cleobc
Veteran Member
I wrote this for my Facebook page. Lambing is a trying time. Rewards, frustrations, sadness--all in the same day sometimes.
I had a neighbor in the mountain community I once lived in who would say if she ever lost her mind, she was going to get a gun and pick off the RVs driving oh so slowly up the pass highway. I have recently thought about this, but I would choose different targets should I go postal: ewes.
This time of year, my good-tempered, intelligent sheep lose their minds. An excess of hormones drives them to personality changes that I find difficult to deal with in an exhausted state.
...The Lamb Stealer: “My baby.” “That’s not your baby, sweetie, that’s another ewe’s lamb.” “My baby!”” Not yours, honey, you’ve just barely gone into labor and your hormones are telling you that you already have one.” “MY baby.” “Look dear, just leave the lamb alone and have yours! You don’t get to just skip the hard work and pain and go straight to the cuddling phase!” “MY BABY!” “Look, you idiot, go lie down and PUSH!”
The Self-Interested Mother: Me: “Your lamb is bleating. Go feed it.” “I’m eating here. I don’t care if he’s hungry right now.” “He’s blatting loud enough to wake the dead. Go feed him.” “The little brat will get dinner after I get mine.” “I can’t hear myself think! The neighbors will think I’m torturing animals!” “Munch. Chew. Swallow.”
The Ovine Terrorist: “I keel you!” “I’m not hurting your lamb, just dipping its navel.” “I keel you!” “Not hurting it, all done, go away!” “I keel you!” “Beat it, you woolly moron, quit following me! I don’t eat raw lamb and I wouldn’t eat yours anyway!” “I keel you!”
I had a neighbor in the mountain community I once lived in who would say if she ever lost her mind, she was going to get a gun and pick off the RVs driving oh so slowly up the pass highway. I have recently thought about this, but I would choose different targets should I go postal: ewes.
This time of year, my good-tempered, intelligent sheep lose their minds. An excess of hormones drives them to personality changes that I find difficult to deal with in an exhausted state.
...The Lamb Stealer: “My baby.” “That’s not your baby, sweetie, that’s another ewe’s lamb.” “My baby!”” Not yours, honey, you’ve just barely gone into labor and your hormones are telling you that you already have one.” “MY baby.” “Look dear, just leave the lamb alone and have yours! You don’t get to just skip the hard work and pain and go straight to the cuddling phase!” “MY BABY!” “Look, you idiot, go lie down and PUSH!”
The Self-Interested Mother: Me: “Your lamb is bleating. Go feed it.” “I’m eating here. I don’t care if he’s hungry right now.” “He’s blatting loud enough to wake the dead. Go feed him.” “The little brat will get dinner after I get mine.” “I can’t hear myself think! The neighbors will think I’m torturing animals!” “Munch. Chew. Swallow.”
The Ovine Terrorist: “I keel you!” “I’m not hurting your lamb, just dipping its navel.” “I keel you!” “Not hurting it, all done, go away!” “I keel you!” “Beat it, you woolly moron, quit following me! I don’t eat raw lamb and I wouldn’t eat yours anyway!” “I keel you!”