However, this meant that we were awoken at first light by the ewes bellowing for their evening hay, which we had not been able to give them last night in the dark. Spoiled girls.
When we headed out, we were met with a sea of mud. We had attended a talk early in our farming career, in which the speaker had opined that March should be renamed Mud. We didn't think it was possible to miss frozen ground until we remembered what a pain a boot-sucking muddy mire can be. With more rain in the forecast, we decided the best bet was to put them all into the barn for the day. We very rarely do this, but after two inches plus of rain yesterday and another inch of rain expected today, we didn't have a choice.
The problem was the mud pit that had developed at the gate of the little paddock.
The ewes, hungry (they would argue, starved) by their missed hay last night, were no problem. The rattle of grain in a bucket was all they needed to tempt them across.
Their babies were a different story all together. Couldn't say as I blamed them, either, because they were liable to get swallowed up by all that mud! Or at least, that was their perception.
So off the ewes ran into the barn, leaving all their babies behind. One by one, we cornered and caught them in the shed, and then carried them across the pit to their mothers in the barn.
The little white one was the last one to be caught. She always is.
* Couldn't resist.
When we headed out, we were met with a sea of mud. We had attended a talk early in our farming career, in which the speaker had opined that March should be renamed Mud. We didn't think it was possible to miss frozen ground until we remembered what a pain a boot-sucking muddy mire can be. With more rain in the forecast, we decided the best bet was to put them all into the barn for the day. We very rarely do this, but after two inches plus of rain yesterday and another inch of rain expected today, we didn't have a choice.
The problem was the mud pit that had developed at the gate of the little paddock.
The ewes, hungry (they would argue, starved) by their missed hay last night, were no problem. The rattle of grain in a bucket was all they needed to tempt them across.
Their babies were a different story all together. Couldn't say as I blamed them, either, because they were liable to get swallowed up by all that mud! Or at least, that was their perception.
So off the ewes ran into the barn, leaving all their babies behind. One by one, we cornered and caught them in the shed, and then carried them across the pit to their mothers in the barn.
The little white one was the last one to be caught. She always is.
* Couldn't resist.
For us, Mud Season usually begins in April. It's just about right on schedule!
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