The rams broke down a gate today and decided to eat the mare’s grass and hay. The mare, not to be outdone, decided that she would go into the ram pasture and spend the day eating their grass and hay. Since both the mare and the rams appeared quite pleased with themselves, I let them be.
Tonight, I opened the gate into the ram pen and they happily ran back into their barn. The mare was nowhere to be seen. I called, and she answered from the front yard on the sidewalk at the walk through people gate, waiting for the hired help (me) to come open the gate and let her back to her pasture. After opening the gate, she happily walked across the driveway and waited for me to open the next gate that led to her territory. No roses were eaten on her walk across. Yet. I’m sure she filed the rose location (the last survivors from livestock nibbling) away for next time.
I put the ducklings out in a bottomless 3 x 4 cage today so they could do a little foraging in the warm weather while being protected from marauding hawks and cats. They appeared to be pleased to see me (I was greeted with happy whistles) and to come back to the heat lamp after a long, exhausting day of grass nibbling and bug chasing.
While out feeding the mare, I heard frantic chick peeps. I’ve seen a couple of hens that have hatched out chicks in the past few days. The chicks, surprisingly enough, will survive if they are not caught in a sudden cold shower. The heat of the summer and high incidence of disease kills more chicks than the winter temperatures. However, a newly hatched little chick like this one would be quickly eaten by owls, foxes, or possums. He/she was glad to see me and actually ran to me peeping happily. I picked it up and looked for its momma to no avail. I couldn’t really put it with the ducklings who were older and might harm it. I found another hen that had some chicks and stuck it under her. Hopefully she won’t kill it in the morning and will completely forget this episode of chick stuffing.
One of the old teenage Tunis ewes is showing no appetite tonight. Her best friend, the old Rambouillet ewe, is quite blind. She serves as a guide for the old blind ewe and the two are inseparable. Due to her advanced age, I didn’t turn her out with the rams to breed, but she apparently had other plans and is *very* pregnant. I’m hoping that the strain of this pregnancy isn’t going to be too much for the old girl. I’ll check her every couple of hours tonight until about midnight and if she shows no signs of labor, check her again about 6 a.m. If her appetite hasn’t improved in the morning, I’ll treat her for acidosis and/or ketosis.
I hope the old blind Rambouillet ewe hasn’t sneaky gotten pregnant as well. She took very good care of her lamb last year but was constantly losing her and then running around frantically calling for the lamb while the lamb was off playing and refusing to answer momma. The lamb had contracted flexor tendons at birth and had trouble standing to nurse to the point that I needed to make splints for her legs (paint stirring sticks work quite well for this). Her knees were also affected. After a few weeks of physical therapy, she was bouncing around the pasture with no sequelae. The worry this year is that with a job in town, I won’t be able to do any intensive care for any lambs (or old ewes) that need extra help in order to survive.
Why do I have old ewes in their teens hanging around and eating up hay that I have to work in town to be able to buy? They were daughter’s grand champion 4-H sheep (the last survivors from her original flock) from long ago.
Today, the old mare alternated between eating ram hay and standing on my front porch looking into the living room. When I left the living room because I was nervous about her deciding to come right through the big picture window and join me on the sofa, she then walked around the house to look in the windows on the back porch to see if I was in the office. That was better; those windows are smaller and far less expensive to replace.
The chickens and cats stare in the bedroom window and meeeeow or cluck at me if I haven’t gotten out of bed by the time that they think I should. Do I own them, or do they own me?