It's interesting to watch the progression of lamb behavior as they grow. With the 5 week age span in the lamb flock, there's quite a range. Zuni's lambs stick to her like velcro and panic whenever she's out of sight. Verbena's triplets orbit like little satellites, keeping tabs on the mothership at all times. The oldest lambs, Cobalt, Crimson and Saffron have become bold and free-ranging. I watch them migrate to the pasture's edge in the morning, to explore the tangle of multi-flora rose. Some of the middlings stay back in the morning to investigate the barn.
Some of the ewes have grown tired of incessant nursing. They call their lambs only when their full bags need relief and otherwise it's "scram!". Which means some lambs are now exploring all food options, nibbling hay from the mangers, mouthing grain in the creep pen and sampling the granular minerals from the plastic pan in the corner of the common pen. They're checking me out with more interest too, when I show up to bottle feed Butterbuns, Pumpkin and Blaze. I divvy up leftover formula, sharing it out to whoever's curious. Free samples, like at the grocery store.
I had just a moment to snap a couple of shots of the lambs as I rushed through evening barn chores. Most of the ewes were out in the pasture, leaving Crackerjack alone in the barn with a few buddies. They're all fascinated with the llama; tugging on his shaggy coat and nibbling bits of straw from his scraggly mane are favorite past times. I'm not sure what on earth Butternut was doing here with his face half buried in Crackerjack's fleecey shoulder. In peace or chaos, Cracker sits in the midst of it all, sphinx-like and inscrutable.
Pumpkin's mind was easier to read. She watched me closely as I added hay to the mangers, waiting for her bottle.
It's easy to get caught up with lambs at this time of year, but yesterday the rest of the flock needed our attention, too. Holly, Mike and I focused our energy on the big boys at the top of the hill. Penning them for coat checks, worming and hoof trimming took the better part of the afternoon. There's something nerve wracking about working in a small, crowded pen, bent over with a sharp pair of shears in hand, lifting hind legs of uncooperative fully adult boys, with a pair of ornery rams duking it out.
Hoof trimming is my least favorite sheep maintenance task. The boys' hooves were last trimmed on shearing day back in early March and it's surprising how much hoof material had grown. The edge of the hoof is thin and pliable like leather, curling upward over the soles of their feet. I slide the edge of the pruning shear beneath it, snipping away small pieces at a time. Then I trim away about another 1/8 inch around the thick outer wall of the entire hoof, minding the quick. It takes about 10 minutes per sheep. My back was killing me, so Holly and I took turns trimming while Mike held on to the boys. We have to keep their feet pared back, to keep their hooves healthy. It's a lot like trimming toenails. The sheep can stand more comfortably on trim feet and I love the way they look afterwards.
The work was more challenging than it needed to be. The black flies were brutal and we made the error of creating the catch pen on a slope. There's nothing like trying to trim the feet with the full weight of a 250 lb. ram against your shoulder. My arms are still aching and I have a huge blister on the inside of my right thumb. Ouch. We were all covered in sweat and eck at the end of the afternoon, but it felt really good to have tackled that project.
Onward.
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