A. has talked to our shearer a couple of times in the last few months, but both times he was going to be out our way on days that we weren't able to shear. We only had four ewes to shear this year, so it's definitely not worth his while to make the hundred-mile drive just for our flock. He called Friday, though, to say he would be out this way again on Saturday, and this time we were able to do it.
Awaiting their doom. At least, in their tiny sheep minds.
Here we go! Or rather, he goes.
This sheep will feel much better in this hot weather we've been having without fifteen pounds of wool on her.
The first shorn one always looks a bit, well, sheepish among her still-poufy sisters.
On to number two.
In other spring news, there are many flowers outside. Which means there are many flowers in my house.
On the dining room table.
On the Paschal candle table.
And on the dresser in the room the MiL is staying in while she's here this week.
And last, I had to leave for the end-of-year sport's banquet when I still had bread loaves rising on the counter. I wouldn't be there to put them in the oven, but I could just leave instructions for Poppy, who in turn instructed A. in the next steps to bake the bread.
I returned home to four nicely-baked loaves of bread. Success.
There you have it! My life, snapshotted.
4 comments:
Are the other sheep there the lambs born this year?
Glad you have such a willing sous-chef!
Yes, the smaller ones are this year's lambs.
What do you do with the wool?
A. sells it to spinners and crafters.
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