Let me start by saying this post will not have any illustrative photos, and you can thank me right now.
One of the things that people don't warn you about when you are a dewy-eyed farmer-wanna-be is the extent to which you will have to think about worms. And not those cute little brown worms in your garden, either. Those are the good worms. I am always happy to see them in the spring when I start hoeing the raised beds.
No, I am talking about the bad worms. The ones that try to eat your son's rabbit alive and have you spending three weeks shoving antibiotics down the poor rabbit's throat in an attempt to stave off infection. The ones that have you scanning sheep droppings for evidence of their numbers and strength (another thing you don't get warned about, the time you will spend analyzing fecal matter).
The lambs are in the barn with a hefty dose of wormer on board, with the hope that they will shed their nasty passengers in an area that will not reinfect others in the flock. The rabbit is in the basement, still trying to recover from a horrid case of flystrike (read: maggots), with the distinct possibility that he will never be able to live outside again.
Me? I am trying not to dream about white creepy-crawlies...