Or was it “flies in the sugar bowl” that made us all skip to my lou?
Can you blame the wee woolies? It’s raining that gentle, relentless rain of Spring right now, the kind that soaks straight through a junior suit of wool in the flick of a tail. It’s forecasted to do so all day and through the next. And have these chickens have got it made! I overheard the lambs bleat to each other. “Did you see this grain feeder hanging in here? It’s always full!”
Last week’s explorations into the coop left the lambs stranded and scared, and called on one Girl to be on full alert to rescue the foolish lambs who could easily make their way in but not out. They’ve got it mastered now though, ambling in and out at will.
We’re still waiting for Irene, our straggler, to drop her lamb(s). We estimate she’ll have them 3 days ago, so there’s no telling when. Our best guesses turn out to be junk. Sam the Sham has been trailing her like a shadow the past two days – a sure sign, we think, that she’s very close to birthing. I’m not sure what kind of support he’s lending her, if it’s of the Grounding-Rock-With-Which-to-Direct-Laboring-Focus variety or more of the kind that makes a compelling case for the old custom of banning the husband from the delivery room. Whatever the case, I’m also becoming quite an annoyance, I think, checking in a dozen times a day, hovering, and lifting her tail to check her lady bits. This midwife has some polishing to do on her bedside manor.