Despite the fact that I feel well behind the eight ball, the fact remains: sheep wait for no man (or woman, for that matter, they don't discriminate). Our shearing date is this coming Saturday. It seems a bit early in the calendar, but I am thrilled that we are getting the coats and fleeces off prior to lambing at the end of the month. It is so much easier, for us and the lambs, not to have to deal with all that wool!
The first order of business was getting the barn clean. The weekend was a complete write-off as far as time for this task, but the boys rose to the occasion after school and track practice and various other activities.
Light spilling out of barn doors: one of the coziest sights I know.
The older two worked on the pitching out the old hay.
They put Terzo in charge of loading feed bags into a trashcan, which he did his way, which involved using a hoe to violently tamp down the bags into the can.
I am not sure the trash guys will be able to dump them out now, but at least they are mostly gone from the barn. How do they manage to build up in such great quantities?
Dusty wanted to stay out with the boys and kept trying to sneak back into the barn, but he is on a short leash (figuratively speaking) after running down the county road after Primo's bus the other morning. He is obviously OK, but he nearly gave Primo—he called me frantically from the bus—and me heart attacks. He has become much worse about roaming freely since Charlie left us, as if Charlie was a tether that kept him closer to home. We are keeping a close eye on him until he gets it out of his system.