Welcome Back Apollo!

Heeee's baaaaaack!  And he's bigger -- much bigger!
After several lengthy family discussions, the conclusion was reached that although shipping the lambs off in the fall is very sad, the joy we get from seeing them born and having them bopping over the pasture all summer far outweighs the sadness at the end of it all.  Daughter thinks it will get easier, as it did with the extra roosters and turkeys that ulitmately end up in our freezer.  I guess we'll see about that. 

I realized today why so many books are written on farm stories.  Because so many ridiculous things happen on farms.  Like today.  Hubby and I went over to a neighbor farm to pick up our stud-Ram this morning.  Same Dude as last year.  And yes, that's Dude with a Capital D.

Well.  My neighbor shepherds have a lot more sheep than we do and do things a little different than we do.  They don't have time to pussy-foot around.  Ahem.  We do.  So, instead of their suggestion of tying him up and dragging him into a cage on the back of their well-equipped pick up, we gently loaded him into the back of our mini van, furnished with soft hay and willow branches to munch on.  We were warned it wasn't a good idea.  He was going to vault over the seats and create such havoc that we'd probably have an accident on the way home... so they said.

Not so.  My dear hubby sat in the back of the van with him (ok, kind of "on" him) and talked nice to him and when he started to get a little jumpy, stroked his ears as I directed.  Mr. Man lay back down and totally relaxed. 

I think he remembered us.  I've read that sheep can remember people for up to two years.  We were nice to him last time and he knew that.  So he settled in for the short ride and seemed genuinely happy when he realized where he was going (thankfully, a short ride down the road).

And?  He got right down to business as soon as he was re-introduced to the girls.  We'll be seeing lambs in March.

Goodness.  

Good-bye Kiki

Our little farm has one less this week. 

Kiki was a tiny mille fleur d'uccle that hatched from some eggs given to my dear chicken-lovin daughter this summer.  This very observant child of mine noticed right away that something was up with the itty-bitty bird's beak.  Kiki, as she came to be called, was born with cross-beak, a genetic deformity with no cure. This sweet little thing would trill when you talked to her, like she was just tickled to be having a chat with you... she would happily scamper after the kids, and put up with the costumes the children made for her.

Sigh.

Some survive, some... don't.  We did all we could for the tiny, fiesty creature.  We made sure she could eat, undisturbed, with a deep dish that she could get her whole face into.  With a cross-beak, a bird can't peck or preen the way "normal" birds can, so they need special attention.  Unfortunately, with a severe case (like Kiki), try as they (and we) might, they just can't get enough food to sustain them. 

Kiki passed away quietly, early Saturday morning.  We will miss her vibrant spirit.  It gives us peace to know that, somewhere, she is finally eating her fill.

Sheep Dreams ...

I have sheep.  But they may soon be but a dream.

Sigh.

We bought our 4 little lambs a couple of years ago with the idea of breeding them -- for meat lambs, as they are hair sheep.  We raised them and then decided not to breed them that first year as our very sensitive (especially in the animal department) daughter couldn't bear the thought of sweet lambs going off to be "murdered".

So that opened up the discussion that we aren't keeping the sheep for pets, and if they aren't going to "earn their keep" by providing us with lambs that we in turn sell for other people's dinners, then we can't keep them.  Daughter decided that she can handle it if we don't get to know the lambs and whomever buys them (and then eats them) does not EVER speak of it to her.  Okay .... 

We bred the (now) ewes last October; they all gave birth to beautiful healthy lambs in March.  And yesterday, the last of them went off to the slaughterhouse.  Dear, sweet daughter was beside herself with the emotional pain of saying goodbye to these lambs we raised over the past 7 months.  We did end up keeping one lamb, Stella's little white girl, who has just the gentlest personality that she had to be spared.

It's again breeding time for the ewes.  But now, after witnessing our girl's reaction to the reality of raising lambs for the table, we need to revisit the conversation: how do we do this, and honor our child's feelings at the same time?  Is this something we need to harden her to, to force her to accept that this is what we do if we want to keep so many animals?  She doesn't have to come to the abattoir.  She doesn't see the carnage. She only has the images in her head. Granted, they are powerful images.

 Or do we abandon ship, truly honoring her feelings, and sell our little flock?

Selfishly, I say, but, what about MY feelings?  I feel like I have finally found something that matters to me.  Providing quality meat to my friends; raising the lambs as healthily and ethically as possible.  A very wise person once said, to change the world, you first must change yourself.  I want my food raised ethically.  So that's what I'm doing.  But I may not be supported in what I believe and enjoy, and may have to give it up.  And that makes me so sad.