No lambs to speak of yet. I spent a bit of time last night repairing a hole in the fence. It's unnerving to be falling asleep watching episodes of Buffy on DVD to be shocked back into full consciousness by a black sheep, 6 feet away, bleating at the back hatch of your Subaru for grain (which is where I hide it). (The car is parked right outside the living room wall.) Joseph, is the escape expert of the trio. I can come home from worrk and see ol' Sal and Maude munching in the pasture and Joseph is down in the barn eating rabbit pellets. Alas, he cares more about Blue Seal Coarse 14 than he does about freedom, so he'll follow me right back into the pen if I have a handful of grain. I brought him back in his pen, nailed the fence back to the side of the sheep shed, and then went back to the Scooby Gang.
Today I start pounding some fence posts and running some new fences. I have a few used rolls we transfered from old fencing at the farm. It's not good enough for pen fence but fine for field fence. If I can do twenty feet today will be a victory. I need to just focus on small chunks done well.
Gibson is growing into a gangly little man. His fur is growing longer, his legs are too. He and Annie have become good playmates and spend most of their time rolling around the house together and exploring the upstairs. Right now they are playing keep-away with Annie's favorite stuffed animal (Annie is the one keeping it away) and Jazz is guarding his slice of quiche in the other room. He knows he can eat it in a few gulps, or he can sit with it and mock the other dogs who ate theirs to fast. Jazz can be a jerk sometimes; mocking us with his egg pies.
So that's my Sunday in the country. A morning of decadent food stuffs, an afternoon of sweat and midwifery, and hopefully an evening with my old friend, my fiddle. I think it's time I finally memorize Sally Goodin.
P.S. I've never read this blog in whole, but I did look at entries from the first September today. Wow.