Silly Mice & Peeved Jim

Wednesday afternoon at the farm I took all the sheep out of the night pasture with Brynn while John pulled the truck in to drop a round bale & do a little clean up.

 

When we were down in the lower field we were doing exercises that do not require the ewes to run in their pregnant state.  

 

Lots of slow and steady. 

Walking, not running, emphasis on pace and flow.  

When Brynn got a bit squirrely I backed her off and let her think for a few minutes.  

 

I tried to shoot some pictures on my iPhone to relax, focus my thoughts and let Brynn settle down a little.  

 

 

The sheep were mulling about. 

 

 

 

 

I love the Romney ewes faces.  They are so sweet. 

 

Then I saw several of the ewes looking down with the noses to the ground following something in the grass.  Out of the corner of my eye I saw a little creature dart through the grass at the edge of the water, then another and another. 

 

 

 

 

FIELD MICE!  They were everywhere.  Hopping around each time the sheep would move popping up like corn kernels in hot oil.  I started giggling.  Brynn thought we were playing a game, started circling the sheep like a lunatic.  Sheep were circling me, I was trying to get Brynn back out and lie down and there were field mice hopping all over the place under the sheep, over my feet.  

 

 

We must stopped right on top of a nest and they made a break for it.  

 

Note to self:  Sheep seem to enjoy field mice.  Enough to completely ignore the dog.  Dog goes batty when you giggle.  Wait, didnt I learn that at Fire Ridge?  Giggling speeds Brynn up into a frenzy.  'Doh.  

Later after feeding the sheep and letting them lose into the 'hay hut', Jim got a bit peevish with the sheep.  I am going to have to figure out something different for the round bale.  Me thinks Jim is guarding it and not letting some of the sheep eat.  The stinker.  

As he was standing there being a brat I told him to knock it off, then he hurled a big loogie at Sherman followed by a peeved llama chortle.  I took a step toward him and he hit me with 'that look'.  

 

He has not spit at me yet, and today was not going to be the first time.  

The mother in me bowed up like a Halloween cat.  I wagged my finger in his face and said in my stern, brook no nonsense voice "Dont you even THINK about it Buster".  

He blinked, paused, gave me a goofy, ashamed look.  Wiggled his ears, batted his eye lashes.  

And said he was sorry.  

Or was judging the trajectory for a glob of spit.  One will never know...