing.

The lamb wails again, hoping she'll come.

She doesn't.

Giving in, he lopes toward his mother and other sheep. The lambs and sheep return to munching grass.

And, I return to my work, happy to be diverted by lambs.

A Yard Solution?

Some people have their ah-ha moments while in the shower. Mine happen when cleaning horse stalls or mowing.

The longer I'm doing one of those tasks, the better, or more outrageous those ideas become.

Our house is surrounded by pastures and fields of hay, soybeans and corn. Because we don't like stepping outside and into a corn field, it has a large yard.

Over the years, we've planted trees, which provide windbreaks and shade. They also lengthen the mowing time.

Last fall, while mowing and battling pine needles and cobwebs, I had one of those ah-ha moments.

What if we turn the sheep into that section of the yard?

The electric fencing netting arrived this week.

Time will tell if it is a brilliant idea or a big fail.