Lambing can be a dangerous time of year. Don't get me wrong - I love lambing. There is nothing like watching a group of week-old lambs playing king-of-the-mountain on a bale of hay or sleeping contentedly under the heat lamps. Nothing. Your heart fills with the wonders of life. For people like me, it's addicting - one lambing and you can't wait for the next year.

On the other hand, giving birth can be a dangerous situation. Things can easily go from magic to nightmare. A typical birth can go bad, meaning the loss of the ewe, her lamb(s), or both. I have the experience and know-how to help where I can, but it doesn't take much for things to go bad - and I know that. As a result, I want to arm myself with as much as I can to ensure a good outcome. To me, preparation is key.

So, what can I do to prepare? The first thing I is to find someone to ultrasound our ewes. This simple procedure can provide a wealth of information and give me quite an edge in the care of our sheep. When we ultrasound, the investment is minimal: it costs about $2.00 or so per ewe, and the last time the technician came, it took thirty-five minutes to ultrasound forty sheep. 

As a result of this investment, I get a yes/no as to whether a ewe is pregnant, the number of fetuses she's carrying, and an approximate number of days' gestation for each. Knowing who is pregnant and how many she is carrying allows me to feed according to the needs of the sheep. Because historically nearly all of our ewes end up pregnant each year, we feed them all grass hay for twins - the most common pregnancy on our farm. Any adult ewes carrying more than two lambs (and any pregnant ewe lambs) go into a high-nutrition group, this year located in the new barn, that gets alfalfa hay beginning immediately after ultrasounding.

Currently, our ewe lambs are all assumed bred. After ultrasounding, we will find which ewe lambs are not and those girls will join their adult flock-mates getting grass hay. Ewe lambs who are not pregnant will do just fine eating with the adults carrying twins. They don't need the extra nutrition of alfalfa.

Those ewe lambs who are bred and are carrying one lamb will continue with the high-nutrition group in the new barn - but any ewe lambs who may be carrying twins will need more. Although these girls are already in the high-nutrition group, we also offer them some grain daily, in a separate bucket for each. These are the highest risk girls, and I want to make sure that they are getting enough nutrition to continue to grow themselves while they grow their lambs. I keep a close eye on them to ensure that their pregnancies proceed well and that they are ready to deliver when the time comes.

Knowing the number of fetuses is also very convenient once lambing begins. When a ewe is delivering her lambs, it is sometimes hard to tell when she is done. Is this lamb the only one in there? Is there another that needs help coming out? Is all that pushing for a second lamb, or is she working on getting the placenta out? Knowing the number of expected lambs for each ewe gives me a better idea of when to intervene and when to let things happen on their own. It gives me a bit more information, rather than requiring me to "fly blind" with each birth.

With so many reasons to ultrasound, why didn't we do it last year? It isn't always easy to get an ultrasound technician to the farm at the right time. You have a limited period during which the technician can get the information we need: from 30 days to about 100 days after the rams are pulled from the breeding groups.

You also really want someone who does a lot of ultrasounds each year because it is all that experience that increases accuracy - and you really want accuracy! On the other hand, the technician who gets a lot of experience each year is also very in-demand and travelling - during the winter, when roads are bad and weather conditions unpredictable. Although we tried hard to get our technician last year, she didn't free up until it was too late to get the information we needed - well past the 100-day mark for all of our ewes.

I already began calling our technician last week because our last marking was on November 4th, and we pulled the rams on the 5th - the thirty-day period would begin after this weekend. I really hope to get her here this year - last year's "blindness" during lambing was not fun, and I don't want to repeat it if I can help it. I've literally been calling every other day since last week, trying to see if we might get onto her schedule this year.

Thankfully, I do have a back-up plan: if she can't make it, I hope to have my local vet either come himself or arrange for some students to come from Iowa State's vet school. This isn't ideal (remember my mentioning the link between experience and accuracy), but I still think it will be better than no ultrasound at all, so I'm willing to give it a try.

Meanwhile, I hope. I hope we'll get our ultrasound technician soon, that she'll give us the information we need, and that we'll find that this will be a very good lambing year. Right now, I can only hope.

Hope is a beautiful example of the Romeldale breed. With her moorit brown CVM patterning, good size, and lovely fleece, she is a reminder to me of the goals of our breeding program - I would love a whole flock just like her! In fact, she is the dam of two of our current flock sires (Josiah and Karlisle), in hopes that many of her positive traits will spread among the flock via their offspring.

Hope is one of those sheep who is friends with nearly everyone (or should I say "everysheep?"). Although a bit wary of the human species, she is naturally drawn to the new additions to our flock - adult or lamb - and welcomes them as they find their place among our sheep. Even with people, after checking them out, she is likely to come forward for treats. She always needs to be in the center of the action - any action!

In fact, Hope has a fairly adventurous spirit. Although the Romeldales, as a breed, flock a bit better than the Romneys (sticking with the flock rather than going off on  their own), Hope can't seem to pass up a good investigation. If I change anything in the pasture, you can be sure she will be there to check it out. She is nothing if not curious!

As is the norm this time of year, this morning I was in the pasture breaking and spreading another group of pumpkins for the ewes to devour over the next day or two. These are pie pumpkins, so they have a very hard shell around the meat and seeds - I need to split them open so that the ewes can access the softer insides. As I had finished my job and was leaving the pasture, I turned to find one lone sheep running from pumpkin to pumpkin, biting a bit here, nibbling a seed there. There was not another sheep to be seen as the rest of the flock fought over the fresh hay within the lean-to of the barn. This one sheep was, of course, Hope, making sure not to miss anything important that I may have left.

Hope has another unusual-but-interesting trait: her fleece. Unlike most moorit (brown-based) sheep, her fleece is an unusual shade of  - well, the only word I can think of is maroon. There is a definite pink cast to her fiber that you don't usually see. Every year, those people working in the barn at shearing will comment on her unusual fleece as the shearer harvests her fiber. I end up explaining that although I hope each year that her lambs will inherit this unusual trait, we have yet to see this coloring in the fleeces of any of her offspring; but maybe this year?

In many ways, Hope is one of a kind. I'm sure that she - and many of her descendents - will be here for a many years to come! 

Kafka and Koffee are twin white Romney ewe lambs born this past spring on our farm. Our flock size must hold at a specific number of sheep, and I currently have too many white sheep for my fiber business - so although Kafka and Koffee have a lot going for them, they were assigned to the "breeding stock for sale" group just after weaning. That is easily said, but after some time, circumstances kind of changed things. The problem: all through the summer, I kept looking at them and thinking that maybe I ought to keep them.

They are twin ewe lambs, who statistically have a higher fertility rate than their cousins (who are twins to ram lambs). They are also the daughters of Heavenly, whose fleece won Grand Champion at the Iowa State Fair this year. The twins both have fleeces very much like their mother's at the same age, so I have high hopes for them as they mature. In addition to all of that, they carry color genetics, have grown nicely, have great conformation to the breed standard, and are very pleasant girls to work with. Unlike their otherwise very lovely grandmother, Celeste, they don't buck, jump, or carry on when we have to change their coats, deworm them or handle them for any other reason. They have obviously inherited the mellower personality traits of their sire and grand-sire - a very good thing!

So as the summer went on and no one was clamoring to purchase them, I got used to the idea of perhaps folding them into my own flock. They were too nice to send to auction (definitely breeding stock), so I convinced myself that I would keep them until they were yearlings and then either cull a couple of white ewes in my own flock to find them a place or sell them as yearlings after perhaps getting a daughter from them this spring. I got used to the idea that they would stay at least until next year.

Then just before Thanksgiving, I got an e-mail from a previous breeding stock purchaser wanting to know whether I had any white Romney ewe lambs available with particularly nice fleece. Uh-oh. Now what to do? I really liked these girls and had already mentally added them to my own flock. I wanted to reply to the e-mail with a firm no, but I knew that wasn't true: I had two lovely ewe lambs coming from incredible fleece lines who put me over my typical flock size. I really needed to sell them. It took me a few days to settle things in my mind, but in the end, I replied that, yes, I had two lovely girls still available.

After a few back-and-forth e-mails, the deal was sealed and both Kafka and Koffee are travelling today to their new homes in Roberts, WI. They are patiently waiting in a make-shift pen at the side of our new barn with a couple of flakes of alfalfa hay and fresh water to keep them occupied.

I will miss these two girls - they have wormed their way into my heart over the past months. On the other hand, I know they will have a great home where they are going and will add some wonderful genetics to their new flock. I know it is the right thing, yet I can't help but work with a heavy heart today. I sure will miss these girls. Good luck, Kafka and Koffee! 

On this Thanksgiving eve, I realize that I have so much to be thankful for: my husband and family, our general health, and our lives here on the farm. We never know what is in store for us down the road, but sometimes we have a little glimpse - a foreshadowing of things to come - and I think that in the past week or two, I'm beginning to see a good spring lambing for us in 2012: another thing to be thankful for!

It all started when we divided the flock into three breeding groups on November 5th: rams, adult ewes, and ewe lambs. As is my usual habit, I changed the coat of any ewe or ewe lamb who appeared to need one in the near future. I figured that since we had our hands on the sheep anyhow, and with both fleeces and fetuses growing, if the coats looked a bit tight at that time, it would only get worse - and fast. At this point in the year, we are typically changing 40" coats to 44" coats on most of the girls - but this year, I found a number of them who already could fit well into a 48" - the largest size we have! This doesn't happen often - last year, we had only Genoa (who delivered quads) in a 48" coat.

Also at this time of year, our adult ewes usually eat about three and a half pounds of grass hay per day. Because I feed in full bales and they have two llamas in with them, they are actually getting over five pounds per ewe each day - and they are polishing that off within a couple of hours of feeding. Within an hour or two, they are calling to me for more. This is very strange. For some reason, those girls are really hungry - surprisingly so!

So, I began to think about all of this, and I came to the conclusion that perhaps the issue is that we have more than our usual number of multiple-births waiting for the coming of spring; that would account for both the larger coats and the hungrier ewes. None of the ewes I have checked for condition are fat - they are just becoming big, and if it is lambs, I'm thrilled!

A lot of shepherds hate multiple births, but I love them: the lambs are smaller for the ewes to push out and we have more lambs to choose from in the spring for our own flock. We make sure to feed for the number of lambs they are carrying (which is why we ultrasound in December), so we generally don't have problems with gestation for singles or multiples. Yes, multiples are definitely welcome here! 

It looks like we may have a whole lot to be thankful for - both in our own lives and in the lives of our flock-members! Happy Thanksgiving!

Sheep have personalities. Like us, they can be shy or outgoing, pushy or a shrinking violet, friendly or crabby. I notice that a lot of times these personality traits are passed from dam or sire to their offspring - one of the reasons we don't keep nasty rams or ewes. We could likely argue all day whether it is nature or nurture, but just as in the human species, each sheep has its own story and its own way of reacting to the world. It only takes an observant shepherd to notice the personality of each of his or her sheep.

Juliet came to us just over a year ago on a transport from the West Coast. She settled in over the summer of 2010 and is now a regular part of our flock. She has sheepy friends and she also has those other sheep that she would rather not spend too much time with. She has come to know me as her shepherdess and the fact that I am "safe" - she no longer runs away when I come towards her; she waits to see if I am looking to catch her, and is obviously not worried if I only have a camera (left).

I was told when I bought her that Juliet came from an old line of colored Romneys. Her mother, "Shad Roe," thought she was the "Queen of the Pasture" at Tawanda Farms, her previous home, so I knew Juliet would likely not be a shrinking violet. Honestly, she became part of my flock and I expected that, before long, I would get to know her a bit better. Over the past year and a half, I have gotten to know her much better, and my experience with her yesterday very much exemplifies who she is.

I was out feeding the ewes during my morning chores. By the time I get out there in the morning, their three feeders are always empty and the girls are hungrily awaiting my appearance. I go through and empty anything inedible out of the feeders first, and then bring out the three bales of hay: one for each feeder. As the bales come out, it is always a pushing match: the girls are all trying to find a place at the first bale while I am pushing back to drop the bale into the feeder, then clear space to pin the grate on the top. The second bale goes easier since many of the girls are now busy with that first bale. The third and last bale is even easier as I have only ten or so sheep remaining, wanting to get at the bale that I carry.

Yesterday morning was very typical until I got the second bale in place - then, as I tried to put the pins in place to hold the grate, Juliet's head was exactly where my hand needed to be. I first tried to work around her, but she was exactly where I needed to be. I pushed her over a bit, but she really wanted to eat only the hay that was just where I needed access - and she kept pushing back. This went on for a few minutes as I pushed to secure the pin, and she continued to push back to eat her fresh hay. Something had to give, so I gave her a big shove to the side to let her know that I meant business.

The big shove didn't do it, though - she came back with a big shove of her own. She was not about to give up on her prime eating spot! So, I shoved her again, and this time, before she could shove back in, I stood up square in front of her and stomped my foot. To understand this, you need to know that sheep will stomp when threatened - basically, this is their I'm-not-taking-any-crap-from-you warning before they come at you full force. We see this move in ewes protecting their lambs or faced down by a dog. I couldn't think of anything else that she might understand, so I stomped - hard.

And what do you know? Juliet gave way. She stood there and stared at me long enough that I could turn and clip the pin into place. As I finished, I pulled a handful of hay from the corner of the bale - the corner where she wanted to eat - and offered it to her as she stood and watched me. That's all it took - Juliet once again came forward to eat the hay from my hand and then claim her section of the bale.

Juliet is a lovely Romney with wonderful fiber and is a good, protective mother to her lambs. She is strong-headed and confident that she can meet any challenge head-on: even a human one. The great thing about Juliet is that when push comes to shove, I can still win - she won't back down for a sheep (and that's likely why she is nearly full-size as a yearling - she can hold her own at the feeder!), but she will obviously back down for her shepherdess, and for me, that's what's important! I very much look forward to keeping more of her daughters in the coming years. Just thinking of her strong spirit makes me smile.

I mentioned in the blog earlier this week that I have been sick: sore ears, throat, and sinuses, and no voice. As a result, I've been moving through the required parts of my day on automatic pilot: I do what I have to do and then come inside to lie down. I have nothing more to give at the moment. I'm just trying to keep up with my life which, it seems, keeps on moving much too quickly.

This morning I had a series of errands to run, including picking up more medication, paint for the new barn door, and a few groceries to begin the preparations for my Thanksgiving company, arriving Tuesday. My hope was to get done and get back - I didn't want to spend a lot of time messing around. I planned to go back to bed for a bit before afternoon chores, but the odds didn't look to be in my favor.

As it turned out, my errands took much longer than planned, and at two this afternoon I found myself finally getting to the grocery store. As I walked towards the front door in somewhat of a fog, I suddenly noticed two barrels next to the door, filled with small pumpkins. As I drew near, I read the sign, "Pumpkins for pie.... Free!"

Now, you and I both know that there is little in life that is truly free. Most of you wouldn't get as excited as I was about the pumpkins, but that's probably because you don't have a lot of sheep. I, on the other hand, know how beneficial pumpkins can be to a flock. Not only do my sheep love to eat pumpkins, but they are also said to be a natural dewormer - and anything that helps with internal parasites in sheep is something I can get excited about! Free pumpkins at the grocery store was the high point of my day!

I entered the store and asked for the manager - I wanted to know whether there was a limit on the number of free pumpkins to a single customer. No, he replied, they just wanted to get rid of them. Get rid of them? OK, now I was really excited! Way too excited, considering how I felt! All I could think about was finishing up my shopping so I could get those pumpkins!

After the check-out, I quickly got my truck pulled up to the store entrance and began to load up the pumpkins. In the process, I attracted the attention of several women who also wanted a few pumpkins for pie, and I was more than happy to share. In the end, I half-filled the bed of my truck with a layer of small pumpkins - free. Really free!

In spite of my illness, I suddenly have a bit of spring in my step - a bit of joy in my heart. My sheep will feast on pumpkins next week, at no cost to me. What a wonderful bonus! Both my sheep and I are thankful for this bit of golden sunshine in what has otherwise been a pretty dreary week. Now I'm off to tackle my afternoon chores!

It has been three long months, and it seems like it has been much longer. We had contracted to have our new barn built in the first week of August, but the crew didn't come until the first week of October. The build was to be a three-day event (although we anticipated four or five) but in the end, they were here for seven weeks with no hope to finish. What was once an exciting new chapter for our farm became a nightmare that just didn't seem to have an end. But we were wrong - end it did, and we now can finally say that we have a new barn!

I won't go into all of the nasty details of the build except to say that I have never worked with a less professional bunch of crews - yes, we had three different crews here over the weeks. In the end, we paid them the final payment just to get rid of them - Rick and I ended up finishing the work and getting the final inspection completed (as required in our county before we can use the building). And none too soon: our very patient hay supplier needed to get our alfalfa hay out of their barns ASAP so that they could store their farming equipment for the winter.

As a result, last Saturday we brought in some of our regular farm-helpers and loaded hay - lots of hay - into our new barn. To keep our flock over the winter, we  need to feed it out in fifty-pound bales each day (between five and nine per day, depending on stage of gestation) - a total of about thirty-five tons of hay, or about 1,400 bales pretty evenly divided between grass and alfalfa.

Our plan has been to store the grass hay in the old barn, which is closest to the current location of the rams and bred adult ewes. That way, we can easily feed out those bales at this early point in gestation. The younger girls are already down near the new barn, so we loaded the alfalfa hay there, using the hay as insulation on the north side of the building. Eventually, the adult ewes will also be moved to this building to deliver their lambs - and will be switched to alfalfa at that time for lactation.

Our helpers filled the barn literally to the rafters with hay. The photo above was taken after the second of five loads, so there was a lot more to come. The good news was that it all fit - something that has always worried us in the past! Along with the straw that we will need for bedding, the hay fills the northeastern corner and most of the adjoining walls to a height well over twelve feet (as you can see in the photo below). How, you might wonder, will I get it down to feed it out? I climb, of course! They've left me with a stairstep at one end so that I can make my way to the top - and that's all I need!

Although "finished," the new barn is a work in progress - it will likely take most of this year to get it in shape for all we intend to do there. The electrician is here today bringing power to the building. Tomorrow, the plumber will bring in the water, in both the form of a hydrant and a couple of automatic waterers. I'll likely be adding insulation to the exposed walls for weeks to come, and will hang heat lamps for lambing by January, at the latest. 

It isn't happening the way we anticipated, but it is happening! By the time our ewes are ready to lamb, I hope to have a nice warm well-lit barn ready to welcome them and their new babes. In the meantime, though, I've got a lot to do. 

Most people don't think about shepherds having sick days, but we do, just like everyone else. I had knee surgery last Thursday and then started coming down with a bad cold on Friday. By this morning, it had developed into chills, sweats, a fever, and a very stuffed head; oh, and no voice! The no voice part is, for me, the worst. Not only because I can't talk -- and those who know me know I'm a talker. No, it is worst because without a voice, I can't talk to my sheep and dogs - at least not in a way that they can understand.

Even on a sick day, the sheep must be fed and the dogs must be cared for. Without a voice, however, the sheep watch me suspiciously as I fill the feeders, seemingly sure that their reliable shepherdess has been replaced by this look-alike who says nothing while going about her chores. Oh, I squawked something at them once or twice, but my voice is really gone, so it was nothing intelligible - nothing familiar or soothing that they would recognize. As far as the sheep are concerned, this new shepherdess looks, dresses, and smells like the old one - even acts like the old one, although maybe a bit more sluggish; she just doesn't sound like the shepherdess they know and love. Not one of them would come to me to say hello this morning - not even my pal Zoe.

The dogs can tell the difference, too. They were away at the kennel for my surgery, but by the time they came back, their old pack leader (me) wasn't quite so spry with a leg brace and feverish head. With no voice to confront them when they do wrong, it has been a bit of a challenge to keep them in line. Coda, always my right hand on the farm, is trying to keep the others obeying the rules, but Lisa and Chance know when they have it good: when I am less than 100%, they know they have the advantage of speed and determination. After all, they are dogs and I am a sick human - no contest.

I am hoping my doctor's appointment tomorrow will quickly get me back on the road to health. In the meantime, Rick is trying to fill in for me as best he can between his work hours. I keep telling him that it will all just have to wait until I get well in a day or two. I tell the dogs and the sheep, too, but no one can understand my mouthing (no voice, remember?) - I guess I'll just have to show them in a couple of days. I'm off to take two aspirin and call the doctor in the morning! 

I was talking to a good friend and fellow shepherdess on the phone the other day. At one point, our conversation came around to the fact that although shepherding is, by its nature, a peaceful and contemplative type of work, it seems that we always have a worry in the back of our minds. Don’t get me wrong – it isn’t the main aspect of my work-life, but it sits in the background, lurking and waiting.

Unlike the danger-worry of a police officer or the stress-worry of an air traffic controller, our worries are usually low-level and long-term: Will there be enough hay for the winter? If not, will I be able to find more, and where? Will enough ewes get bred to provide replacement ewes next spring with a few left to sell? Will the temperatures be reasonable when lambing begins or will the lambs freeze? Will grain prices hold until I get my grain into the bulk storage bin? The list goes on and on.

You don’t think of worry and stress when you think of shepherding. You think of peaceful sheep in the pasture; sunny days and pleasant temperatures; lambs frolicking in lush stands of clover. One’s mind doesn’t consider the neighbor’s dogs chasing the ewes, the torrential rains and sometimes blizzard conditions that might come from nowhere, or the coyote waiting to eat those cute lambs as they frolic. As a shepherdess, I have learned to enjoy the good weather, the peace and calm when we are so blessed, but the worry is nearly always there in the background, waiting to jump forward for attention.

That is not to say that my life is filled with worry – definitely not. My days are generally filled with the enjoyment of what I do. Yet, there is always some part of me that has a concern: that thought that creeps in when I least expect it and demands a moment of consideration. I give it a moment, but I try to limit it to that. Then, I push it away with a “We’ll worry about that when it happens” and go back about my business – enjoying the calm and peace, the frolicking lambs and the sunny skies even more than before.

All I could think of as I drove down the farm lane in the dark this morning was "What a nasty day." The winds had come up during the night and the rain continued to pelt the farm; as the temperatures dropped, the rain turned to soggy snow that began to accumulate on the grassy areas. By the time my alarm went off, I looked out to see a couple of inches of snow and slush covering most of the dark world outside my window.

Wednesdays are sheep auction days at the Kalona Sales Barn. Since I like to linger and watch my sheep auctioned off, it works best if I leave early: usually before 6:30 or 7:00 a.m. to make it there before 8:00. At that time this morning, the winds were fierce and the snow was sticking to everything - the truck mirrors, the side of the trailer, and even my hair and the side of my face as I ran to the truck. The only word that seemed to fit this day was nasty.

That label also fit this day for other reasons. Taking my lambs to auction isn't a pleasant experience for me, or probably for them. I'm always a bit sad when I take them, but I run a business, not a charity. These are the sheep that didn't make the cut - for whatever reason, they are not sheep that reflect what I would want to see in future generations, in my flock or those of our customers.

These lambs have shown themselves to be slow-growing, or maybe have poor fleeces or even poor attitudes (if a lamb is still wild by this time of the year, they don't get to stay - we have better options!). We've given them great lives through the summer when the grass was rich and plentiful, but now that the grass is gone and they must eat expensive hay, it's time to move them out. The auction is the simplest answer for us.

At the auction, some of these sheep will be sold for breeding. In fact, at this morning's auction, there was a young girl sitting in the front row, looking to buy some ewes and ewe lambs for her flock, so it does happen. I make sure my sheep are looking their best: in good body condition, with hooves trimmed and fleeces at the right length to see what is being bought. Taking my culls and "extra" lambs to auction gives them a chance to find another farm at which to live. It is a sad fact that some of them will end up in the food chain, but I want to give them a chance for more. Taking them to the auction rather than the meat locker gives them that chance, that possibility, no matter how large or small, to live a longer life.

This morning's group was not as hard for me to take as some. I always feel worse if I have to struggle to get them out of the trailer, but this group left fairly easily. The men at the auction handle them well, with minimal stress as they move from one area to another. Beyond that, I cannot say. But I've given them a good start: a wonderful, carefree life until this day, and a chance at something more when they are sold. As they move through the door at the far end of the auction floor after their sale, I always mutter a quick blessing before I turn to head home with my check and empty trailer. By tomorrow, I will move onto other things - the barn that remains yet unfinished, the ultrasounding of ewes that needs to be scheduled, etc. - but today, I move with a heavy heart at this loss.

What a nasty day. 

We are out of grass for the year. Well, actually, that isn't quite the case: we still have grass in the West Pasture where the new barn construction is continuing at a snail's pace. Unfortunately, we can't graze sheep in that pasture until the builders finish - so we are essentially out of grass. The Romneys are already merged into one breeding group in the barn and East Pasture, getting two to three bales of grass hay per day to keep them going. The Romeldales are not so lucky, however. They are still wandering the pastures, looking for whatever growth they can find to keep themselves full. We've opened all of the outlying pastures to them (the Romneys have the East, and the builders are in the West) and they are scrounging as best they can.

The biggest problem I currently have is that there really isn't that much out there for them to find. Most of the ewes are now bred and I want to keep their nutrition level adequate for their new pregnancies. On the other hand, supplementing their grazing diet with hay (the obvious solution) isn't easy right now. In order to feed hay, it needs to be protected from the weather to keep it from spoiling. I have no way to do that unless the sheep come into a building, and I don't have a building for them.

The issue is that I must keep the two breeds separated until the end of the breeding season (this weekend!), and I have only one barn, the old one. That's where I parcel out the hay for the Romneys, so the Romeldales are out of luck - they must stay in the pastures for the time being. You can now better understand our need for the new barn!

So, in order to supplement the Romeldales, I have been scattering grass hay twice each day - one bale in the morning and one at dusk - for them to eat at that time, in its entirety. If they eat the whole thing, I don't need to worry about it spoiling, so I'm not feeding them so much that there is any left - they eat it all in one sitting (or standing, as the case may be!). One bale at a time goes quickly.

This morning the Romeldales were grazing in the Timber - the pasture furthest from the house - and the Pond Pasture where I have been distributing their supplemental hay. I wheeled the hay down in our wheel-barrow, through the gate and into the pasture, calling them for "breakfast." It took a couple of calls (the wind was working against me) but eventually they heard my "Hey girls! Come on girls!" and came running.

A fifty-pound bale separates into about ten or so "flakes": folded bundles of hay that easily separate from each other within the bigger bale. I usually stack two to three flakes into a pile, taking care not to place them on or very near a pile of manure (sheep will not eat what has touched or come to near to their own feces). By the time the girls and their two rams arrived, I had all of the hay arranged in five neat piles.

My neat piles didn't last long, though. The ewes ran from pile to pile, gobbling up as much hay as they could manage in one mouthful before running to the next pile. Around and around they each ran, seemingly looking for the pile with the best hay and the least number of sheep to push out of the way. The feeding frenzy only lasted minutes - by the time I had removed the wheelbarrow from the pasture and closed the gate, most of the hay was already gone and the frenzy was settling down to a more casual walk from one pile of remnants to the next (photo above).

Tomorrow we dissolve our breeding groups, and all of the adult ewes will get supplemental hay in the old barn as they have in years past. The ewe lambs and Zoe (who is doing much better since her dose of the new medicine!) will get supplemental alfalfa hay in the new barn beginning Sunday or Monday - whether the builders are finished or not. That means that I need only two more bales for the Pond Pasture feeding frenzy: one this evening and the other tomorrow morning. I have to admit that I won't miss lugging the bale down to the pasture, but I will miss the show.

I enjoy that interaction with my sheep; there is something special about being able to call them from 1/4 mile away and have them not only reply, but come running to me. There is something very fundamentally fulfilling about seeing their hunger and knowing that in a very short period of time, I'll have sated it - at least for the time being. It is a time with my sheep that I treasure - even if it will only last one more day.

Zoe is an old girl at the ripe age of twelve; her muzzle is grayer than most. In general, sheep her age have long since gone from breeding farms to the auctions, usually being sold for dog food, not breeding. It's a sad truth, but ewes don't usually make it past seven or eight years of age. At that point, they are considered past lambing and no longer worth keeping. Of course, that isn't true at our farm, but it is generally the case.

Zoe had the good fortune to be born on a small farm owned by an older couple living just north of us here in Iowa. She lived there during her "productive years," producing many lambs and a lovely wool clip each year. Right around her seventh birthday, I saw a flier at a show in Minnesota advertising Romneys for sale. Because I recognized the area code as being local to us, and because there were so few Romneys in Iowa, I was curious - I made the call to see who else around us had this wonderful breed.

I found the couple at the show and talked a bit with them in their trailer. I discovered that they were liquidating their small flock - they wanted time to travel and visit family. I, on the other hand, was still building my flock, so I took a chance on a handful of ewes, Zoe included. I picked them up on May 28, 2006, two days after Zoe's seventh birthday.

Of the three ewes I bought at that time, Zoe was the oldest. Her friend, Brit, stayed with us only a couple of years and was sold when we decided to move to a purebred flock (she was a Romney cross). Zoe's daughter, Belle, was here until last fall when we had to cull her - she no longer produced milk to feed her lambs. Zoe, on the other hand, has continued to produce both a lovely fleece and beautiful lambs every year - she has remained year after year as I've filled my flock with her lambs and descendants.

After so many years of having her as our flock matron, I have become attached to Zoe. I know, I know, but I can't help it sometimes, and this is one of those times. It seems as though she has always been here and always will be, but I know better. I know that with each passing year, the end of our relationship draws closer. I know it, but I don't want to think about it - not yet. I generally push the thought from my mind, telling myself that she has a strong constitution - otherwise, she would never have produced triplets this past spring. I tell myself that she still has years left.

The facts are, however, that she is old and her days are numbered. Like any living thing advanced in age, her health is tenuous. It wouldn't take much to knock her down to the point that she cannot recover. She has given me a lot over the years, and I feel like I owe it to her to give back what I can. When I visit the pastures on my walks, I always have a carrot or an apple slice for Zoe. Her excitement over these small tokens of my affection makes me smile.

And so it was with fear in my heart that I discovered Zoe several days ago with a terrible upper respiratory infection. Her nose oozed green mucus and her breathing was raspy and shallow. She moved slowly and laboriously to the feeder as I put the hay bale in. I was afraid for my friend - she was so old and this infection had come on so fast.

My usual treatment for any respiratory infection is Excenel - it can sometimes seem like a miracle drug, improving symptoms within an hour and clearing the infection after only one or two doses (although I always treat for three to five days to make sure the infection is gone). I gave her an injection of Excenel that day and for several days afterwards, but this time it didn't work as well. Yesterday was day five, and this morning Zoe is better but still struggling to breathe. I am worried about my friend.

So this morning I called my vet's office - there are two vets there that I've worked with over the years. Both are good guys who are willing to work with me by phone when necessary. We've worked together long enough that they both know that I don't worry needlessly. I know when I can handle it and when I am in over my head - and that's when they come to the rescue. I knew I needed help for Zoe.

The added problem at this point is that Zoe has been around the block once or twice - she knows after these last few days that when I have a syringe in my hand, it's meant for her. She knows that when I catch her, I'm not changing coats; it will be a bit more painful. She now runs from me to avoid the inevitable injection and, with the illness, that isn't good for her. We have to find a medicine that will help her but will also be long-acting, if possible, to avoid this daily game of tag.

Well, my vet, Tom, came through for me again this morning. He suggested I use Draxxin, an antibiotic that continues to work for one to two weeks after a single injection. Rick will help me to catch Zoe tonight and we will give it to her then, hoping that it will bring her back to health.

I am worried. My good friend is ill and I know that, at her age, every illness can become life-threatening. I'm feeding her carrots and apples from my pockets whenever I am outside. I'm slipping her the best of our hay in nibbles when the other sheep aren't looking. I'm trying to make her comfortable and happy as I try to save her life. And I'm praying - praying that we will have a little more time together: I'm not yet ready to say good-bye.