A lot happened last weekend. I'm not placing blame on anyone but myself, but the weather has been horrible this past month. Gloomy cold rain. Yuck. When the weekend rolled around I got in a bit over my head. I was bored and it was payday. Folks, that's a bad combination.
Friday night was spent quietly at my spinning wheel practicing plying. The fiber I'm spinning is a delightful blend of mulberry colored wool/silk roving that won Caulfield's Far Out Farm a ribbon at the Tennessee State Fair. I'm trying something new and using scotch tension rather than my double drive. The difference has taken a bit of getting used to, but I'm enjoying the results. It was late when I finally filled the bobbin and decided it was time for bed, so I didn't move my wheel back into its normal location. Who knew that being too lazy to put away my toys on a Friday night would lead to such an adventure? (Let this be a lesson!!!)
Saturday morning started out as any other Saturday morning. I let Sophie out, I surveyed the lawn situation, I heaved a sigh of disgust. I have a half acre of weeds and wild onions with little outcroppings of grass here and there. It's pitiful. I haven't started up the lawn mower yet because it's been too darn wet and cold, but as I contemplated my rapidly growing weed farm I knew I'd have to fire up the old Lawnboy soon enough. I walked back into the house with that nagging "there has got to be a better way" feeling in my head. Not paying attention to where I was going, I ran straight into my spinning wheel, knocking it over and sending the bobbins and unspun wool flying. Unspun wool. Wool. Wool comes from sheep. Sheep eat grass/weeds. I have grass/weeds. I need a sheep (singular) or sheep (plural). I like wool.
Can you can see where I'm going here? Well, after a pot of coffee and some successful Google search returns, I found a farm within driving distance that was willing to sell me a newly weened lamb. This was no easy task because I live within the urban services district of Nashville. No livestock! I would have to keep this little lamb under the radar because the farmer, who shall remain anonymous, could lose his membership in the Goat and Sheep Association of America and I could get the fine of a lifetime along with losing my precious little lamb to the Humane Society....or someone's freezer!
Before I was able to talk myself out of this craziness, I cleared out all the junk in the back of my Rav4 and headed to Lowe's for a couple bales of hay and fencing materials. $123.67 later and I was back at the house making a little pen in the garage for my new resident.
Once the pen was set up with watering bowls, food trough, and a comfy layer of hay, I headed to the farm to pick up my new ewe. I can't tell you how many times I've joked about wishing I had sheep in the back yard so I wouldn't have to mow. Looking back, I don't know why I didn't take myself seriously earlier. This is a grand idea! So, I got to the farm and instantly fell in love with this little girl:
Her name is Flurry because she was born on when snow was flying and she's a pure white Shetland. Cute as hell too!
While the drive to the farm was largely uneventful, the drive home was a different story. I had the backseats flipped down and hay spread over a tarp in the back. I have never transported anything other than my dog, and for some insanely idiotic moment, I thought that transporting a lamb wouldn't be much different. I was so wrong. Sheep bleat. Sheep bounce. Sheep poop. Lots of sheep poop. I know, I know! That's what I've always said about any kind of farm animal. They poop. But this is going to be a win win situation. She'll eat my grass/weeds and I'll spin her fleece into delightful skeins of yarn with which I will knit even more delightful garments.
Poop be damned, this will work!!
Well, we finally got home. I wrestled her out of the back of the car (sheep wiggle) and got her situated in her pen in the garage. Who knew that with all the crap in my garage that the bleating of a lamb would be so loud (sheep echo). Holy crap! I didn't think about that. I also didn't think about how long it takes a sheep to graze a square yard patch of grass/weeds. I put her out on Sophie's lead for a couple hours yesterday afternoon when it quit raining and let's just say that this is going to take for-freakin'-ever. I might need to go back and get her sister. It's a good thing the tarp is still in the back of my car.
Sophie is none to pleased about the addition of another animal, but I think she has assumed that Flurry is just a small dog who is totally uninterested in smelling butts.
I have taken way too many photos and videos to post here on this blog, so click here for the album. I'll be updating it daily. The video of her bouncing around in the backyard is totally priceless!
For sale or trade: 2 year old LawnBoy lawn mower $123.67 or three 40 pound bags of Sheep Chow and a bale of hay.
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