No wonder the Roman Senate decided to jump Caesar and stab him to death on this date (actually yesterday, but who is complaining?). After a long hard winter I'm not surprised they went psycho. The lambs are screaming for milk, the sheep are baaaing for hay and the White Boys are doing their incessant yip, yip which means come and let us out for out nightly run. The wind is howling and the temp is going down, after a few milder days where I was able to fill the bunny bottles without them freezing. Matt is down and out with a cold - coughing, gurgling, moaning, and groaning. I went into town to get him some cold medicine, which knocked him out for a few hours. Guess I better get out to the barn and get chores started. No more milk replacer. I reluctantly and agonizingly decided to get the wether lambs together and sacrifice them on the altar of the Easter season. Matt disavowed any responsibility and said it was my move. He knows how heartbreaking it is for me. I called the "lamb man" and made the arrangements. He wanted a list with weights. I caught them and Matt helped me weigh them and put the required scrapie tags on them. We couldn't look each other in the eye. After all the long cold nights birthing them and nurturing them to live, how could we do this? But my hay source is running out and so is the money to buy it with - and I can't afford milk replacer any more. I made the call for the man to come and get them. They would be killed on Tuesday and go to the city for sale right away. BUT! Guess what?? They are too small and he doesn't want them! I let them go and they RAN for their mothers! The guy said for me to call him when they weigh 45 pounds. I said no, thanks - I may be in a bind now but don't plan to be when the grass is green. Please, grass, grow!
Boy, that was a saved by the bell moment.
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