Sleeping

Luke found Larry dead in the barn. He poked him once or twice as I was walking over - no movement. I remembered seeing him there earlier but thought he was taking a nap, as sheep do from time to time. This is especially disappointing as I kept Larry intact to possibly be my next year's ram sire. I only had three lambs this year, born on New Year's Day, the frigid evening I came back from Christmas with the kids in San Jose. Larry and Lester were my dear Lilly's twins. Lilly has no working udder and it was a lot of work and expense bottle feeding them four times a day. Lilly was an attentive mother and raised up the boys, who were fathered by my rescued Merino ram, Othello. I wethered Lester and Levi, but kept Larry whole to keep Lilly's line going. Lilly did have a ewe lamb who died of shipping fever when I moved here. What a ghastly summer that was. The livestock shipper came on the appointed day, and I had to be out of the old place, so we had to go even though the temperature was over 90 degrees. What killed Larry? I really don't know. The one bale Matt gave them two nights ago was moldy. Could that have been it? When I saw the mold I took it away. Did he get a mouthful before I intervened? Was it a poison plant in the field? Parasites? Who knows? His wool is incredibly dense like his father's and curly like his mother's. So sad. Luke wanted to know if we should bury him. I told Luke about the dead pile on the hill. His eyes were so wide and filled with wonder...a dead pile? I will have to get Larry out and up the hill myself as Matt is gone away on business. I hate this part of farming. Death is always around the corner.