Are They Or Aren't They?

 

Remember the old Clairol ad “Does She or Doesn’t She?” Asking if some luscious (usually) blonde dyed her hair? You probably don’t if you are under 60 and/or are not an American. However, it became a slang expression back in the day and I use it now.

Are they or aren’t they? Pregnant, of course. These are the Borg (aka Suffolk sheep) in the paddock with the Suffolk ram for several months. As I have said before, he avoided them like the plague and I think the results speak for themselves. They sure don’t look pregnant to me!

The Romneys, on the other hand, are becoming a tad rotund. Perhaps their wool just grows thicker, or they are eating fatty grass but there is a definite difference. I would have taken a comparison picture but I am still persona non grata and they bolt at the sound of my crunchy little footsteps. Since I think they are facing motherhood, I don’t want to scare them any more than they already are. So you’ll have to take my word for it. The Romneys (with whom the ram spent all his time and energies) are porking up big time.

Last week we moved all the sheep from paddock #1 up to the new barn paddock so I could keep a closer eye on them. Did you notice the ‘we’ in that sentence? Yes, I finally had something more to do than just stand there by the car and stick out my arms like a scarecrow when the sheep rushed by.

Oh, Dan wanted me doing the scarecrow bit but events overcame him. He has been fighting a sinus infection for several months and when he had run up and down paddock #1 about 5 times (okay maybe only 4 but I stick to the 4), he decided he couldn’t round up 29 sheep by himself. He was just too wiped out. He had to call for help.

And who was providentially standing by her car, arms akimbo? That’s right, little ole me. Well, I hustled on over, flashed a smirky grin and stood in my scarecrow pose in the left side of the lower paddock, effectively cutting off the sheep’ prime escape route.

Dan herded them down the hill, panting only slightly. They began to wheel to their right preparing to bolt when the 3 lead ewes lifted their heads and saw…wait for it! ME. Hah, the moment was sweet. I was not just a straw-filled face any more. Remember, all 29 of those sheep have a mental image of me as Torquemada. They want nothing to do with me. They were a broken flock and trotted out to the driveway without even a token bolt movement.

Dan shouted a “Great” at me as he loped after them. I am taking that ‘great’ as referring to me.

Until next time.