No more barn

On Saturday I sold the ewes. I'm going to school full-time this winter, and I won't be able to supervise lambing the way I usually do. Originally, I hoped to time lambing for spring, but the fences weren't up in time to separate the ram, and he had his way, as usual. So they had to go.

Two of the ewe lambs have been gone about a month. Nora and Zora went to a happy home near Lincoln with an enthusiastic lady interested in handspinning and knitting their wool. She sent me some photos; they're much tamer now, and she's been brushing the burrs out of their wool. I'm entirely satisfied about them.

I had more trouble selling the others, though. Three different buyers vanished on me, responding to a couple of emails--even coming to see the sheep, in one case--before vanishing into thin air. I adjusted my prices. Then I readjusted them. No good.

Finally, last Thursday, someone emailed me asking if I was selling "sheeps," and for how much. I phoned the number in the email on Friday. The guy was Muslim, and any animals I sold him would clearly be slaughtered, but I expected that for Felix, and Letta had hurt herself trying to jump a fence. Slaughter might be the best I could hope for, if she sold at all. We set up a time on Saturday for Dana and his dad to come see my sheep.

The crowd that arrived on Saturday was not "Dana and his dad." Dana was there, yes, and so was another college-age guy, two middle-aged men, and a teenager named Muhammed. Felix and Letta were not going to satisfy this crowd. We all went out to the barn, with Doug following along to satisfy Dad's paranoia.

The bargaining process was long and complicated. One of the old men wanted Felix, while Dana and his dad were interested in Hina and Lizzie. Prices bounced back and forth, giving me my first taste of serious bargaining. To complicate matters, Bashir explained to me that the sheep were for a "donation," a charitable feast for which the animals were required to be staggered a year apart in age. Felix was six months old; Hina and Letta were two-year-olds; and Lizzie was somewhere near seven. Dana translated questions and offers, arguing in long volleys of foreign syllables, Arabic or Farsee or who knows what. I am not a scholar of Arabic.

Arrangements morphed swiftly. First they were taking two sheep; then they were taking three, but leaving one until Monday. Then they were going to put Hina and Felix in the SUV, and Lizzie in the trunk of the sedan. However, even hog-tied they wouldn't all fit, so they had to cut Felix's throat before they loaded him. Then they offered fifty for Letta, while they were at it. I fought them up to seventy, but her throat had to be cut, too.

Then one of the old men noticed the chickens. Would we sell chickens? Mom was willing to sell chickens. I started catching chickens. Another? I made Dana and Muhammed help me catch chickens. "We're buying all Anna's animals!" Dana joked.

They did, too. Almost. Oak is still here, wandering forlornly through the pasture. I watched him closely while we tied his ewes, wondering if he would fight, and he wondered, too, but he never did. His harim was kidnapped and slaughtered, and now he's alone, waiting to be sold.

Owen.

Please feed Winter's kids, Owen. And then go see whether Hina's lambed. If so, wake me up. If not, and if I'm not up by ten, please milk. Thank you. The performance of any other chores is between you and your conscience.

I'll change the home page back later.

Snow day!

Today is my winter ideal: a blizzard outside, Mom and Doug home, the fire going. The lambs are both big enough to keep themselves warm and none of the pregnant ladies are quite ready to give birth yet. (I hope.) They are, of course, waiting for the night when the temperature gets down to negative eight Fahrenheit, but I'll cross that bridge (survive that night, rather) when I come to it.

And, in the way of news, I got an email last night from the Digital Manga Guild, to whom I submitted my application months ago, saying that I had passed the editor's skill test and was welcome to their team. Something like that. Anyway, now I have to go find myself a translator and a typesetter to form a group with. *grin*

The Shepherd's Handbook: Colostrum

As every livestock owner knows, colostrum, the milk first produced by a new mother, is vital to the immediate and future survival of kids and lambs. We try our best to see that everything goes smoothly: Mamma gives birth, cleans up, and within the hour the baby is nursing happily, filling its tummy with that vital colostrum. But sometimes, things don’t go smoothly. Perhaps a lamb was chilled; you come out to the barn and find a newborn, weak and shivering. Has it eaten? Does it need to eat immediately, or is there time to give it other care before feeding? Must you milk the mother? Or can you use the stuff you’ve saved? Too many important questions arise, at a time when you really can’t come inside and Google it, or ask your friends. You need immediate answers so you can take immediate action. Well, here are the answers to those questions.

Your first priority, when you find a weak newborn, should be to feed it. Help it nurse its mother if possible; if not, tube-feed it. That baby should have eaten some colostrum within half an hour of being born, and if it hasn’t eaten within eighteen hours it’s toast. The mother will continue to produce colostrum for up to twenty-four hours after giving birth; during that time, a lamb needs to consume ten percent of its body weight. The milk from the baby’s own mother is best, but if you can’t get it, some colostrum from another new mother in the same herd is next best. Stored colostrum, whether frozen or fresh, comes third. Fresh milk can be refrigerated for up to a week before it begins to lose its virtue; frozen it loses nothing, whether by freezing or thawing, unless exposed to direct heat. Don’t microwave or boil it—bathing the container in hot water is best.

Colostrum serves many purposes for a newborn’s system, but they all, more or less, boil down to one: giving that baby a jump-start in life. Without that crucial first feeding, with its nutrients, immune system boost, and more, a lamb or kid has a drastically reduced hope for survival. As flockmasters, it’s our job to give them the best chance possible at life. I hope this helps.

Idiot sheep

Lost a sheep a couple days ago. Owen and I were just going past the barn when we glanced into the goat room to see two sheep tangled in wire around the fence post in the middle of the room. One was clearly dead; the other, one of the ram lambs, lay resignedly, too stiff to struggle and aware of the futility. I went to him first, working him out of the wire and massaging his hind legs, which were so stiff he wouldn't get up on his own. Once he was up and walking I turned to the dead lamb. He was one of Starling's sons, a big wether destined for eventual slaughter and, like the other lambs born here, ridiculously skittish and high-strung. By the look of it, he'd gotten a little tangled, struggled, and ended up wrapping himself so tightly around the post that he strangled himself. Where the ram lamb had resigned himself to wait for rescue, the wether lamb had fought his way into an even worse and inevitably fatal position.

Dad and the boys hung the carcass up in the red garage and drained it. It took them a while, but they got it dressed and cut into the basic chunks, which came to Mom and me for further processing. It was about eleven when we finished the last leg and put the rib cage in the refrigerator for tomorrow. It was alone in the fridge; we'd cleaned and turned on one of the refrigerators in the garage for the meat, but everything else fit in the kitchen fridge just fine. Oh, well.

Bloodhound puppy, golden, Boston bull terrier

Dreamed Lark successfully put up the ewe lambs and two unfamiliar goats. Despite the animals all looking more or less right, it was a pretty unrealistic dream. Everyone went where I wanted them to. Also the ewe lambs looked about the same as when I left, which shouldn't be right.

Lee came early and took Grandma outside, which is becoming the norm. I don't think Philip got up until she left, and I know he never ate breakfast. Lunatic.

Lark did not get a walk this morning. At least, not a normal walk. First she had a ride in the car, where, despite the availability of food all morning, she did not get sick. At all. Then she had a walk--a long one, up a hill along the road from where we parked. Then we had to climb the horribly steep trail up to the stairs. At that point, I sat down--Philip had pretty much left us behind on the trail, and waited for us at the steps. There were, again, a lot of people climbing, although it was rather hotter than Saturday at first, with the sun coming and going. I think we were past the false summit before it began to rain. There was a guy climbing with a couple of kids--Oliver, a dog-lover with lots of energy, and Grace, with less attention to spare as she worked her way up. She really did well, considering how overweight she is--I'd say there's hope for her yet. Quite a lot, really, if she can finish the Incline on her first try. The young woman with the bloodhound puppy was doing it again--what with Lark, Zeus, and a young Golden, it looked rather like a puppy play date on the slope above us. Lark was having lots of fun, as I'd finally let her off the leash. I'd been wondering if Phil would approve, but when he suggested it I quit worrying about it. The view, as omitted in the last post on this subject, was great; I could even see our hill, and figure out approximately where the house was. At one point there was an enormous curtain of cloud obscuring it, though; I wonder if it corresponded with the rain at noon, which Grandma told us about. By the time we made the false summit Phil was pushing me pretty persistently, and then he came up with a system: go thirty steps, rest ten seconds. Okay. We'd done maybe half a dozen of these when there were about four more steps, at which point we dropped the system. There's a lovely flat space with lots of rocks and things to sit on at the top; we sat for awhile, admiring the view, having a drink (Philip had refused all water until the top), giving the dog a drink, and cheering Grace on. Oliver did twenty pushups, but they weren't very deep. It made me think of Grandma's story of taking Doug on the Cog Railway: once at the top, she warned him of altitude sickness, and he promptly went to the edge of the pavement and started doing pushups. Gah. We all took the trail down, in installments as one group or another left separately, and it was quite a while down the trail before my legs were anywhere near as tired as the first time. My left, while sore, was never rubbery--a relief. It began to rain more heavily on the trail, and after a bit of that Lark started giving me pathetic looks--"I don't like this, make it stop, c'mon Mom, there's stuff hitting my head!" She was alright otherwise, but we were both pretty wet by the time (after an interminable trek past various now-empty parking) we made it to the car. I toweled her off a bit with the sweater Grandma had suggested I bring, and which had hitherto served no useful purpose. But Lark lay down on it, and tried to go to sleep. (Unsuccessfully, as she slid about on the vinyl seat, but the effort was there and I appreciated it.) She came wide awake as we got to Boonzaijer's, though, and it dawned on her that Philip and I were getting out of the car and--worse--she wasn't. We went in and got fruit tarts, which are delicious confections of cream in a pastry shell with strawberry, kiwi, orange, and grape slices on top. I looked out at the parking lot as we ate, and there was that little pointed face at the window, waiting for us to come back. We did so shortly, with a slice of Belgian double chocolate mousse cake for Grandma; Lark was delighted to see me. She calmed down before we got home, though. The light was red for our turn onto Nevada, and as we sat there, watching the arrow, hail began to ping onto the windshield, closely followed by huge drops of rain. We--eventually--pulled into the driveway in a downpour. Philip ducked out of the car and dashed for the door. I tried to open my door so Lark could follow while I collected my stuff. It wouldn't open--the rear passenger doors on the Vic open only from the outside. Philip came dashing back to open it, and I let Lark out to follow him, then reached for my hat and backpack. When I got out of the car, Lark was waiting, in the pouring rain (which she detests), for me to come too. I was touched.

Followed lunch, dry clothes, and conversations. My muscles, while a bit tired, are not yet seriously complaining. 

Nap......

Philip went back to Golden after dinner--something to do with work. 

Started Wuthering Heights after the comp shut down. Got two chapters in and switched to Moliere. Grandma has a Heritage volume with Tartuffe and The Would-be Gentleman--much more fun than Bronte, and with great illustrations. And I am glad to say I can now disagree with Napoleon's summary of Tartuffe--"A third-rate comedy"--with a more informed opinion.

15 pushups, 20 situps, 5 elbow-to-knees (Lark always gets worried at this point), and three arabesque stretches.

Well, I wasn't as sore this morning as I had expected. I did not, for one thing, want to scream until I actually stood up. And it was only really bad when I took stairs. Yeowch. Nonetheless, I bestirred myself, since Philip gave me fifteen minutes (from the middle of breakfast) to use the bathroom before he needed it. I was finished in plenty of time and heading over to the Seamans' before he was out of bed. Maddie was extremely glad to see me, the door to the master bedroom having blown shut again, this time with her outside. Her food, water, and litterbox are all in the master bathroom. You see the problem. She wolfed her gooshyfood, then galloped 'round to check if I'd opened the door yet. I had, and she ran for the litterbox.

That taken care of, I came home to find Philip getting into the shower. We got out the door at nine-thirty precisely, and made it to church with a couple of minutes to spare. The preacher was a guest, an enthusiastic man with a neat white beard, with "Christ is the King" as his topic. The text was from I Corinthians, with points from throughout the Scriptures. The sermon didn't really have much in the way of a planned outline that I could hear, and there certainly wasn't one on the back of the bulletin, but it wasn't a bad sermon. And one of the psalms was to a tune I knew, which happens about once every two weeks if I'm very lucky.

Afterwards Mrs. Kleinbeart had some questions about homeschooling, having done some with her children, and then I went and talked to Jenna while Philip chatted with a girl I don't know. They were plotting a fourteener once I leave. Sigh. Oh, and the camping trip is cancelled. Logistical difficulties, apparently. And Philip is planning to take me home the first week in August. Sigh. Well, I suppose I have a lot to catch up on.....including Lark's relationship with the stock. Will her increased obedience level go straight down the tubes with the first glimpse she catches of an airbrained ewe lamb? We'll see.

I decided it was time to go for a walk around two, precisely timed for the rain to start once we were fairly out. I decided to keep going, as it wasn't very heavy; it wasn't until the rain began more heavily, and Lark began giving me looks expressive of the opinion that this was stupid, why didn't I do something about this stuff hitting her on the head, that we turned back. In good time; for the thunder became serious as we headed for home, and once there was a crack of lightning directly above me that seriously scared me. We went for home at a smart pace, with a pause at the gate as I waited for some thunder to subside before I touched the metal. I have no idea if this precaution was actually worth anything or not; I was, however, quite certain that I did not wish to touch a tall metal gate, at all. It was a compromise. We reached the house with no mishaps, at least, and Lark submitted to toweling with slightly more docility than usual, which is to say she didn't gnaw on me very much. I hung my clothes up to dry and sat down with Maurois' Disraeli. It's extremely absorbing, and leads me to wonder if any of Maurois' other biographies are available in English.

Philip left for Golden while Grandma and I were having dessert, after suggesting some rather convoluted plans for the schedule next week. I think he said something about coming down Wednesday for both mental and physical torments, namely, the Incline and some SAT math. He would then go back to Golden on Friday, coming back....I'm not sure when. Before Wednesday again, I imagine.

Finished Disraeli before bed.

15 pushups, about 16 situps. Decided there was no point continuing after my abs quit--I'm not doing this just to bust my back and (somehow) shoulders.....

German Shepherd

Hm. Familiar setting, not sure about events. I just wish the people who graze the sheep would either not use electric fence, or develop a flippin' gate. My poor character has had a long not-just-a-day, and he just wants to lie down somewhere he can watch the sheep, and first he has to negotiate this death trap involving electric wires and panels. Did you know my body remembers those fences well enough to give me an identifiable shock in a dream? It was almost a relief when we went back to yetis in the shed and Gollum skittering away across the barn roof. Gollum was a lot more identifiable as such than the yeti, was, though--someone had to tell me what it was.

Lot to do this morning, so I'll get off now. Lee is here for Grandma; she told us that she can't discuss Grandma's medical care without Grandma's presence. Hippocratic Oath and Federal law. Feh. Have fun, Mom. We called while she was here, to, so Grandma could sit in, but Mom had gone to town. I think it was Peter who picked up; he sounded remarkably dead.

Went over to Sid's for directions on cat-sitting. She sent the milk-jug home with me, to be returned after we go shopping. Nice.

We larked a little before ten. It was over half-way through the walk when I realized it was humid. Hm. We didn't meet anyone, anyway. There were rabbit bits scattered around  under a pine: I looked up, and there were a few more bits of fur on the branch. Good hunting, Owl? 

Karen was here when we got back, doing the INR. I asked what microcoagulation was. Just what it says, apparently: tiny clotting. Oh well. Karen knows enough to explain terms, but not enough to explain how it works.

Discussed with Grandma the possibility of extending my stay through August. She says she likes the company but can do without me. Well, yes, but should she? And can I handle the extension? ......Probably.

Father Paul brought his wife; she's nice. I sat in on the chat (Nancy says I might try vet tech--interesting thought) until Father Paul asked if I wanted to take Communion with them. I explained that I wasn't communicant and retreated. Scary man..... well, sort of. At this rate, though, I predict at least one awkward moment per visit. Drat him.

Finished rereading Beauvallet. Note: ask Phil about Public Enemies, Moon, Walking with Dinosaurs (theatrical show--Denver) and a Colorado sightseeing roadtrip, recommended by the Rector and his wife.

Phil came in about four-thirty, while I was virtuously occupied with Mistress to an Age. I promptly abandoned it.

After dinner I ran across to Sid's, through a brightly dripping world, to give Maddie her teaspoon of cat food. She didn't show much interest in it, but concentrated on me. I didn't give her enough time to get actually friendly, though: I had a date with Phil.

Ben was hosting College Night for church. There weren't too many people there, but it was pretty lively. There was Ben, of course, and Tom, Keith, Sarah and Rachel DeBenedittis, Marcy, Josh and Elise Mann, and the Matt who's dating a DeBenedittis. I'm not sure which; there are two more, Abby and Liz. I checked my last bulletin for their spelling, but some lazy person abbreviated it to D. and I threw out my old bulletins a week ago. They help out a lot, with the nursery and stuff. I think he's dating Abby. Anyway, they're all pretty fun. I'm not too sure I want to spend much time with Josh, though: he is dangerous. The man is an expert at instant recognition and effective utilization of an opening. I don't know why Keith lives with the guy, because he, of course, is the main victim--although I have to admit, he doesn't make it very hard. Josh isn't the only person who can spot openings, either. Oh, well. Anyway, those two are going to Geneva College in Pennsylvania, and I think Rachel is too. Elise will be going to college, and Tom may have been there a decade or two ago. I think Ben's in college, I know Sarah isn't, and Marcy's a nurse. A Gainfully Employed Adult, in fact. They're pretty fun all together, anyway. Although any DeBenedittis is fun. They're nice. So, yeah. Period of general conversation accompanied by pop while Ben tries to order pizza on his laptop, period of everybody else eating while I wish I hadn't had dinner (not that it stopped Philip, of course), period of conversation while the eating slows down, period of prayer around the table (give the person on one side of you a prayer request and pray for the person on your other side--I had to ask Rachel for her name when it was my turn), then they got a game out. Apples to Apples is this game where everybody gets seven red cards with nouns and definitions on them. There's a deck of red cards and a deck of green cards, which have adjectives and synonyms on them. Someone draws a green card from that deck, reads it aloud, and everyone chooses a card from their hand that they think is best described by that adjective. The person who drew the green card picks the best card, and the person it belonged to gets the green card. Everybody draws a new red card from the deck to keep their numbers up, and the next person draws a green card. The first person to have, in this case, four cards (it's determined by the number of players) wins. It got pretty silly by the time Elise won. I had two greens, "graceful" and "funky", both won off Philip. Everybody made remarks about siblings--although, in my defense, he didn't know the cards were mine and I didn't lobby for them. I guess we just think alike. Incidentally, I got "graceful" with "violins" and "funky" with "John Philip Sousa." The game ended pretty late, and it was eleven when we got home. Philip, mind you, had said we'd probably be home by nine. No, really. He said that.

Fifteen pushups, fifteen situps, in sets of five, before showering.

The title is from the dog in the house we parked in front of. Good, deep voice--German Shepherd, on the other side of the screen door.

Dalmatian-Dachshund, coyote, and three deer

Well, I did get my own adventure in this morning's dream....and it was depressing. Very depressing. Reminds me of the beginning of Mission: Impossible. Feh.

We larked at ten to nine. It was pleasantly cool, but heated up fast. Ther was a lovely red doe on the road, in the bend shaded by willows and cottonwoods. Lark saw her before I managed to get close enough to see around the tree in the way. Sigh. We met the funniest dog, though, out walking with a couple of women at the first bend in the trail after the creek bed. He was white, all over black spots, and had a Dalmatian head, but he also had the shortest little bow-legs. "Dalmatian-beagle?" I hazarded. "Ah--Dalmatian-dachshund," one of the women said. Oh. Of course. I should have guessed. It was exactly that sort of body. Maybe the Dalmatian head distracted me, or maybe I just didn't want to think about such a crossing. I still don't, but that dog was hilariously cute. They almost caught up with us while we were at the watering hole, but we dodged up to the other trail and I don't think they saw us.

Decided to finish Beauty Pop, now that it's been completed for yonks. I hadn't remembered quite how much fun some of the characters are.....

Was thinking at lunch that the Dalmadoxy could be a legitimate hybrid. I'm sure it could be popular.

Buckets of rain after we got the mail. Was that at four? Hm. It was lightening up when I finished BP, anyway. Well, it'll probably be muddy on tonight's walk, though. 

Mom called during dinner. I talked to her while Grandma finished eating--so nice. She says they've put the paddock back together, and are separating the lambs from the ewes. Glad to hear it.

We went for our last run about seven-thirty. It was reasonably cool, with clouds advancing to regain the ground lost in a retreat after this afternoon's rain. There was a very handsome buck standing near the road, screened from Lark by a stand of trees. I didn't see him at all until I was nearly past, then the flick of an ear, perhaps, caught my eye, and I twitched. He calmly observed as I went a few more steps, at a normal gait, then carefully backtracked to greet him. He watched and listened, undisturbed, at I chatted him up and looked him over. He was the red type, very handsome, with what I understand to be four-point antlers, still velvety. I stayed for a few moments, until Lark began to get suspicious, and then I went on, feeling that it would be fearfully impolite to let her chase him. Makes me wonder if hunting is allowed, down there--although he may have felt safe simply because of the season.

Our walk continued uneventfully for the full loop until we were almost out into the creek bed, still in the little scrubby area where the little crick probably flows once a year into the wide wash. I was watching Lark run into the brush around the creek bed, where she would probably meet me when I came out, when a movement caught my eye through the scrub. A deer? The movement was pretty low, though, and of a different type--I waited for the animal to come clear: it was a coyote. Heading for Lark. I yelled for her to come, and she did, promptly, possibly having developed an ear for hysterical summonses by now. So she came, and looked back, and--oh, cool, what's that? Hey, (running over) what are you? LARK! Come! Huh? Oh, Sorry, gotta go, Mom's calling. And she came. Thank you. She even stayed close all the way out of the long grass ("Don't go in the long grass! Velociraptors!") and into the Heller road. I kept a frantic eye on her, having no hope of tracking the coyote in the scrub, brush, and tall grass, and by the time she was tired of surveillance I was beginning to tell myself things like, "Well, he looked like he was going somewhere. He won't take the trouble to follow us, will he? Probably not." She did disappear, though, in the scrub oaks a fair way up the road, and I had calmed down sufficiently that I hadn't freaked out by the time I saw another buck, of the gray variety this time, bounding along the fence line that runs down to the gate. There seemed to be a small black streak on the grass some distance behind him, and I focused on the next clear view. Yes, Lark was after him. I continued, no longer worried except in the automatic, almost casual way of any mother while their child is doing something stimulating. Do deer kick? Elk and moose kick. Nah, she's always too far behind. I doubt a deer would fight, anyway. Well, probably a mother would, if she had fawns nearby. Not a buck, though. Deer are supposed to be defenseless--but defencelessness doesn't mean you can't be an aggressor, with the right attitude.--She came when I whistled from out past the gate, coming down the slope and under the rail fence up there. When I called her for the leash, she said, Are you kidding? Give me a break. Oh, fine. Whatever.--And she lay down to pant until I'd clipped the leash on. I've been making her sit for the leash, past few days, and she apparently felt drop was less demanding. We made it home, anyway.

New manga, Teppen!. Showbiz, which is okay. Girl trying to find unknown family member, with a comedy tag. Hm, potential. Dorm-room gender-bender--well why didn't you say so?! Wheeeee! Good, strong heroine, too--personality-wise, I mean, and being a boy was more of a misunderstanding than anything else. Did I say whee? Wheeee! Only three chapters so far, though. I hope they don't make it twenty volumes--five should be about right, I'd say. Anyway, bai now! :D

Three sets of five each situps and pushups, just before showering. Lark administered first aid after the pushups, until I was ready for situps. Oog......

Six greyhounds and an Anatolian Shepherd

So it's eleven-thirty at night, I'm trying to go to sleep, and this ridiculous dog is dropping a tennis ball in my face, having been trying to push it ever since we came in from Last Outing. Sheesh.

Philip and I did the shopping this morning, getting home about eleven. He bought two tickets to the Renaissance Fair at King Soopers.

After lunch we went for a short lark, and then whenever Phil decides to get moving we're going to Larkspur, for the Fair, and then Denver, for Jim's fight. I hope he wins again, but I do wish I knew more fighters so more of the fights would be interesting. ;p I am going to try to get a t-shirt or something this time.

When we got to the fair, the enormous parking lots were packed. They actually had buses running from the parking lot to the front gate, which was set up to look like the battlement of a castle, with people in costume up on the walkway calling hello, and a couple more in costume taking tickets. A note about the costumes: the theme was not Renaissance. The theme was everybody's favorite movie, either historical of fantasy. The result was quite a few hook-on pointy ears, and even more wire-frame fairy wings. It was really fun to watch. There were hoopskirts, and asymmetrical overskirts worn without underskirts, and monks and wizards and little pink and gold princesses and a little evil fairy who skipped past the Pikes Peak Highlanders with very creditable jigging steps.. There was a man who gave short, fast history lectures, tuition optional, dressed in blue velvets. There were four women who sang, very well, dressed in gowns with the quilted sort of bodice and flowing sleeves and skirt--pre-Renaissance, I think. There were two gentlemen in black vest-cloaks and swords, who made me think of King Charles the Second but would probably have been under Cromwell, in that case. I wanted to ask what period they were from, but they were taking a picture with a fairy. There were jesters. and three people in very long pants on stilts with their hands free, the Barely Balanced Acrobatic Display. They were really very well balanced, and one of the men had the perfect manner for it. There was a short play on the Celestial Stage, where Prince Charming and Charles Dashing, speaking entirely in rhyme, told the story of the hero (played by a girl from the audience) who rescues the princess (he was black--I think they chose a guy with a shaved head so the bright blonde wig with pink bows would have full impact) from the villain (played by Charles Dashing, after much persuasive speaking on the treatment of heroines by villains--this was before Charming said the guy was going to be the princess.) They were pretty good. There was a sword fight, too, where Charming subbed for the hero because Dashing couldn't fight a girl. ("I can't fight her, she's a girl. Remember what happened last time?" (aside to the audience) "He ended up in hospital.") 

We went around the fair twice. The first round there was an enormous dog, almost white, near the elephants. I went to ask what he was, and he was an Anatolian Shepherd (working, so I couldn't pet him just then. I did ask.) We also found the Colorado Greyhound Rescue, where half a dozen beautiful dogs wearing cloth collars in Celtic designs lounged around while their humans, looking almost as medieval but much less elegant, answered questions. I made the acquaintance of a very tall laddie shedding fawn fur named Legolas. The short version of this, Leggy, was an accurate description.

We sheltered from the worst of the rain in a weaver's shop, full of absolutely lovely cotton and wool clothing: shirts and skirts (the skirts today were all especially hard on me: the best ones are the priciest), shawls and ruanas (rather like ponchos), scrunchies and pouches. I had a lovely conversation with the lady in charge of the shop, the apprenticed partner in Green Tree Weaving, ably assisted by her two sons, probably about seven and ten. She told me about their sheep, which are California variegated mutants. I looked them up, and apparently the breed is derived from the Romeldale, a hybrid breed developed through crosses of Romneys and Ramboulliets. Multicolored lambs cropped up in Romeldale herds, and from these the breed was developed. Sabine also asked whether I knitted or whatever, the underlying question being why was I interested in all these details, and I said yes, I did knit a bit, but my main interest was because I had a few sheep. Did I use my own wool? It was a goal, but I hadn't learn to spin yet, not having anyone to teach me. She advised me, very strongly, to ask about among the elders of my community and find someone. Sigh. Anyway, after much heartburnings over the lovely garments, I bought a scrunchie. I could've bought a pouch, but I wove myself one years ago. Not as nice, of course.....Anyway, not for next time: have either much more or much less money. Ninety bucks means enough to spend but not enough to spare.

That was on the second circuit, which was when I started buying things. I bought a pewter dragon pendant from one shop, while a girl in a very well-put-together costume asked about protection pendants. That startled me a bit. Anyway, so far so small, but in a clothing shop near the end I buckled down and bought an outfit. It's kind of the simplest design, full skirt with a wraparound waist and ruffled bottom and a tube blouse with elastic around the top and bottom (bottom more than top, interestingly) and little sleeved attached only below the arm. I think of it as the Barmaid Blouse, and am beginning to get my blood up thinking about how to make the thing both wearable and good-looking. The whole outfit, actually, although the skirt won't be so bad. Need to find a color that goes well with light brown--this might be easier if I'd gotten the dark brown one. Oh, well, it should be a fun challenge, anyway.

We left the fair shortly after that, although we stopped to listen to a very good group in green kilts: one piper, three or four drummers, and a guitarist with the brown curls and beard look. I think it may be true what they say about live music: it's stronger, more exciting: live. Of course. 

After Larkspur was Denver. Philip fed me at Qdoba, and then we went on to Crowne Plaza. There weren't nearly as many people there this time, which was smart of them, because they had the audio up much too loud. Add to purse: bandaids, earplugs. Anyway, Jim was sixth of ten, and the fight was a complete opposite of his first, except for the main point, of course. His first time, he won thirty seconds into the first round, forcing a submission with an arm bar. This time they went three rounds, at the end of which the judges declared Jim the winner. It was a very good fight--it's much more interesting when one has someone to cheer for--in this case, in common with a very vocal section of the crowd. There were a couple other fights where I managed to pick someone, such as Rutherford the Nebraskan, besides one of the pro fights where I rooted for the fighter eleven years older than his opponent. They both won.

We got home about midnight, and I lay down next to Grandma to tell her about it. I had dog hair all over my clothes in minutes, of course. In the end, I think it was about one-thirty when I went to sleep. A long day.

Rock Ledge Ranch

Well, we had Linda, Carole's supervisor, here to talk to Mom and Grandma about things. Lark and I sat in on it. I can't really say they really arrived at much of a decision, but it was informative. After Linda left Diane came for therapy, and I pulled weeds out of the rock path in the shade until they finished. Philip called me on the cell during this to say that if Jenna (Steve Boonzaijer's wife), who was coming to buy an iPod from him, didn't bring some baked goods along the deal was off. She appeared a little after noon with three bags of goodies, now a little depleted. She was so determined to get a new iPod, which she needs to keep her feet going when she jogs, that she had the check all written out when she got here. I do like her. 

Started doing pushups and sit-ups yesterday. I'm at a pathetically small number of reps, but my abs hurt. *moans* Starting out with five at a time.....ooooooww......This is ridiculous.....

Once everyone was cleared out, and the chores were out of the way, Mom and I headed out. We were going to Rock Ledge Ranch. They used to be called White House Ranch, but then they found out there's lovely stone under the white stucco on the namesake, so they stripped the stucco, restored the stone, and changed the name--"on account there're no white houses anymore." Well, this explains why I couldn't find their website a couple of months ago--I was googling the wrong name. Anyway, we got in free this time, on a lucky chance. You see, they're--someone's--in the process of putting up this really big, fancy white tent over in the meadow by the blacksmith's shop. It's not historically accurate--downright anachronistic, one might say--so they aren't charging people to get in while it's up. One really does wonder who came up with that. Well, we were happy, anyway.

We started out with the livestock. They have five horses, two of which are new. They're a matched pair of big black Shires, half-siblings, named Victoria and Winston. Victoria wasn't terribly interested, but Winston was happy to talk to me, if a little mischievous. The others--Percherons?--ignored me. I rather think Victoria's the only mare on the place--we saw three other horses, the two big drafts and a light roan, and they were all geldings. Interesting. The sheep were all conked in the shade, looking rather depressed. They were shorn June 6, as the opening event for the season, and some of them came out the worse from a comparison to Doug's shearing. They also have a peacock there, a lonely fellow who utters the most obnoxious shriek from time to time.

From the barnyard we went into the ranch house, for a tour of the place. A young man who seemed to be a fellow cold-sufferer gave us the tour of the downstairs, and for upstairs we had a self-possessed little girl of perhaps twelve to explain to us about bone toothbrushes and rope-spring beds. She was pretty good. 

We wandered from the ranch house to the Orchard House, built by General Palmer for his sister-in-law. The housemaid took us over the house, pointing out status symbols such as wall-to-wall carpeting as enhanced by built-in sideboards and the like. I think she was just a bit nervous to be doing the job of the housekeeper or the cook, but she did a good job. I liked her, anyway. She did have trouble remembering what the back porch was called--the likely word occurred to Mom as we were leaving. "Do you think it was terrace?" Maybe. We went from there to the blacksmith's shop, where a young man was just finishing up a demonstration as we arrived. He started on a hook next, first hammering the end into a point and curling it, then twisting the length. Finally he hammered the other end into a spike and bent it at a right angle, to drive into a wall. He handed the finished product to the group with us, then, finding upon inquiry that Mom and I weren't with the others, he gave me one he'd made earlier. Thank you!

After the blacksmith we walked back along the road past the Orchard House to stop at the Coach-house, where a lady was working on beading a deerskin shirt in the Indian style. She herself was dark, with a very aquiline nose. We looked at the various exhibits, mainly to do with gold mining and the general settlement of the area, until she asked us if we lived in the area. I explained that I was staying with my grandmother, who lived in Colorado Springs, and added that I was with my mum. We chatted a little, and then I asked about employment versus volunteering. She told me that they have both volunteers and employees, and you can volunteer until you're sixteen, at which point you can get a job there. As we were leaving, she added, "We need more people." Well, sure, but I need to be able drive first. Again.

From there, trying to find the path to the parking lots, we followed the path to the Galloway Homestead. It's a little log cabin, chinked with adobe clay, but the feature that immediately captured our attention was the lovely little Jersey cow. She was adorable--and surprisingly soft! More like a kid than a goat, really. She wasn't very big, either. I wonder if they plan to breed her; she wasn't in milk, but I don't think it was because she was too young. Maybe someone's cull was the perfect display cow. I don't know. I talked to her for a few minutes, and then we moved on, past a little girl washing wool, to the cabin. There were various textile-crafts in stasis there, from someone's crocheting to a rag rug on a loom. The lady there pointed out the finished one on the floor, which presented a very irregular appearance, due, she told us, to the children's always taking the warp off the nails on the frame that keep in straight. Well, good luck with this one.

We managed to find the right path from there to the parking lots. We encountered a pair of girls with bikes in sight of our goal. One looked familiar, and as we drew even I realized who it was. "Elle Reese?" It was, rather unsure of who I was, so I promptly identified myself as Philip's sister from church. We chatted for a bit, discussing the ranch--she said the tent might be for the Art Festival--and then we went off in opposite directions.

Mom had some errands to run, and we dropped into Claussen Books while she was trying to get to the jeweler's. They had Charity Girl, which a) I already own a perfectly good copy of and b) don't like much, on the outside racks. I was a bit mad. Sigh. Mom was happy, though, because she found a bunch of Landmark books, which she's collecting, she says, for her grandchildren. Okay. The jeweler's, next to Safeway, took six links, as requested, out of Grandma's medical assistance bracelet, and after doing some shopping for dinner at Safeway we went home.

I called Sid to see if she could go shopping with me while Mom takes Grandma to the doctor. Granddaughters coming over cancelled that plan, but she had a story to tell me: This morning, she let the cat out pretty early, left the door open for her, and went back to bed. She woke up again about seven to the feeling of a warm mass on her bed: furry, tentative, little tail wagging. At this point, telling Doug about it, he said, "Oh bleep." Actually, what I told him was that there was a dog in her bed, so maybe it wasn't that hard to guess. I was getting a slight sinking feeling myself at that part, though. It was the "little tail" bit, I think. Maddy has a pretty long tail for her size, after all. Sid thought it was pretty funny. 

Well, after making it all the way through the ranch without sneezing once, I am back to groping for Kleenex with watering eyes half-shut. One advantage to a small house: Kleenex boxes at all the strategic points still does not necessarily add up to that many Kleenex boxes.

Got the hay room cleaned out in between loads. We had to stretch about three bales for nearly a week, and had to clean up all the leavings from various loads to make it last, which gave me plenty of time to think about this. We made it, nobody died of starvation, and I got about six inches of alfalfa (the then much thinner upper layer) and manure out of there today in the time I would normally have spent getting ahead of all those dishes, but Mom kindly did some, and it's done. The floor was nice and barn-clean, which means sort of smeared with this brown stuff that feels really gross on your feet, and seems to be a mixture of urine and dust. Probably. Anyway, it was good. And we got the hay in, and next time we have to do this there won't be inedible layers from keeping babies in there every winter for the past three or fours years. We'll just be able to sweep the floor! Lol.
And I came inside absolutely beat, and of course Peter had made molasses cookies. Obviously Owen was the wrong choice for assistant once they got home. But I got my second wind at about nine, so now I'm shaping and baking the cookies, which function as a sort of excuse for being online at ten-forty except that I should be doing dishes in between loads and furthermore I'm letting this batch sit while I finish the post instead of rocketing off and shaping the next. Hah.

Oh, and I found this really nice music website, Radiomanga.net, which is set up as album playlists: you click on the album name, you get all the songs on it, in the order of the CD. Which is lovely. Although their engine or whatever seems to be Youtube, which is....disturbing. I mean, I hope they don't depend on Youtube. I'm also happy because Doug's adopting it, and I don't often find sites that the others use. Although Mangafox and Mangaupdates are getting some use, which is satisfying. Interesting that all three are manga/anime related, though. Lol. And, by the way, Philip, thank you very much for helping me get going with the manga on my comp. :D I'm a menace with it.

The lambs are all doing great, enjoying this warm weather. It's actually supposed to snow in the next few days (sob) but in the meanwhile the pump finally thawed out, wonder of wonders, so we don't have to go through the basement. It's really annoying hauling from the basement in forty degrees of sunshine. One feels cheated. What good is warm weather if I still have to haul water from the basement? Well, for a start, my hands aren't numb when I finish. I might not even have to wear a coat. And even if Starling lambed in the middle of the night, the babies wouldn't freeze to death if I didn't find out 'till morning. *cheers* Of course, I'm still going out there with a flashlight before bed, a policy the neighbors probably disapprove of by now, as it reminds the bottle boys that there is a mother and she has just left. Drat them. So they bleat and wail for the next ten minutes or so. Maybe less, but since I alway expect them to continue for the next three hours I've never timed them. Rabbit, the youngest, is actually finishing his milk first sometimes, which is shocking. We used to have bottle races to see who finished first. Lots of competition. Of course now I only have one assistant and sometimes none, which is a little tricky with three bottles but my hands seem to have grown since last time (looks surprised--it's only been three years *roll*) so it's a bit easier. Also the A&W and Dr Pepper bottles both have long necks, so if I hold 'em right the necks sort of fit together and they're pretty easy to hold. Note to always have a Dr P and A&W in future. Unless it's four babies, in which case I'm doomed to an assistant. Sigh. Owen seems to think that nobody would ever want to be outside alone. Now I know why he always tries to go on walks with me. Maybe he doesn't like thinking. From the stuff he tells me when he's in a mood to talk about thoughts, I wouldn't be surprised. Owen seems to depress fairly easily....and the jumble he's picked up from Dad does not help. With Dad's personality, as I see it, one can be zonked out on drink/drugs (see B), fantasy/fiction (see me), or be really, really depressed (see Dad and, apparently, Owen, although he makes a pretty good case for "zonked out on Internet".) Feh. The kid seems to seriously expect the world to actually end in 2012 or so. I think it has something to do with a discussion about a prediction by Isaac Newton or somebody and how it was wrong because he made a mistake and the correction brings it to 2012. Something like that. He doesn't seem to have gathered that none of us were taking it very seriously. Sigh. Poor Owen. And, by the way, I am not thrashing all this out with him. No way, no how. Not me. You do it. Leave me out of this.

Also I have to go bake cookies and finish cleaning up the kitchen.

Tessa and Judy (Lizzie in the back)

Lizzie lambed today! Incredibly, she did so in broad daylight on a nice day with warm weather! There were some problems with getting food into the babies--idiot mother has overdeveloped licking instinct and atrophied feed instinct--but everyone's doing fine. The product of the afternoon's work is two beautiful, healthy ewe lambs, both perfectly willing to eat constantly, thanks to their mother's refusal to permit this. *sigh* Every time a lamb heads for her udder, Lizzie turns around to follow it, swinging the milk away. Geh. Let me tell you, I was very tired of this by the time we finished up with everything and went inside. The worst moment was when Gan, proud *#&*^$#*% father, decided he'd been left out too long and came over the apparently inadequate fence to try to breed Lizzie. I eventually decided that crouching over Tess to keep her from being trampled wasn't doing the job and went on the offensive. By the time my reinforcements arrived I'd wrestled Gan away, and Peter and Owen helped me escort him out, with me steering him and the boys providing incentive. Then Peter distracted him outside the paddock and Owen held Lizzie so I could get some milk into Tess. Owen, by the way, was a great help all through. It was great having an able pair of extra hands, and he made some good suggestions. The names are his--I do like naming myself, but they're quite good names and he's always crushed when I don't like his suggestions. The entire affair was very exhausting, however, although I admit Lizzie--thanks to whose efforts I am exhausted--worked much harder than I did. She just didn't utilize any sense. >:[ Anyway: net gain: two strong ewe lambs and some more experience for me. I didn't lose my head about clearing mouths like with Susan, although I think the problem then was that I was in panic mode by the time I found them and any clear-headedness was out of the question. I'm still mildly surprised those two were fine, and accept the death of the third as due for my own tardiness. TT_TT And I wouldn't be surprised if I had panicked with Judy, because I was feeling around trying to find her other foreleg, and when I pulled her I was not at all certain that she would be fine. But she was, and she was vocal enough to signal her mom that there was someone new requiring her attention. (Tessa was ridiculously clean by this time. Lizzie is very good at one thing. Well, she also produces a lot of milk and twins to drink it...Good genes to keep, I suppose.)
Lark was very martyred by the time I came in to make dinner, poor brat. She had to stay inside the whole time, except for a few minutes after she slipped out with the boys to help with Gan. She was very intrigued by the odd goings-on in the paddock, of course, and expressed this by barking. You see why she was inside. Actually, I first realized it might be Lizzie's day because of the way she was reacting to Lark. Being a sensible sheep, she's usually wary to hostile, but this was stronger than usual, and she was talking funny--grunts more than bleats. So thanks, Lark, even though you're a dingbat who shouldn't be let within a mile of any stock without more training.

So next is Starling! *shudders* Pretty soon, too. She's bagged up, and as I haven't a clue when she was bred I don't have a due date to glance at. So she could actually drop anytime, except I'm a little incredulous that this is as big as she gets. Notasinglepleasetwinsnosingles! Besides being uneconomic, single lambs are hard work to deliver, having had more room to grow.....

Baron and Lark have started playing. The house may not survive, but it's a treat to watch--as long as you have a safe vantage point, or have tough feet and shins. Mine are all scraped up currently--happened somehow when Gan floored me, not sure how--and I practically want to stand on a chair. But it's hilarious. He's huge, and she's tiny--and he's really gentle. She, of course, is typical Fury, and it warms my heart to see her chewing on someone who doesn't feel it. Oh, for fur. Lark take immense unfair advantage of her size during chases, though, whipping under tables and chairs and between people's legs. (Fortunately Baron doesn't get quite as carried away as he might, and backed out slowly before he knocked me over.) I think I'm going to have to stick the two of them in the paddock for awhile every day, so they can do this full speed, whatever that may be. I'll have to clear Stein and Meathead out, though--just moved Stein in this afternoon, so we can give him alfalfa without everyone getting it (he's not feeling well-just weak and languid--no diarrhea) and Gan knocked me down when everyone was following the alfalfa (me). Flat on my back, all of a sudden. Grr. He backed off when I collected my little tin tub, which had contained hay a minute ago, and started swinging it at him and screaming. Dad sent the backup out as soon as he saw me out there sitting on the ground, and Peter knocked him around for me. Now I just have to wait for my bruised behind and jarred back to heal....and we're going to B's to help with some immense task tomorrow. With a concert afterwards. Nobody's told her what we think about the concert, and everybody can use some cash from the work, but....

Lark's nagging me to come to bed, and I haven't done the floor yet.

Did I mention that I finally brought a ram home Friday night? His name is Gan, to match Stein, as their names both mean Stone but in different languages, but Gan's name hasn't quite adhered yet. I just think Gan Fall, who is completely irrelevant but whom you may find a reference to if you comb through all the posts labeled "one piece". Maybe. It'll be the Skypiea arc. Wondering if this post merits an OP tag.

Also Amanda is having her kittens in my closet, after an entire day of watching them wrestle for precedence in there. It was simultaneously amusing and unnerving. Court lost one of hers and is down to four. Dunno if Macchan is done yet, and if so how many there are. I'll check next time I go up there. She started out having contractions on my bed, having spent several hours there already while the kittens wriggled, and then moved to the closet. She took the box with the floor-level entrance, I was amused to note. Anyway, she is quite my favorite among our cats, and I am quite flattered by her choosing my closet, after almost having them on my bed. On towels, fortunately, so the slight mess she made before moving will not necessitate washing the blanket.

I've been reading most of the day. I started out rereading Heyer's Frederica, one of her most constantly hilarious. Then I finished Lens of the World, first in a trilogy by R.A. MacAvoy which I should maybe wait a few years before continuing. I like her, I like her characters, but I have a feeling it's going to be hard going. The single-volume ones were less ambitious and more enjoyable. I think I'll finish with Patricia A. McKillip, recommended by Robin and most of her fans. I started her Riddle-master trilogy after I finished Lens and Macchan had moved to the closet, and it really is quite good. I expect you,* being a fastidious snob who doesn't believe in reading for pleasure, would consider it quite unworthy of your time, but she has a clear descriptive style and engaging characters, humorously portrayed.

*Philip-oniisan, in the unlikely but precedented event that someone else is reading this.

And I brought home two more sheep today. Two Katahdin wether lambs, weaned, and barely tamer than the girls, who enjoy the ancient tradition of "Anything shorter than me and not my own baby=golf ball." Which is why I had to put up a quick corner pen for them with two panels. I have to buy a bale of hay from Darrel, too, because they've been on hay and I can't put them right out to grass.

Kathy has a really nice place. Goats, cows, dogs (big dogs!), a couple of miniature horses, poultry, and sheep. She's currently doing it all herself, because her dad's in the hospital and her mom's taking care of him. She's at least fifty, I'd say. Good luck with all the work. Two of the dogs were loose when we were there: a huge Great Pyrenees that looked like a woolly cushion, or maybe a futon; and an extremely handsome German Shepherd who flattered my by asking me to pet him, in a tentative and unassuming way. Not shy, but standoffish. The GP took anything I was willing to give him. And some of the goats were beautiful little ladies. There were several Saanens; one of them tends towards quadruplets, and she's currently pregnant. She's so stretched out her sides stick out at least a foot, either side.

B took Owen today, so he's going to miss the movie. We're going to go see "Expelled", about the institutional attitude toward people who question evolution. Mrs. Freeouf says she went to see it on opening night--we stopped at Luke's because Dad needed welding help. Luke stood him up. Mark was there the first time we stopped. We stopped again on the way back with the lambs, and he and Luke had gone to see a movie. Dad wasn't very happy. A little grim, maybe. But look what I got out of the whole thing! Funfun! And we stopped at Burger King on the way home. :p

My girls

Lizzie is on the left, with lighter wool and only the small ear tag. Starling is on the right.
Doug came up with their names. The underlying rationale is that they're Suffolk/Hampshires, and should therefore have European names.













Starling to the front, Lizzie in back.
So Starling is a European bird, and Lizzie is....a good strong English name. And Hampshires are from the south of England anyway. Not sure where Suffolk is.

YAY SHEEP!!

And I'm a shepherdess again! Today Mom, Owen, and I went to see Lana and her hubby, who were both very nice. And their toddler, Jordan, who wasn't very into us. Anyway. I got two nice little ewes, Starling and Lizzie, who both had triplets this year and are around five years old. I'm kind of wishing I'd gone with the other one I was considering instead of Starling, because for one thing she has extra teats, but we survived that with Lily and if it were an actual problem Lana would have gotten rid of her much sooner. She's a pretty strict culler, I guess, because she gets tons of triplets. She never bottle feeds, either, even though one ewe this spring had quadruplets. Raised 'em all, too. Next year she's going to call me.
We didn't even get lost on the way, even though our directions weren't exactly confidence-inspiring and I was just waking up when I wrote them down. Turns out they were perfectly adequate.
Oh, and the dog. A Border collie, who's a half-trained working dog. Kind of a pain, because he's not fully trained, but oh well.

And the visit to Lana has been postponed to Saturday afternoon because of rain. Drat. Oh well. And we'll probably go see Kathy sometime next week.

You know you aren't a very faithful blogger when your computer's address memory doesn't contain the blog's address. Speaking of, Robin McKinley has finally switched away from Livejournal. It is still a work in progress, but it's running.
One annoying thing about blogging is you have to be at a computer. Which means that if you think of something, it's no good if you aren't at a computer, because if you don't write it down you'll forget it before you get a turn.

Right. Currently reading Charles deLint, who is a very good writer. He pretty much invented the urban fantasy genre, with his city of Newford. I love the stories. They aren't all that light: they can be dark and poignant and depressing. But they are also hopeful.

Kathy is supposed to call me today with a price on her Katahdin laddies. If she doesn't, I'm to call her. And I have yet to get back to Lana on her ewes. Which I need to do, because I doubt she'll wait forever. Besides, I think we've pretty much decided we want to buy, and I wouldn't change my mind until I actually visit her farm, which I haven't.