My peonies bloomed. They are just about done now. As the peonies pass, the roses come into bloom. The rose arch on the south side of my house is a mass of color, and the old garden rose that is taking over along the side of the path to the chicken coop amazes me with its fragrance. Every once in awhile, though, I have to hunt down the suckers it sends out and pull it back ("OK, thug. You can't grow right in the center of the phlox. Out!! You die!!!"). To those who think gardening is communion with Nature, I can only say, that rose along the path to the coop, the weeds, the white goose neck loosestrife... remember certain days as the Historic Massacre of Our Race. And I am the bloodthirsty red-eyed slobbering monster that will one day become woven into the mists of their myth. Gardening is wonderful. But it is also waging war with Nature. So I suppose it is communion, but you might blush to repeat what you just said. Personally, I think I am leaving my name to history.
The lambs are getting big. So far, nobody bought any of the boys for breeding rams or to wether for their fleece. So I greet them with "Hi Lamb Chop!" Shall I be honest and tell the moms I am keeping them around because we want to eat their children? Sounds fiendish when I say it like that but it is true. The drive to the slaughtering facility will be a hard one.
A couple of weeks ago, one of the boys managed to rip both his horns right off his head. I was giving them their afternoon snack of alfalfa pellets, sunflower seeds, barley and minerals. One minute everyone was jostling to get at the snack, and the next minute the solid brown guy stood there with blood running down his face. It was so thick and red, and happened so quickly, it took a minute for it to register that I was looking at blood. One horn completely gone, the other hanging from his head by a tiny fiber.
I ran to the house to get a bucket of warm water, some rags and Blood Stop powder, cleaned off his little face as much as I could, doused the injury sites with Blood Stop, and let him settle down to wait it out. He just looked so unhappy! Then the next day, Marsha's big boy ripped off one of his horns! Same time, same activity (giving out the afternoon snack). Again, get the bucket and rags, stop the bleeding... Then I looked at Marsha, who was looking back at me with a look of guilt and defiance all over her face (yes, sheep have facial expressions). I think she hooked one of her horns under the little boys' to get them away from the snack, and ripped their horns off when she tossed her head back. Ever since, the kids have been scattering fast when she gets near, so I know I am right.