The post-holiday reality of winter has set in. Over the last four weeks we've experienced nearly every known form of precipitation interspersed with bouts of mind-numbing single digit temperatures and hellish winds. Yesterday brought the second ice storm of the new year, followed the new year's second snowfall. Welcome 2009.
The reserves of hay we stockpiled last August are shrinking at a brisk pace, as we've been feeding a little extra during extreme cold snaps. From the lack of hoof prints in the yard (and the piles of droppings in the barn) I can tell the sheep are not venturing outdoors. I don't blame them. While they don't mind the cold, the wind is another story.
On cold but tranquil days I force them out by dragging a toboggan full of breakfast. They follow the hay sleigh as I pull it across the field, dropping flakes on the snow every five yards or so. Feeding on clean snow is about the only way to feed directly off the ground – a practice which can otherwise invite all sorts of nasty health issues. The wind whisks away any leftovers before trodden by dirty little hooves. The march around the pasture is about the only exercise they get. It gives me an opportunity for house keeping. Bedding straw has been hard to come by this winter and my supply is going fast this year.
Amy stops mid-breakfast to show her gratitude. I mind the cold less in moments like this. The blue bucket in the back is heated (thankfully) and holds 40 gallons of water. The flock has been thirsty so we fill it twice a day.
Things are less settled in the carriage barn where our ram, Teaberry, recently returned from courting, has been re-introduced to his buddies. Bringing a ram back into the guy's club is never a smooth process. There is always a period of duking it out as the boys reestablish their social hierarchy. Parsley, my back-up cormo ram whose services were not needed this year, is rather bellicose. He and Teaberry battle it out in the shot below. Everything is an excuse to pick a fight: who gets to eat from the long feeder, who gets to stand closest to the gate, who gets to drink first from the fresh water bucket. The others in the group are wethers who just try to stay out of the way, with the exception of Cilantro, a wether who seems to have a bit more in the way of testosterone. Sometimes it's two against one.
Adding a few tires to the pen makes it harder for them to back up any distance for head bashing (and puts our summer tires to good use). The war lasts anywhere from a few days to a couple of weeks. Eventually, they get tired of shoving each other around and seem to forget why they were fighting in the first place. As they mellow, I can sense the change in vibe. That's when it's safe to restore the pen to its usual size and allow them access to the yard. We're making progress, but not quite there yet!
