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WANNABE STUFF
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APPRENTICE STUFF
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MASTER STUFF
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And for our former harrowing adventures, there's always the archives
Friday, February 25, 2005
In which we start checking pregnant sheep
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It's that time of the year again! We bred six of our Shetland sheep (well, four purebred Shetlands--Holly, Cora, Tory, and Penelope--and two Shetland/Cheviot crosses--Daphne and Delia). We're at the point where the sheep need to be checked multiple times a day in case lambs decide that it's time to be born. My shifts are around 5:30 in the evening (when I get home from work) and 11:00 at night. Sally does an early morning and midday shift (and occasional impromptu shifts, when she just finds herself curious about what might or might not be happening). I spend most of my time hoping and praying that nothing will happen on my shifts, and then being vastly relieved when I find sheep placidly chewing their respective cuds, with no lambs in sight. (I actually feel that checking the sheep for possible lambs is very similar to another chore that I have right now: checking a mousetrap in my kitchen pantry for possible dead furry things. In both cases, there's the same sense of overwhelming dread, and the same enormous relief when I find that no gruesome life-and-death scenario is about to unfold. But then, I was probably never meant to be a farmer!) If these ewes have any idea what's good for them, they'll lamb early in the morning or in the middle of the day, and leave the evenings and night free and clear. Stay tuned--I'll undoubtedly be able to regale everyone with exciting tales and pictures any day now!
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
In which we consult a medical professional
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As I think I mentioned in my last update, I've had a lingering knee problem for the last six weeks or so. It's not usually painful, but for some reason, my left knee just isn't working properly: it's unstable, and it gives out at awkward moments. I'd like to be able to say that it was a macho sheep injury, but in truth I have no memory of any injury at all--it probably happened because I slipped on mud or ice while feeding the sheep, but the moment wasn't dramatic enough to penetrate the perpetual fog that I'm often floating in as I go about my normal routine.
Anyway, I finally decided that I was getting bored with a half-knee: it makes it hard to practice shedding, or to carry hay and lug water, or even to walk out to check the sheep. (Lambs are coming soon! Sheep checks are going to be of paramount importance in another couple of days.) So I went to an orthopedist this morning, a nice enough guy who bent my knee this way and that (he never really produced any satisfying pain, which made me feel guilty for wasting his time in the first place) and took a couple of x-rays. Everything was inconclusive, so I need to have a knee MRI tomorrow to see if it's a cartilage problem (and I'm pretty sure that it must be--I just hope it's not an actual tear). I get to bring the CD of my choice for the 45 minutes of tubular hell. Can't imagine what I'll feel like listening to: if anyone has any suggestions, send them on!
The highlight of this medical experience was, ironically enough, a genuine Highlight--I got caught up on the antics of my old friends Goofus and Gallant, the ambiguously gay duo of Highlights for Children Magazine. If you're in your 30s or 40s, you're sure to remember Gallant, who annoyed the hell out of all who knew him by doing everything right all the time, and Goofus, the rebel bad boy who never learned to use his salad fork. If you've never met these two, here's a sample. (Personally, I've always been secretly fond of Goofus: he's misunderstood! He can't express his true feelings as well as Gallant! He has the potential to be good! All he needs is a little love and understanding, and he'll be fine! Gallant is all surface slickness, but Goofus truly has hidden depths waiting to be plumbed.) Anyway, it was comforting to learn that nothing has really changed about Highlights since my childhood, save for the fact that Goofus and Gallant are now sketched in color (they're BLOND? That's just . . . wrong) instead of the black-and-white pencil drawings that I remember. In this particular issue, Goofus tried to fob off walking his beagle on his mother, whereas Gallant did his laundry without being told. (I'm disappointed in Goofus--why wouldn't he want to walk his dog? And what's wrong with Gallant? What kind of red-blooded American boy does laundry, anyway?) Goofus sulked because he got a gutter ball in bowling, whereas Gallant the good sport laughed off his inability to knock down three milk bottles with a ball in at a carnival. Comforting as familiarity is, I still know that somewhere, someday, somehow Goofus is going to show the world the sort of kid he really is--he just needs a little time, a little special attention, a little extra work . . . but I know that there's greatness in him, deep down. He's going to leave Gallant in the dust, and then everyone who lionized Gallant's neat room and correct homework will feel abashed. (Since I'm bored at work today, I searched around on the web for any references to Goofus and Gallant. I found this fairly funny parody entitled "Goofus, Gallant, Rashomon" by the usually all-too-hip-and-clever literary magazine McSweeney's. Just to show you all how hip and clever I am, I'm including it for your reading pleasure.
Monday, February 21, 2005
In which we get back into the swing of things
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Phyl and I went to Sherry Smith's fun trial this weekend, at her farm in Maryland. I was on the fence about going up until the last minute: I had the flu last week and I'm still a little out of it (let's hear it for the virtues of diminished appetite!), and I also seem to have messed up my knee doing God-knows-what, and walking on muddy, uneven ground isn't doing me any good at all. But in the end, I decided to go: Phyl really needed to stretch her legs a little, and I needed to remind myself why I love trialing so much. So I drove three hours to Sherry's, hung out for an hour or so before my run talking to people whom I hadn't seen in awhile, ran Phyl on an Open course, and drove home. The run itself was a pure pleasure (naturally, it would stand to reason that I'd have one of my best runs ever in a fun trial that counts for nothing!). Phyl did a beautiful outrun, which is something that I just don't get tired of writing. The fetch was a dog leg, and she handled it very well: by the time the sheep got to my feet, they were completely relaxed and completely under her control. Her drive was almost all her--she covered the pressure on her own, and I only had to make tiny adjustments every so often to tweak things. The pen wasn't perfect--one lamb ran out of the mouth and had to be encouraged back--but, given the proximity of the pen to the exhaust, I was pleased. Unfortunately, I didn't get the shed: I had enough time to set one up, and the sheep were relaxed enough that I should have been able to make a nice hole. But somehow it didn't happen: I got a hole and called Phyl in too quickly (I think): she went for the three sheep instead of the single, and I never got a good opportunity after that. But so it goes--I'm so happy with the rest of the run that I refuse to obsess over the shed. At some point we'll get better at shedding, and then life will be beautiful. But right now, even without the shedding life is pretty nice indeed!
Friday, February 18, 2005
In which we return to blogging and introduce a new feature
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My goal is going to be daily blog entries (or as near "daily" as I can manage), even if they have to be short and sweet. There's going to be lots going on for Phyl and me in the near future: lambs will be due in the next few weeks; several trials are coming; and (terror of terrors) I'm going to be breeding Phyl this spring, and that means I'm going to have to make the final decision on a stud. Yikes!
As the sharper among you might have noticed, I've added a feature that allows blog readers to add comments. Please do, even if they're at the level of "Heather, you're a moron." If I'm a moron, I'm a moron: better to know it than to hide my head in the sand! :-) It's been a little too comfortable, this business of writing without any feedback at all: dialogue is better, even if it shatters pleasant illusions. So comment away, and don't worry about hurting my feelings!
