Two days ago, A. separated the lambs from their mothers, moving the lambs into the paddock right next to the house. He did this for reasons of feeding. That is, the grass is toast for the most part and there were way too many animals in an area where the grass was already exhausted. So he moved the lambs near the house where he could supplement their feed and fatten them up for their imminent departure to foodland, leaving the remaining ten adult sheep to just eat the grass that remains in their pastures up back.
Good plan. Theoretically. In practice? My GOD, are those lambs IRRITATING.
They are literally thirty feet from our door. And they stand there pretty much all day long and yell. Actually, it's really only two of the eighteen that yell incessantly, but two is quite enough to make a ridiculous amount of noise. In addition to their proximity to the dining room door, they are also essentially right below Cubby's window. His open window. I have no idea how he manages to sleep through that noise, but thankfully, he does.
I, however, am not so able to tune it out. A. said the sound of lambs crying should make my maternal instincts kick in. It does not. All it does is make me wish A. would get another urge to grill some lamb. I know just the lambs for the occasion . . .