Perspective of a shepherd

I watch my flock differently this winter, with no anticipation of a "Shepherd's Christmas." It is a relief, actually, not to have any buns in sheepy ovens. Right now I have a large-for-me flock of fine-fleeced, polled, breeding goals achieved to love on, fifteen fleeces to harvest and market later, and plenty of yarn and fiber to keep my fingers busy.

(Spinning through Brian's basketball games keeps me from chewing on my fingers when things aren't going as well as I wish they were for teen and team!)

But that doesn't mean that all's quiet on the Western front. Last year's ewe lambs frequently spar these days, running par for the course of cycling later than the mature ladies.


Butler/Bonaparte yearns for them from afar, voicing his manly desire in ludicrous pitch.


Fortunately, my senior ram Blake seems to be taking his year off in stride and without frustration.

The hens are still on winter break; I am getting, at most, one egg per day from the only hen (one of the blue Wyandottes) who hasn't yet molted. Two of the olive-eggers have regrown their iridescent black beauty, but are apparently still on vacation. Good thing I don't use a lot of eggs!

Molting...

molting...

still laying!

After failing with other measures, we finally resorted to poison to reduce/eliminate the mouse problem in the henhouse. It has made a noticeable difference in population, smell, and food consumption/soiling.

That's it on country living for now from . . .