How Did She Know?

Yesterday had been a good day. I hadn't lost anything; broken anything; or messed up in any significant way. So I made myself a celebratory dinner of mutton, asparagus and baked potato. I was still congratulating myself as I prepared to step into the shower.

And then my perfect day fell apart. Literally as I was sticking my toe into the water, I heard a loud, plaintive BAAA from under my window. Really loud!! As in "I'm not in my paddock. I'm here in the driveway." And she was! 'She' was an almost grown lamb who desperately wanted back to her flock.

The problem is that she could bolt, run down the driveway into a neighbor's property or even down to the road and cause havoc with the traffic. And it would all be my responsibility. 

So I pulled a raincoat on over my wetness (and bareness) and ran sockless in my farm shoes into the garage. The sound of the garage door opening sent the lamb into a frenzy and down she ran. Off our driveway and 2/3 of the way down our shared driveway. I got in my car and followed. I parked beyond her and jumped into the too tall grass and waded my way up to her. My idea was to herd her into the paddock through the driveway gate.

Unfortunately that gate turned out to be locked and I didn't have the key. I did have grass up to my navel (did I mention it was wet grass?) and was distinctly uncomfortable. Anyway, at this point the lamb bolts back INTO our driveway, I run back down to the car, and drive past her to open the gate into the area before her paddock. 

This is the area claimed as their own by my chickens who bolt themselves at this unexpected opportunity to race into my garden and destroy all my baby flowers. So then I drive back and secure my neighbor's gate and our gate to the main driveway. All this time the  lamb is loudly protesting her enforced separation from the flock. 

"Aha!", I think, "I've got her now. All I have to do is herd her into the chicken yard, open the far gate to the paddock and shoo her in." Oh, the best laid plans...etc. I get out of my car and start moving her. She moves all right. Back down our driveway to the closed gates. I sigh with relief a tad too soon. She bellies her way under the gate and dashes back down the road.

Reread the first few paragraphs. It all happens again! Finally I get her back into our driveway and this time I back the car up against the gate so she can't scoot through. This works and she darts into the yard. I shut that gate behind her. She runs over to the brush next to the barn and I open the gate into the paddock preparatory to shooing her through.

Wrong again! She bolts over the brush and falls into a gully on the other side. She is trapped; the other 46 sheep are not. They curiously start poking their heads through the now open gate. I spend the next few minutes racing back and forth keeping the flock away from the gate and trying to extricate the lamb. I finally fall into the gully myself as I push the lamb out. As I thrash around trying to get out, she saunters calmly through the paddock and rejoins her family.

As I get back into the shower, wincing at all my scrapes and bruises, I have one question. How in hell did that lamb know I had just eaten her grandmother? And was this a purposeful revenge? Okay, make that 2 questions.

Til later.

What Is a Warkworth?

First, an two-pronged apology. The first is for not including a photo on this blog. The reason is simple. I "upgraded" my Windows and now cannot download my photos. Just assume that my photo of the growth of the chicks has occurred. The second prong is that I have not written for some time. My computer crashed and my rotator cuff still bothers me. Still, I'm sorry.

Okay, here is this month's update. All the older hens have been humanely dispatched to the great scratching ground in the sky. We waited literally months but no eggs equals no hens. The 10 chicks appear thrilled to no longer be terrorized by the big bullies.

Our 3 steers are not working out well at all. They came puny and remain puny. Not too puny however. When Dan and Yael tried to treat them for possible parasites/worms, one crashed through our fence and romped off with our neighbor's herd. A second smashed the gates. The third took his medicine meekly. It was an unbelievable drama to get #1 back and I personally can't wait for him to become hamburger.

Anyway: What is a Warkworth. Warkworth is the small town I live in. In the summer months (which is what we have now in the Southern hemisphere) our small town is overrun with tourists and weekenders. It is almost impossible to find a place to park. If you are one of the blessed few, the parking is free. (I told you it was a small town!). I have a book club meeting on the 1st Wed. of the month - today - and after much circling and muttering I parked in a 10 minute space and hoped the parking police were busy elsewhere.

About 20 minutes into the meeting, a librarian ran over and whispered that the traffic guys were getting a cup of tea in the break room before grabbing their hand-held computers and sashaying forth to spread a little Xmas cheer.

Three women recommended that I park (as they do) in the nearby supermarket lot. They assured me that they had never had a problem. Well, I was stuck so I took their advice. After the meeting was over I went into the supermarket to buy something. Guilt is a powerful force. I met all 3 women in there also buying stuff. No wonder they'd never had a problem. Neither would I if I continued to shop there. But that's a small town: the parking is free but scant and those of us who live here feel guilty about taking advantage of the shops and buy things we don't really need to say thank you.

You just have to love New Zealand and the small town mentality. At least I do!