Mo' Mohair

There it was, hanging on the pipe in the milk room just under the other pipe where the &^%$ roosters like to spend the night.  I vowed I would break away from my fiber jag and start sewing my Bundaflicka Knitting Totes for the Maryland Sheep and Wool Festival which is a mere six weeks away.  I have a pile of totes cut out, ready to sew.  I was hanging up the hose after chores and spied the bag of mohair, which had been bombed several times by the accursed roosters.   I grabbed a big old bird by the legs, being careful to place my fingers around the spurs, not on them, and tossed him out the door to roost with the hens who like to overnight on the milk room steps.  Matt puts corn out for them every day.  He'll be fine until I can get the nerve up to chop his head off.  I went back to the bag and decided such a glorious, glossy red mohair fleece deserved better than to be shat upon by an old rooster.   There - I had it in my hand and I was done for.  The next hour was spent standing over the wool washer in the milk room, picking apart locks and dropping them into hot, soapy water.  I prepared a dye pot and let the dirty water spin out.  I'm thinking about a navy blue/orchid run of mohair.  It's not Bluefaced Leicester, but I adore the stuff.  Adult mohair wears like iron and is great for socks, sweaters over a turtleneck, or woven garments.  The milk room kitties loved having me keep them company for a while tonight.  I will keep the dye pot simmering gently all night as the temps are diving again, perhaps 15 F. before morning.  The kitties, and the pipes, will appreciate the help.  The sheep were still munching on hay when I passed them on my way to the apartment.  Little Markey-Mark is still a runt considering his Rambouillet mom and Border Leicester dad are gigantic.   Little Guy, my only winter baby, a tiny red goat kid, is coming along nicely.  He hops around and tries to jump up on his mother's back.  He's not afraid of the great big sheep who launch themselves over the panels of the maternity pen to get goat mommy's corn and hay.  I grab him and love on him a few minutes every night.  Sure wish he was a girl, but here we are.  Thought I might have another goat baby or two, but nothing yet.  I wish the buck who fathered Guy had impreggered had also done my Nubian girls, Fancy and Matilda.  Had hoped to be milking them by now.  Might have to buy them a Nubian boyfriend.  Better go check on that dye pot in the milk room, turn it down low, listen for "sounds" for a minute, then put myself to bed.  Morning comes way too soon around here.