Friday, March 20, 2009
My invisible sheep.
I've been a bit sheepish about writing about Bonnie, the new Jacob Sheep, because after these pictures were taken she disappeared--I presumed into the gullet of some wily coyote. I always feel a deep sense of shame when my livestock fails to thrive. Or just keels over dead which is more common. Actually, I was able to clean her up after this and shear most of the bad wool from her. I had to cut a lamb collar out of her neck that had grown into her throat. And then, that night, her butt got chewed up. I blamed Max but ended up having to shoot the neighbor's pit bulls off the ridge. (Didn't hit them though I totally wouldn't be sorry if I had.) Whosoever chewed up the sheep butt--it was pretty badly chewed, but I was able to doctor her up. But after so much trauma, it's not surprising Bonnie Sheep decided to become invisible.
I'd despaired of her returning, but she showed up again yesterday and today. I was hopeful she could incorporate herself into the small herd here, but it seems Jacob Sheep have little to no herding instinct. Which is too bad, since my two Shetland boys are badass eunuch warriors worthy of guarding any sheep seraglio. They would protect her if she'd let them and if they weren't just "not that into her." Actually, Mutton tried to beat the crap out of her. I really feel sorry for the poor baby. My place is much more Wild Kingdom than Mr. Greenjeans. And Bonnie is very much a pet.
Anyway, cross your fingers she is able to blend into the herd. It's the best thing for her. Mutton is the thinking sheep and she wouldn't have to do any thinking at all. Sheep are happiest when they don't have to think. Poor Mutton is mad as a hatter from all the thoughts he's had to endure.
Good thing she came with a name. Or I would have prolly named her "Shank". To go with Mutton and Chops.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
...things went decidedly southward.
Finally. I caught Chops to shear him. It was a spur of the moment thing where I took a bit of feed out to them and he let me grab him by the horns. Of course, I didn't have a rope with me to make a halter so I had to drag him to the porch by the horns. This is the thing about sheep. You can lead them quite easily by the neck or by a halter, but the horns--the handy thing to grab onto--causes them to dig their heels in and fight you the entire time. It's a contest of strength. I won in this case.
I get to this point in taking this enormous fleece off of him and I'm really excited because I think I may be able to take it in one big piece--when...
Okay, let me explain about Mutton. Mutton is the other, older sheep. Both are wethers--neutered boy sheep. Mutton, though he has no reason to, is in rutt. He'll actually go after anything. If the dogs didn't give him a hard time, he'd be up for a date with them. Anyway, Chops--the younger, pretty boy sheep--seems to be the object of Mutton's affections this go round(it was a goat, last time).
...Mutton comes charging down the hill baaing lustfully. Chops turns and baas back at him something like, "Aaack, leaf me lone!" Chops is at a considerable disadvantage, half-dressed and restrained by the horns--it's a recipe for disaster and he knows it, I know it and I've left the dogs inside, so no help from that quarter.
Before I know it, I'm in the middle of lanolin-drenched sheep on sheep homosexual sex. Chops is so not into Mutton "that way". I mean, they're friends and all, but Mutton is out of control. The clippers fall on the deck turning themselves on, I'm beating Mutton off Chops, Chops is bellowing, "Aaack! Leaf me lone!", the dogs are barking inside and I'm trying to get to the door to let Max out. Finally, I make it to the door, Chops by the horn in one hand--pushing Mutton off him--and Max comes to the rescue.
Needless to say, the fleece is no longer in one piece. Chops is so upset, he's got diarrhea over part of it. Fiasco. That's the only word for it. This fall may be the year to do the Kentucky barbecue experiment--with Mutton.
***********************
And now for some Porn and Donuts!
If you are just joining the SMB and are wondering what Serial Story Saturday is about--I'm serializing a novella I'm writing called Porn and Donuts and have been running it every Saturday over the summer. You'll have to back track to pick up the entire story. There is always a blog post in front of each installment to foil the sploggers.
She pulled into the parking lot of a Krispy-Kreme store and pulled around the back. The big “Hot” light glowed red in the front of the store. She backed the truck into a line of identical vehicles.
“I wonder what they have coming out of the fryer?”
“Will you focus for a minute, Lucius? How much money did we get?”
“Looks like about fifteen thousand. That ought to get Papaw a right nice stone.”
“Okay, this is the plan.” Kellie let the truck’s engine stall. “We are going to go in there and wait until the heat dies down. They won’t think to look for us there.”
Lucius went to the back and got his duffle bag and Lola. Kellie took the bag with the cash, zipped it up then crammed a fistful of bills in her pocket. Lucius moved towards the front of the van.
“What the hell do you think you are doing?” Kellie asked.
“What?” Lucius looked confused.
“You can’t take that damn thing in there!”
Lucius could see her reasoning. Lola was perhaps the most easily recognized of the three of them.
“But I can’t just leave her behind! I like her. I stole her fair and square.”
“Okay. Fine. But leave it here and we’ll come back for it when we leave.”
Lucius secured Lola in the passenger seat with the seat belt. Kellie pulled him down from the truck and they walked to the side entrance of the Krispy-Kreme.
The shop smelled of a mélange of grease, sugar and yeast, with a comforting perked coffee undertone. A conveyer belt clicked along behind a glass partition while another machine injected fillings into the filled doughnuts. Several large rolling bakery racks held cooling glazed doughnuts. It was modern, shiny and brightly lit. The white menu board was backlit over the server's work area. The trademark aqua green and red accented the black and white checked floor giving the place a hint of nineteen-fifties diner.
The usual sprinkling of parents with kids, college students, bleary-eyed shift workers and a few homeless were clustered around the booths. The counter, however, was free.
Lucius and Kellie came in with their duffel bags, like a pair of travelers just off the bus. A few of the customers glanced at them when they sat at the counter. A pudgy waitress in a paper hairnet came over to take their order.
“Welcome to Krispy-Kreme!” She chirped, revealing a mouth full of silver orthodontia. “What can I get you?”
“Coffee and two glazed, please.” Kellie ordered.
“And you?” The waitress’ eyes strayed to Lucius’ shirtfront, adorned with the sticky remains of Lola’s undergarment. She had seen stranger things at the doughnut shop so she did not mention it.
Lucius looked up at the menu items. “Ummm, Coffee and--what’s hot?”
“We have apple-filled and glazed hot right now.” The girl rattled off.
“Okay, I’ll have three of each.”
Kellie cut her eyes at Lucius.
“Lucius, sweetie, why don’t you go to the men’s room and get yourself cleaned up.” She stroked his thigh as an added incentive. “See if you can get that thing off your shirtfront.”
Her hand on his thigh delayed his ability to comprehend what she said.
“Lucius?”
“Oh. Right. On my way.” Lucius shoved his duffle bag under the stool before leaving.
He opened the door to the men’s room and confronted his worst nightmare.
Wednesday, April 09, 2008
Which in sheep-eese means, I gots nothin'.
You can tell Mutton is the thinking sheep. See, sheep elect one member in a group to do all the thinking. It's a terrible fate, being a thinking sheep. It means everyone else has to follow you and do as you do. Blindly without question. Sheep are poorly suited to responsibility and it weighs heavily upon them. You can see that in his face. At least I can. He didn't ask to do all that thinking. It's just not fair.
The eye thing is still processing. I think I'm going to need to find a way to replace my trusty old Optiquest monitor. Got it for free through Freecycle. It's been great. Big, chunky and bright and best of all--free. Not so good for my new visually impaired state of being. It feels like it's burning holes through my bad eye. So, I guess I need to look for something that doesn't do that. My laptop isn't nearly as painful to look at.
Of course, if I put something up on Freecycle for that--I will look like all the idgits asking for wide screen TVs.
Sunday, February 03, 2008
Mutton has grown all his fleece back. When people say sheep say "Baa", unless they have spent much time with sheep, they tend to think it's a sweet sound. It's not. It's a low pitched hoarse sound, more like "Blah". It sounds like they are clearing their throats. At least, that's what Mutton and Chops sound like.
Anyway, Mutton says, "Blah", which might as well mean, "Happy Sunday".
Sunday, December 09, 2007
Ummm...Isn't she a bit young?!!!....And...like...well...ANOTHER SPECIES?
Now that we have all had a good giggle at the sheep's expense...Let me direct you to Northview Diary where there is a wonderful story about Toots, The Miracle Christmas Calf. It's a much better Sunday read than looking at my depraved sheep.
Happy Sunday
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Get on The Ark....at The Modulator.
Everyone's lined up to stuff their faces.
And Yes, Mutton and Chops (the sheep)....That outfit DOES make your butts look fat.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Half Nekkid Mutton
I didn't do it like the pros do. I didn't flip him on his back or take it off in one piece. We took lots of breaks to cool the blades down and let him catch is breath, but
I think he actually enjoyed it. I basically just started at his head like I would a very matted cocker and peeled him out of it like a banana.So now I have a pile of discarded sheep's clothing. Not sure what to do with it at this point but will stuff it in a bag to keep it separate from the next pile of sheep's clothing that is to come.
And that's going to be the hard part. Mutton is my buddy. He comes up to get his butt scratched and is a general snugglepuss as far as sheep go. He's got a spot under his chin that if you scratch just right, he'll close his eyes and moan. Slutty, slutty boy.
Chops is a different matter. He's not really into the "touching" thing at all.
Fully Nekkid Mutton
Sunday, April 29, 2007
This past week, Friend Scott located a round bale of hay for me. It was desperately needed since the pasture still has not recovered. I'm nervous about the hay situation. I'm trying to reserve 10 or 15 of these bales for next winter from the current season. The fellow can't commit right now since he doesn't know how much he'll be able to hay. He, himself, has 500 head of cattle to feed. Normally by this time of year, the fields are full of farmers on tractors cutting hay.
The critters seem to need me to go up there every day and show them the hay. It's clearly right in the middle of their living quarters. They can get to it at will. But they insist that I come up there and put my hands on it and pull parts of it off the trailer. It's like critter communion.
Hope you are having a very happy Sunday.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
For Friday Ark
When last we checked in with Mutton and Chops, they were enjoying being kept on the back porch while they adjusted to the new digs and were having a fairly nice assortment of foodstuffs and hose water being hand catered into them. Such is the life of a pampered sheep.
Unfortunately, these two boys are badasses. They immediately decided to ditch the ritzy resort accommodations and go native. Go drink some of that goat tequila with the worm in it.
"Hey Mutton, will you check out the udder on THAT doe!"
"Yeah, Chops! I say we go get us some 'strange'!"
So, I come down one morning, a few days after the boys arrived to find that those seemingly harmless curved horns are good for something. That something being busting through a nailed shut barricade I had on the open end of the porch.
So, they cunningly escaped and snuck off to the pasture. Exactly where I would have put them when I took them off the back porch.
Mutton is the friendlier of the two, but he's a bit of a con artist. He has a deceptively sweet face that belies a rather dominant nature. But it's good for getting snacks.
It didn't take long for them to insert themselves in the pecking order of the barnyard. They don't take any gaff from the goats. None, whatsoever. They do show a tiny bit of deference to the geese, who stand unchallenged as far as being the most aggressive animals in the barnyard. I mean, nobody likes being grabbed by their private parts and that is the geese's secret jutsu.
They have even tried that crap with me, but usually they miss and get my very large backside. I got beak shaped bruises to prove it that I will politely refrain from showing you.
Right now, nobody can tell where the sheep's private parts actually are. I'm betting once their armor fleece is removed that they will be skedaddling from the geese like little girly boys.
They are settling in nicely and seem completely unaware that they are not living an exciting life on the sheep lam. (bad unintentional pun alert) 
Monday, March 26, 2007
Mutton and ChopsTo your breed, your fleece,
your clan be true.
Sheep be true.
Baa-ram-ewe.
I picked up Mutton and Chops yesterday with Betsy. They've been on the porch and will stay there until I get that fleece sheered. I'm told that this will be the best plan for training them on the electric fencing. The fleece will insulate them from any shock from the hot wire and they are wild, skittish beasties. It is unlikely I'll be able to catch them once they are out in the pasture.
Mutton is the light colored one and we are getting along just fine since Mutton is a pig. He will eat out of my hand at this point. He has a hopeful, sweet face and really wants to trust. Because you have the snacks.Chops is the pretty dark one and he's much more distrustful of the entire situation. Chops is going to be a tough one to tame. Chops rolls his eyes at you all the time.
It's like he's saying, "MINT SAUCE...Do I smell MINT SAUCE???!!!....Run for your LIFE!"
Actually, every third thought that goes through their minds is apparently, "RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!"
Neither of them seem capable of eating without leaving half their dinner smeared all over their shirtfronts. I can sympathize.
Essentially, what they do is, imagine some sort of horrible calamity then run for their lives to the other side of the porch. They roll their eyes and then start to eat again. They can seemingly do this for hours on end.
They are actually very sweet boys, just not very socialized. Friend Scott is going to come over to assist me with the shearing. He says he'll bring Xanax. I think we might need it. Not for the sheep. For us.
Saturday, February 24, 2007
Every once in a while you meet a stranger who is as familiar to you as an old friend. It's those moments that make me believe in reincarnation and rebirth.
My thinking is that there are people out there who aren't opposites. Who aren't the same. They are flip. So like you yet so unlike you that the two of you seem to be like two sides of the same coin. That was how it was when I met Erin. I was conscious of running into my flip side. It's a very rare thing.
Erin lives at 9,000 feet in the Sangre de Christo Mountains of New Mexico in an old adobe house with no plumbing. She raises sheep. She weaves. She spins. She writes poetry. She has a sordid past that I hope she will tell us more about one day.
Her poetry is deep, visceral, political and filled with powerful physical memories. I don't much care for poetry in general unless it is really exceptional. Hers is. I can hear the wind crashing through those high mountain passes when I read her blog.
and here i am gifted with these voices drummingRead more of Erin's poetry on her old blog, The Real Dirt. The poem she wrote for Amnesty International, Violence and Women, concerning the women of Juarez is brutal, hard-hitting and should be required reading in feminist circles.
relieving tears feeding some thirsty need
for normality thats not bloodshed
or a million stories of military might
stored away deep in my bones so that just getting up in the morning can make some sense
some drought stricken belief that privileged people care about changing
I consider Erin to be further up the foodchain than myself in the artist category. She's an amazingly talented fiber artist, spinner and weaver. Her rugs are soft and densely woven. She hand dyes each color. Her work is shown in some galleries in Santa Fe. She can tell you the names of the sheep whose wool was woven into them.She sells the yarn she spins to knitters and craftspeople on ebay. She tells me that knitters are picky about their yarns.
But Erin truly suffers for her art. Her lifestyle is much more ascetic than mine. We share the disability thing. Poverty is is the ever present shadow. But I sit here in my cozy cabin drinking cocoa that I made on my stove and knowing my shower with hot steaming water is just across the hall, I know she is made from sterner stuff than I. She goes weeks without seeing a soul. I worry about her sometimes. Just because that is in my nature.
Of course, I have a big ole crush on her. Don't be jealous...I seem to have an unlimited number of crushes to go around. But any woman who can make a sheep smile like that...well, that's just something special.
my feet are firmly on the ground.
~Erin
the root cellar at
The Poetic Overthrow
