david bowie covers and escaping sheep
Sean was also there, the friend from Illinois I had mentioned in an earlier post. He seemed to have a fine time Saturday night, and had a front row seat for all the music and festivities. Sunday morning we had a giant brunch feast of farm omelets (thank you chickens and garden), pancakes with Vermont maple syrup, and copious amounts of coffee in large mugs. The morning was far from ideal though, the B&B style breakfast was interrupted when we realized I was out of milk (yay me). So we jumped into the station wagon to pick up some at the Wayside store. Upon returning into my driveway, I was instantly greeted by an unsettling site. A giant wooly body entered into frame and trotted across the lawn to the cabin. Oh shit. All three sheep had escaped.
Sean and I reacted quickly, like a decent brace of border collies. He ran one way and cut them off at the pass, stopping them from walking down hill into the neighbor's property. I ran back to the sheep shed to grab the coffee can of grains. soon as their giant ears heard the rustling of grain in metal they turned on a dime and ran at me at a full charge. Sheep aren't cows mind you, but seeing three 140-pound animals running toward you, eyes locked on the can in your hands was intimidating. I slowly walked backwards into the pen. All three followed. When they were back inside heads deep in the grain bucket, I checked out the escape route. They had learned that one side of the gate rested on hinges. So they simply lifted it off them till they were free. Whoever says sheep are dumb animals doesn't live with them.
Sean headed back to the Midwest on Sunday, and the rest of the weekend involved smaller scale neighborhood cookouts. But I found the most enjoyable time at home was spent out in the pasture with the flock. I set up movable fencing in the field closest to the pen, giving them an extra grazing room. I'd bring my fiddle, some books, and my alpaca wool blanket and lay out with them for hours at a time. I'd play a few tunes or read a few chapters, sometime I'd doze off or sip a mason jar of lemonade. It was relaxing as it sounds. Every now and then I'd be interrupted by Marvin's nose if my elbow or fiddle was in the way of his foraging. When the sheep had eaten for a while, and I was ready for something a little more active, I'd get up and call them inside the gate. They'd come trotting in, expecting grain for their amazing diplomacy. I delivered.