There’s one in every crowd.
Well, that’s what they say.
…and it’s true.
More specifically, “that damn, black lamb”.
Okay…I know I just offended a whole host of folks. For that I apologize, but you must realize
the level of aggravation that this one ovine occupant causes on a continual
basis. We’re talking real aggravation. The kind of aggravation that causes cussing and yelling...on a regular basis.
...and damn lamb rhymes...bringing a little amusement to the annoying situation. Sometimes, you just gotta laugh...
...and damn lamb rhymes...bringing a little amusement to the annoying situation. Sometimes, you just gotta laugh...
But, let me begin at the beginning.
As you might remember, all our lambs are born black. Did you read this? Over time, their wool fades to a creamy shade
of white (although most of the time, it’s more a mungy shade of yuck). With
Waylon’s recessive black gene, it is possible to have lambs that will stay
black their entire lives. Kinda cool if you ask me. Most of the time, this coloration is referred to as “blue”
in the show ring. I’ve always wanted to
have a black/blue ewe. You know the
whole one of a kind, unique, stand out in the crowd kind of deal. I admire that in people, it makes for some interesting
characters and awesome conversation.
In sheep…not so much.
a rare moment of flock "togetherness" |
Sheep are flock animals. It’s important that they stay together. This makes for “safety in numbers” for the animals and sanity for the shepherd. Nothing worse than counting your sheep and coming up short.
I didn’t give that much thought back during lambing season. We had two lambs that looked like they would stay dark. A ewe and a ram. Since I’m always looking for replacement ewes, I kept an eye on the little ewe lamb. She was large and her mother is a good mother and producer. Definitely think about keeping her. I’d finally have my black/blue ewe.
When it came time to take the first load of lambs to the
processor, the Boss and I began sorting so we could put them on the truck and
head out for our trip. I had marked the
ones that I wanted to take…that first load always includes the biggest lambs
which means it’s mostly ram lambs. But, all the rain had caused the marks to
fade, so I was going by looks. (that was my first mistake)...and I was trying to hurry. When we got ready to load, I realized that we
had the black EWE lamb instead of the RAM lamb.
I said a few choice words. (I don’t know why but sheep just make you
cuss sometimes…any of the local shepherds will back me up on this one.)
the trouble-maker is lower left |
The ewe lamb freaked out. She jumped straight up in the air,
crashed into the wall, ran around in circles, screamed wildly and started getting
the rest of them agitated and weird. Great…just what we intended. Not!
Okay, run her in this stall.
Slam the gate. I said SLAM the
GATE! She’s gonna get out!
I did what he said…I didn’t let her escape. But, I really
don’t think he meant slam the gate on my pinkie finger. Oh....OWWWWWW! I think I saw stars. Can’t think about that now…
bruised and bloody |
Okay, lamb, we’re trying to help you…and we started again.
After a couple more turns around the barn, we finally got
the right lambs on the truck and the rest of them out on pasture. My finger was not broken, just badly bruised
and very sore.
But, that was a foreshadowing of things to come. …and not at
all in a good way.
When the lambs were in the front paddocks, they needed to
walk down the alley next to the house to get to their grazing spot. Everything was lovely. …until the afternoon that the Boss cleaned
out the charcoal grill by the front porch.
Despite the fact that the lambs have seen the Boss approximately 49,000
times…they were all terrified. (that’s lambs for you) They bulleted down the
alley. Well, all except that “damn black
lamb”. She completely lost control of her senses, catapulted THROUGH the
electric netting that divides the paddocks and went screaming to the other side
of the farm. Yes…the exact opposite direction
from the other lambs.
Mere words cannot convey the Boss’ frustration. It was time
to grill for supper and have a beer on the porch. But, no…the fence needed some attention and
we might have to chase a stupid lamb around the front field. (because we were
certain she wouldn’t cooperate) Amazingly, the fence wasn’t too messed up and
somehow she got back where she belonged without human intervention. Supper was not ruined after all! Peace
was restored to the hill.
But, the fence episode was repeated on a couple of other
occasions that didn’t include the grill, the Boss, or beer…I think she just
likes going THROUGH the fence. Geez!
Now that the lambs are out back, everything should be
fine. The paddocks are smaller, they’re
more secure, and there are no scary grills out there. Notice I said "should"...
This particular lamb must have the wanderlust. Maybe she’s got gypsy in her blood. We cannot figure out her escape route. None of the other lambs have escaped at all.
This particular lamb must have the wanderlust. Maybe she’s got gypsy in her blood. We cannot figure out her escape route. None of the other lambs have escaped at all.
If they’re in the second paddock, she returns to the hilltop.
She’s never exactly where she should be.
Eventually, she finds her way back.
Although, she manages to get separated from the others on a regular basis which leads to a lot of noisy confusion out back. The noise means I have to go check into what’s going on and invariably find myself looking for…well, you guessed it…that “damn lamb” again.
Although, she manages to get separated from the others on a regular basis which leads to a lot of noisy confusion out back. The noise means I have to go check into what’s going on and invariably find myself looking for…well, you guessed it…that “damn lamb” again.
Needless to say, she won’t be staying on as a breeder. …and she WILL be on the next load that heads
out of here! I am counting the days...
And I have asked myself the same thing every day for two
months (as I rub my still sore finger).
”WHY, oh, WHY didn’t I leave EWE on the truck?”
Oh Barbara - dare I laugh? Sorry about the finger though, it looks really sore. But lambs can be a trial can't they. Our last batch that went, we counted them into the truck, off they went and then - half an hour later - we found one happily eating in the field. Frustrating. Ever thought of grilled lamb for tea?
ReplyDeleteOh, laugh away, Pat! We have to...or go completely crazy. While I am sorry for your frustration, I am SO glad to hear that it is not just American lambs that try human patience.
DeleteGrilled lamb? Absolutely. This is a case of the best revenge is eating well. ha!