Tuesday, March 10, 2009
It's a full moon but you would never know. It's rainy and dreary, suitable weather for the sad passing of my Horatio, the beautiful purebred Rambouillet ram I adopted last winter. We found him dead, lying on the hay. I have no idea how old he is, but I know he is up there in years. The woman who owned him sold her farm, bought a Winnebago and took off. The people who bought the farm didn't want her sheep so they were fostered by a shepherd in Ft. Plain, over near West Winfield. She was not able to give me a lot of information. I loved that big old boy, with his magnificent set of horns and cute face. Matt thinks he might have accidentally thrown out a bale of alfafa this morning when it was still dark. That's very rich for sheep, and, perhaps, Horatio might have gotten himself bloated. I don't know. Perhaps he was ready to go anyway, and, in that case, he went with a belly full of delicious alfafa. It's so sad to see him lying out there in the rain. I have been thinking about him a lot lately, and noticing how handsome he is. Sometimes that is enough to make me think disaster is coming. My instincts are telling me something. My kids say I'm a witch, and when I get something in my head...well, things happen. I hate to write about sad things in this journal, and think that people are probably tired of reading about all the death and struggles I face. I am not writing to entertain, but to keep a record of the joys, sorrows, and goings-on that are part of the journey that is the farm...a farm that is full of life as well as death. Tomorrow's another day and I still have Othello, Blaze, Wooster and Larry to make more lambs for me. But I'll miss my big boy.