Dreams, Sheep, and Handknitting

Every once in awhile I dream my sheep have gotten loose, and I'm desperately trying to round them all up. It's a nightmare, literally! Sometimes the dreams take place in a city, and sheep are wandering into the streets through busy intersections. Other times they're at my parents' house and keep getting out into the vacant lot next door. Each time I manage to get one sheep back in through the gate, two more escape. Ugh.

Last night's dream was a peculiar variation on the theme, though. I'm not sure where I was. It was sort of a combination of my grandmother's yard and the house we lived in when I was 8 years old. The backyard was much bigger than reality, but that's typical of dreams.

I went outside and started looking for the sheep. I realized one of the rams was in the alley outside the fence. Then I spotted another sheep and then another. Then there was a Jack Russell terrier.

Now this is when things got really peculiar! I don't know any Jack Russell terriers; I never have. But that's what he was. And he was wearing one of my handknitted caps. He looked quite fetching in it. A neighbor I didn't know came along and picked him up. She was wearing one of the sweaters I had made. As I looked around, I saw several of my sheep wearing my knitted caps, as well.

I was confused and rather put out. I didn't know this person. Why was she wearing one of my sweaters? She calmly told me they thought it would be good advertising for my work if they wore them. She was very polite about it. I thanked her and took the cap off the Jack Russell. I woke up after that.

I'm not even going to try to figure out that one!

Never Let a Sheep Drive

I bought hay yesterday. When I got home, I decided I was too tired to unload it, so I parked the truck up near the house and figured I'd feed the sheep out of it for a day or two until I got around to storing the hay bales in the barn.

So this morning I got up, threw a few flakes of hay from the back of the truck to the sheep, and went to work.

When I got home I parked the car, dropped my purse and groceries in the house, let the dog out, and headed for the truck. It wasn't there. Before my panic fully developed, I spotted it down near the barn. Then I really gasped. I could see the faint tire tracks slightly off the right side of the drive leading from where I had left the truck to where it now stood. It had taken a fairly straight path along the garden fence, over a shovel handle, near or over a good-sized rock (not sure about that), and then rolled smoothly to a slight rise about 8 feet from the shearing pen where it luckily came to a stop.

Apparently the truck had slipped out of gear. I've had trouble with it doing that a couple times before, so I always double-check that it's firmly in first gear when I park it. The emergency brake is more a brake in name than in fact. If you drive with it on, the most you usually notice is a decrease in gas mileage.

My guess is that a ram or two put their hooves on the back bumper to try to reach the hay in the truck bed. They've done this before. However, this time they appear to have set the truck in motion. It is very lucky that no sheep or lambs or chickens got run over as the truck made its way downhill. Everyone seems fine, including the truck. Me, however, I'm still shaking a bit with "what-could-have-happened" thoughts. Lesson learned.

I took this picture from where I parked the truck. It traveled a fair distance.

Chiengora

Currently I'm spinning dog fur, also known as "chiengora." Specifically, I'm working with Maltipoo.

Dierdre, my dog, has been glued to me; whenever I'm spinning the fur, she's no more than 12 inches from my chair. She doesn't act this way when I spin other fibers. I don't know if this attitude is simply because I'm spinning dog fur or if it's because Dierdre knows the dog whose fur I'm spinning. In either case, I have to be very careful every time I move to not run into her.

Dog fur spins up into beautiful yarn. Most any fur of at least 2"-3" in length can be spun. Owners (friends, custodians, servants, or whatever the humans' relationships are to their dogs) just brush their canine as usual. Instead of throwing the fur in the trash, they stow it in paper bags. When they have enough fur, voilà,  fiber ready to be made into yarn. Fur from poodles, Maltipoos, and other dogs that are normally trimmed during grooming can be spun, as well. Brushed fur is best, though, as it results in the softest yarn.

When I lived in Kansas, I participated annually in a harvest festival. I demonstrated spinning and sold my work. One year a girl of about nine years old watched me spin for half an hour. She was quite fascinated, especially when I told her I could spin fur from her dog, who she had brought to the festival. She immediately ran her fingers through his fur several times and then presented me with a handful of fluff. I spun it on the spot and gave her the yarn.

The following year, she and her dog came back. She proudly told me she still had the yarn I had made for her. It was a very cool experience.

Storm and Thor

I took some twilight pictures of two of the lambs, Storm and Thor. Rogue kept disappearing among the adults, so I'll have to get photos of her later. Storm is the one with the white spot on top of her head. Actually, they all have a small tuft of white, but hers is the most noticeable.

"Snow. What Snow?" -- Sheep

It's nice to know my sheep are content in a variety of weather conditions. The first picture is of them lounging as snow began to fall. The second photo is them still lounging 20 minutes later while being coated with snow. (The lambs wisely stayed in the barn.)

Storm

It's a good thing I planned to let Petra and Rogue out of the lambing pen today because it was needed by a new set of residents. Boudica gave birth to a good-sized black ewe lamb this morning, who I've named Storm.

Considering how difficult it was to get Petra into the lambing pen, it was surprising how hard it was to get her to leave it. Most mothers go in easily, simply following their lambs that I carry in. But since Petra wasn't showing much interest in Rogue, she had to be forcibly ensconced.

This morning I opened the gate to let the two of them out, and they just stood there looking at me. I picked up Rogue and set her in another part of the barn. Petra didn't move. I finally gave her a shove, and she left. It took her a few minutes to find Rogue, but at least she looked for her and seemed content when she found her. New mothers -- sometimes you just have to shake your head in disbelief.

When I went out to feed the sheep this morning, I found Boudica in the barn cleaning Storm, so she was just recently born. I gave the ewe some hay and left them alone, so she could finish cleaning the baby and bonding. A couple hours later I moved them both to the lambing pen.

Years ago I read the excellent advice to carry newborn lambs only a foot or so from the ground so that their mothers can follow. The writer (I've forgotten who right now, but it was probably Ron Parker) pointed out that lambs normally don't fly, so mothers don't think to look for them at a height of four or five feet where they'd be in your arms when you're standing. Therefore, you need to carry them close to the ground where their mothers expect them to be. This position isn't bad when you don't have far to move them. However, long distances can be a bit tough on the back and legs. Heloise once gave birth to large twins a good 50 yards from the barn. Walking backwards with a lamb in each hand all the way to the barn wasn't fun.

The very short trip to the lambing pen this morning went fine, though. Boudica devotedly followed her lamb and went calmly into the lambing pen. Perhaps she had noted all the extra hay Petra has been getting in there the last couple days and was looking forward to the food.

Rogue

Rogue arrived on Wednesday -- a little black ewe lamb whose ma-a-a is a first-time mother. Many beginning mothers figure things out right away. This ewe, Petra, unfortunately did not. When Dierdre and I entered the barn and found mother and daughter, Petra fled from the dog, leaving Rogue alone. Not what a shepherd wants to see. Mothers should defend their young.

The lamb was dry and seemed to have nursed, but I wasn't sure. Petra went off to dine with the other sheep, leaving Rogue alone again. Before I went in that night, I wrestled Petra and made her let Rogue nurse. I did the same the next morning.

When I got home from work, I was quite concerned that the baby wasn't eating, at least not regularly. I found Petra socializing with the other sheep and Rogue alone in the barn. I decided I better pen them together. I made an enclosure using some chain-link gates. I coerced Petra inside and plunked Rogue in with her. I made sure she nursed again, as well.

Let me digress about the wonderful usefulness of chain-link gates. Someone gave a dozen gates to a friend of mine a few years ago, and he gave me three of them. They're 3' high x 4' long. I've used them as wool drying racks, to enclose part of the shearing enclosure, and as portable pens. Moveable, strong, and sheep-proof, they're incredibly handy to have around.

Petra has finally figured out the mothering thing. Rogue looks well-fed now. I'm going to leave them together in the stall until tomorrow, though, just to make sure Petra understands this ewe-lamb relationship is ongoing.

I don't have any pictures yet but will soon. So in the meantime I decided to include two pictures of Dierdre. It's been raining for a couple of days, and there is a lot of mud near the barn. Dierdre takes her job seriously, which means she braves all weather. Wow, is she wet and muddy.

I had to buy and unload some hay this afternoon, despite the rain. Dierdre, as always, kept me company. We were both drenched by the time I finished. We came in the house, and I changed clothes. I couldn't figure out why I still smelled like a wet barn until I looked down and saw Dierdre standing next to me. Hmmm, the source of the odor. I cleaned and dried her as well as I could. The "wet" picture is the result. The second photo is what she usually looks like.

Thor

Freyja gave birth to the first lamb of the season this morning. I've named him Thor. (Keep in mind this is ovine genealogy, not Norse mythology, so the relationships are a little off.)

The low last night was about 14 degrees, and it reached a toasty 32 degrees for a high. Thor is handling the temperature like the Norse god he's named after; it doesn't seem to be bothering him at all.

He was about six hours old when I took the pictures.

Nessie

I knitted the Loch Ness monster for my goddaughter Violet. Her mother and I have taken several pictures of Nessie, but neither of us has been able to snap a good one. I was frustrated until I realized why.

Nessie is the Loch Ness monster; no one ever gets a clear photo of her! What was I thinking? The lack of photographic clarity must prove Violet's Nessie is a good representation of the original!

Rain and Chickens Don't Mix

It rained a lot on the Fourth of July. This was actually a good thing. We hadn't had rain for several weeks and were in sore need of it. The precipitation stopped late afternoon and the clouds began to disappear, so fireworks were still possible.

This was the first time my 3 1/2-month old chicks (chicklets? tween chicks?) had experienced anything but sunny weather. The last time it rained (or snowed) they were still housed inside. I had placed the top of an old dog house in their enclosure awhile back to give them extra shelter. I didn't know if they'd ever used it, but I figured they would definitely get under it when it rained. Sigh. I seriously overestimated young chicken intelligence.

It was raining pretty hard when I looked out the window and saw the six chicks huddled together, getting soaked. So out I went into the now pouring rain and chased chicks around until I caught them, one by one, and put them in the shelter. At least they stayed put once I deposited them there. I was afraid they'd bolt right out again, but apparently they grasped immediately the advantages of the situation. By the time I, with great effort and much running through the rain, caught each chick and placed her under the dog house roof, I was soaked. I really looked as though I had taken a shower fully dressed, but at least the chicks were safely ensconced.

I peeked out occasionally to make sure they were still under cover, and they were. They didn't stick their heads out again until the rain had completely stopped. Now I just wonder if they'll remember to get in out of the rain next time!