Farm Fresh Blog

Yesterday Briar and the Boyz made the grueling journey to north Texas. The plan was to leave at 4 am so the bulk of the ride would be when temperatures were still cool. That didn't happen. I wasn't able to get on the road until 6:15 AM and this put us smack in the middle of rush hour traffic when going through The Big City. As the minutes ticked away, the temperature climbed.

I had Lily, Ranger, Dillon, and Aja in the cab of an F250 pickup. Briar and the male goats (and Orville the ram) were tucked in the back of the horse trailer. Even with the windows down, it was a hot ride. We arrived around 2 PM, in the heat of the day. Poor Briar was almost at the point of a heat stroke.

She was having such a hard time that brought her into the house and let her lie on the cold concrete floor underneath the air conditioner. Even after she cooled off some, she had little interest in major exploring. She made a cursory attempt to walk the perimeter of the buck pen but decided it was too thick and too much trouble in the heat.

She eventually made her way to the barn, and collapsed in front of the big barn fan. When Lily brought the goats into the barn for the night, Briar escorted them and then plopped back down in front of the fan for the evening.

Last night I locked the goats inside the barn and left Ranger with Briar as additional security. I was awakened around 1 AM when the coyotes came close enough to the barn for Briar and Ranger to go batshit crazy. (Note to Self: Do not doubt the addition of 2 Anatolian Shepherd puppies. Briar will definitely need the help here!)

This morning she was rested and relaxed and ready to begin her day.

Briar took a walk with the other dogs and checked out her new digs.

She seems to like her new home. Thus far she has given me heart failure by sticking her nose into every place most likely to contain a copperhead. She has patrolled and marked and given it her seal of approval. Briar does not, however, like the hot sand in front of the barn, and the grasshoppers that land on her head.  Hopefully the coyotes don't see how she behaves when grasshoppers land on her nose.

Believe it or not, we are still moving! It isn't just a matter of moving a farm across the state, it's building the pens, building the stalls, and adding field fencing to existing barbed wire fences. It's trying to find space for a lifetime of accumulated "stuff" that simply will not fit in the new house.  It's juggling 7 dogs without the appropriate outside kennels. Yes, you can just turn them loose outside - during the day. At night, you better confine the dogs because like the freakin' Zombie Apocalypse, the damned copperheads come slithering out of hiding as the sun creeps down.

We got two in one night. I caught the above one actually coming inside the barn, slithering into my dog kennel - and I beat him to death with a bush ax. (Momma don't play around her dogs!) Other Half actually stepped on a copperhead one morning. It got away by hiding in a roll of field fencing. He altered his plans that day to include mowing everything close to the house. (Think "prairie dog hill" folks, PRAIRIE DOG HILL!"  Short grass doesn't keep them from coming close, but it does let you see them.

Which, unfortunately for the snake, leads to their demise. I'd actually leave them alone if it wasn't for the dogs, but I worry about losing a dog to a copperhead bite. That said, Dillon and Mesa dug out of their kennel one night while Other Half was puttering inside. He said they were only alone for about 20 minutes (Manspeak Translation: at LEAST an hour and 20 minutes) They had been out long enough to go down to the pond and take a swim, explore through all manner of bushes containing sticker burrs and briars, and meet me at the main gate when I came driving up in the dark. Friends, watching your dogs gallop up in the dark is both a welcome and a troubling sight.

They were loose at Prime Time Copperhead Hour - The Witching Hour, in the Prime Time Copperhead Location, and yet, both dogs emerged unharmed. Apparently the snakes in this area are not that aggressive. (except for the rattlesnake that did bite Dillon a few years ago) And given the choice, I'd rather have the copperheads than the rattlesnakes. They are easier to spot, and they aren't as poisonous. And they clearly aren't as quick to pull the trigger.

To answer your questions before you ask, (See, I'm learning!) No, Briar isn't up here yet. She is still with the boy goats down south in the care of a neighbor, but I shall inform her that she has a very strong fanbase. No, I haven't brought the girl goats and sheep home yet. They are still with Dear Friends Kim & Clyde who should be nominated for sainthood by now. No, I haven't picked up the Anatolian puppies yet. They are still babies and should be ready for our ranch when we are ready to take them.

Briar fans will be delighted to hear that my new veternarian is a goat person who has a livestock guardian puppy that looks JUST LIKE BRIAR! When he told me about her, he said,

"Go look in the back kennels (in the clinic) and see that ugly shaggy dog. That's it."

I poked my head back there and sure enough, it was a baby briar! I quickly whipped out my cell phone to show him pictures of what his little gem would grow to become.

That said, I guess I need to get off the computer and start putting up more field fence in the mesquite patch to make a day pen for the bucks. Ta-ta!

One of the biggest hurdles in moving a farm is in moving the livestock. On this last trip up we moved the rest of the cattle, and the girl goats and sheep. Briar is still in South Texas with the boys. The cattle were dumped out on our place and the goats and sheep went to their temporary home with Dear Friends Kim & Clyde. They have four donkeys and a mule that they placed around the goat/sheep pen. We dropped them off in the early afternoon. By that evening Kim was ready for dairy goats herself. The next morning we were on our way to a nearby farm to buy her a Nubian doe weanling. Yes, folks, dairy goats are like cocaine - one taste and you're hooked! They are that dangerous.

A big concern with the move was the fact that Roanie was heavily pregnant and I really didn't want to bounce her across Texas. She weathered the move like a trooper though, and a few days later this little guy was born.

Yesterday we turned Roanie and her new baby out with the herd. Another hurdle down.

We don't have donkeys. We don't have a llama. We have Briar. Although I have a lot of faith in Briar, I also know that the moment I move those sheep and goats onto this property I will have coyotes, bobcats, and possibly the cougar, coming right up to the house for a free dinner. That's more than Briar can handle by herself. We've built night pens behind the barn that are completely encircled by an alleyway where non-LGD dogs can run. This will allow them to protect the stock at night. My plan was to use the other dogs to 'supplement' Briar until her age forced me to get new livestock guardian dogs. After all, we have 8 dogs, I really didn't want to add any more.

But then . . .  Then I looked at the forest. I noticed how easily something could slip out in broad daylight, grab a baby lamb, and sneak right back into the foliage. There was no way Briar could be everywhere at once, and around here the forest has eyes.

Since I knew it was inevitable, I decided open myself up to the possibility of adding the pair of Anatolians I had always said I'd get when we moved up here. If it was meant to be, a pair would fall in my lap. Sure enough, a few days after I opened myself up to the idea, I saw a litter. These pups were exactly what I was looking for.

A phone call later and I had reserved two five week old boys.  They will be ready when we've completed the move and are ready for them.

Yes, ten freaking dogs. TEN!

3 Livestock Guardian Dogs
4 Border Collies
1 Freeloading Blue Heeler (holds down the bed)
1 Retired patrol dog (currently Head of Barn Security)
1 Labrador Retriever (currently Head of House Security)

I'm trying to not focus on the fact that we have ten dogs. I'm trying to focus on the fact that if I don't add dogs, I'll be subtracting lambs and kids immediately. Any rancher can tell you, once you turn the light on to signal the buffet is open, the predators will roll in night after night. It'll take quite a while to get these little guys trained anyway. They should be ready to take over full time by the day Briar is too old to be effective. If we get pups now, there shouldn't be much of a gap. Anatolians grow to be giant dogs so when these guys grown up like their dad, they should cause the predators around here to think twice about snatching up a goat.

 Big dogs!

This move up to North Texas is like a three ring circus anyway, what's a couple more acts in the show?

I'm not a very religious person. It's been a while since I've been to church and other folks know the Bible a lot better than me, but I do talk to God all the time, and I try to be open to His side of the conversation.

I think this is the hardest part of every relation - listening to the other person. My experience has been that if you don't listen to His whisper, God will send a roar to get your attention. There are things I've learned to accept in life - when a door opens, when a door closes, and when God puts something in your path. If God sent it, there's a reason. I can jump up and down and screech "Why NOW? Why NOW of all times?! I don't have time for this?!" Or I can put my big girl panties on and do what we all do - call Mom for help.

The adventure went like this:

Driving home from my last official night at work as a police officer I am on the phone with my mother in deep discussion about packing for the Big Move. I am on the way to her house to pick up shelving for my closet. I have my mother on my ear piece, the radio is on, and my air conditioner is blaring. Over this I hear a dog barking. Since I'm on the county road not too far from my mom's, and since her dog sometimes goes walkabout, I stop the truck to check it out. Now here is the weird part - I'm on the phone with my mother, and I ask her if her dog is out, and she says "no" but I am still compelled to stop and investigate the barking. Who does that?

It is late. It is dark. My mother has already said her dog is in the house. Why did I stop? Why did I get out of the truck? In the darkness I see a large canine figure take evasive action. This dog clearly does not know me, nor does it want to know me. I shrug, get in the truck and drive off. Even I am confused by my own behavior.

And then I hear it. Over my mother talking in my ear, over the radio, over the air conditioning, over the truck engine, I hear the plaintive cry of a kitten. I slam on the brakes.

Once again I step out of the truck and walk back down the dark county road. Out of the darkness a tiny kitten amps up the volume on his cries.

"Stop! Stop! Wait! Help me, Biped! Help!"

He ran through the dark along the county road and into my arms. I stood on the highway and accepted my fate. My husband hates cats. I have 7 dogs in the house. I am in the middle of moving an entire farm all the way across the state. The absolute last thing I need is a kitten so tiny that he must stay inside the house for quite a while, BUT what are the odds that all these things would fall into place to allow me to be in the right place to save this little guy? Without these things lining up, the dog would have killed the kitten, or he would have been hit by a car on the highway. Instead I stopped when I heard the barking and the kitten flagged me down. How could I possibly hear his cries over all the noise in my truck? The kitten was nowhere near my truck when I stopped. How could I possibly hear his cries?

That, Friends & Neighbors, is when you stop questioning things and just accept that God has sent you another cat. Don't fight it. Just accept it and go on. My long-suffering mother agreed to care for him until we moved. She named him Pavarotti because he has a healthy set of lungs and he was singing an opera all night while locked in a dog crate. This is the same woman who named a cat, Ptolemy, when my stepfather told her not to name the next kitten the kind of common name that kids think up. His decree was probably in response to the white cat we had named Snowball and the tabby cat named Tiger. Enter Ptolemy. Since he was no student of Egyptian history, I KNOW he'd never heard of that name before. And as kids, we then had a reason to look up Egyptian history. My mother was a bit of a progressive.

And so it was that in the middle of moving a farm across Texas, God sent us another family member. Meet Pavarotti. I must assume he is destined for great things.

We are almost completely moved in to the new ranch! It's been so long since I blogged that I almost forgot how to type!  Since the day has started again and we must make use of every scrap of daylight available, I'll just send you a few pics that represent the move thus far:

"We're finally here!"

 More copperheads.

God send us another Rat Warrior.

Dear Friend Kim falls in love with dairy goats.

We still have so much to do that we don't know where to turn next! Retirement is harder than working full time!

Briar is a funny creature - part dog, part sheep.  Unlike the goats, who teach their kids that Briar is a nasty, repulsive creature to be avoided, the sheep accept Briar as a member of the flock and don't go into hysterics when Briar sniffs their babies.

Yesterday we moved the new baby into the yard with Briar. Briar amazes me because as soon as I turned her into the area, she dropped her head and began to cast around to find the source of the strange new scent. Her nose led her to this pair.

 Flower Pot patiently waited while Briar conducted a rather extensive investigation.

 Other lambs zoomed-zoomed around them,

 and then blasted right in the middle of things. The look on Briar's face is priceless.

 Her face softened when she realized who had interrupted her inventory - 2015 Models #1 and #2.

 Then she politely circled around and completed her inventory.

 "I love lambing season!"

Other Half's retirement party was last night and a good time was had by all. The kids and grandkids came down to help kick off his new life as a full-time rancher. It was a lovely evening where we took a break from the packing, the getting livestock trailers ready, and constant checks on a pregnant ewe who has been ready to pop.

Other Half has been home all week and has been able to keep a pretty close eye on this first time mother-to-be. Her sister was heavily bagged up for three weeks before giving birth, so even though we have been watching Flower Pot closely, I still didn't expect babies for another week. Yes, her name is Flower Pot. As a lamb she got a flower pot stuck on her head and ran around the yard scaring the beejeebers out of the rest of the flock and herself, thus I dubbed her Flower Pot.

Last night I came home from the party and checked Flower Pot. No babies. Not signs of labor. I went to bed. I had fresh sheets on the bed and was enjoying luxury of sleeping at least one night on sheets without dog hair.  It's the little things, folks. It's the little things.

So I stole a night away from the farm by sleeping all night long. I didn't pad outside with a border collie at 2 am and 4 am to check on a pregnant ewe. I stayed in bed and enjoyed clean sheets and air conditioning, without trips into out into the humidity and mosquitos. For one night I relaxed. And it felt good.

This morning at 6 am I went outside to check the sheep. I was greeted by the pregnant ewe with her sister's piebald baby. This raised my eyebrow since even in the low light it looked to me like he was trying to nurse. Then I heard it - baby talk. She uttered the soft nicker a mother uses to call her baby. The baby tottered at her side. I flipped the light on and walked inside.

And that's when I saw her sister's piebald bouncing beside her sister. Hmmmm . . .

Further inspection revealed two piebald babies. Yep. She had given birth to a piebald baby boy who looked just like his cousin.

His front legs were still a little contracted making it a bit harder to manuever but otherwise he looked fine. Whew. Dodged that bullet. Then I saw it. Lying in the corner was the other baby - Baby #2.

Baby #2 was a perfectly marked white dorper with a black head - exactly what I wanted. Baby #2 was dead. Unfortunately the new mother had cleaned ever part except its face. The sack was still stuck on its nose. With a sigh I picked it up - a boy.

Well, I guess there was that. We hadn't lost a ewe lamb, but still, I feel the loss of every life around here. It was particularly annoying because it was so senseless. Had I not been lying in bed, enjoying the luxury of new, clean sheets, and an air conditioner that was finally able to catch up with the heat, this baby would still be alive.

It was a choice I made, and it was a choice I'll have to live with.  I don't beat myself up too much. You simply cannot live in the barn. You cannot watch them 24/7. Sometimes you just have to let nature work. On the other hand Natural Selection is cruel, and a life was lost over something as simple as wiping a face clean.

I really enjoyed that one carefree night of not checking livestock every few hours, but the reality is that if you raise livestock there are consequences to your choices. You save some, you lose some. In this case, because he was a ram lamb, I just lost the price of a wether. It wasn't as if he were a ewe and I would have lost not only the ewe lamb, but all the lambs she would give birth to over the years. That would be a significant loss. But life is particularly precious to me and his death could have been prevented if I had just gotten up a few times to check his mother during the night.

We have security cameras that will be set up inside and outside the barn at the new ranch house. That should help eliminate the problem of getting up and walking to the barn to check on sheep and goats at all odd hours of the night. I'm sorry for the loss of this little guy. Some things are just not meant to be. And maybe, like Jelly, he was such a perfect little baby that he was meant for the Master Shepherd anyway. So instead of beating myself up for lambs lost, I will celebrate the ones who arrive here safely.

Welcome, Little Dude.

For those readers who have been with us long enough to remember goat kids, Raisin Bran & Bailey, who went on to careers in the Houston Children's Zoo, here is an update for you!

Raisin Bran (brown male) and Bailey (white female) are Nubian/Boer crosses that were born here from my nubian doe, Crimson, and my Boer buck, Oscar.

The Houston Zoo was doing a new petting zoo exhibit and approached me about possible candidates. I immediately thought of Raisin Bran because he was such a friendly little guy. His sister, Bailey, was more standoffish, but nothing that more frequent handling wouldn't solve. They were weanlings when they left here and now they're all grown up and featured in this month's children's zoo blog.

Check it out here. Not only do they have baby pictures from my blog, but they have current pictures of what our little babies look like now. Clearly Bailey got over her shyness and Raisin Bran's outgoing personality shines. The zoo has been the perfect home for them.

http://blogs.houstonzoo.org/2015/06/year-of-the-goat-featuring-raisin-bran-and-bailey/

It is human nature to look back and try to make some sense out of loss, yet most of the time, our world unfolds and we see only chaos. Perhaps it is true that we are looking at the back of a tapestry, a jumbled mass of crisscrossed threads which make no sense, while God sees the front of the beautiful tapestry.

Last week was one of complete chaos. Life was a storm where each new event was another wave crashing on an already weakened coastline. We are winding down our time in South Texas, and nothing puts your decisions under the microscope more than the last few weeks before retirement and an impending move.

As you already knew, the last week before retirement Other Half was sent to the border again. This time, because of a paper work issue in retirement dates, he was sent without the German Shepherd who is his eyes and his ears. He was sent to the border as Tropical Storm Bill was coming up the coastline, bringing with it more rain to soak an already wet state. On the morning before he left Other Half pulled two lambs, two beautiful ewe lambs from an old ewe who will see no more lambing. These lambs were to be her last, and they were perfect. One lamb was white and the other was marked exactly like her mother. I named them Jam and Jelly.

On the surface, they both appeared normal, but Jelly was a bit slower learning to nurse, so much so that Other Half commented on it, but she did nurse, so we dismissed it. Other Half left for the border. Tropical Storm Bill didn't so much roar in with a vengeance, as he snuck in like a thief. The rains began so lightly that people began to joke and taunt the storm's power. Since our area had already been hit by heavy rains, my sheep and goat pen was under water. This forced me to move everyone into the barn. The problem was there simply was not enough room to safely jug the new babies with their mother alone. Because she was my most experienced ewe I didn't worry too much about this and thus, a day after the new babies were born, I placed another ewe with babies three days older in the same stall. I watched them closely on Tuesday and saw nothing out of the ordinary. New babies sleep a lot, but it appeared that everyone was nursing properly.

The rains from Tropical Storm Bill came. And came. And I still had to go to work. I had a friend stop by to check the babies and another ewe who was due. Nothing seemed unusual - until I came home. One glance was enough. Something was wrong. Those of us who live with animals daily know that sometimes all you need is a glance. Their posture just isn't right. Their eyes just aren't quite right. Their reactions are just a bit slow. Perhaps some of this can be taught, but I'm convinced that some of us also have a nature, like the wolf, where our predatory senses are a bit more defined and thus our eye detects the weakness before it is obvious to others.

The up side to this skill is that you can catch a problem early. The down side to this skill is that sometimes you still have no idea what the problem is and how to address it. Such was my case. I had a baby standing stiffly in the corner with a vacant expression, staring at the wall. Babies don't normally do this, so I sat on a bucket to observe, while the other babies cavorted around the stall. Her sister bounced close to the other ewe who charged a few feet toward her before abandoning the effort as the baby easily darted out of range. This raised my eyebrow. I watched it happen again. And then I realized the tiny baby who stood with her face in the corner may not have been able to get out of the way. She looked like she could have an injury resulting from being butted too hard. As the rain came down on the tin roof. I sat on the bucket and cried with guilt.

I had been spinning too many plates and this little baby had suffered because of it.

I had put these families together because I didn't have enough dry places to put sheep and goats in a storm, and this  perfect, innocent little baby was possibly injured. Thus began the agonizing game of 'what if' and 'could it be' that all sheep and goat ranchers know. Could it be this? Should I give it this drug? What should I do?  I am blessed with dear friends who are only a phone call away, and a vet willing to try whatever we want.

But I was still alone. Other Half was at the border. It was still raining. And I still had to go to work. I was milking a goat every few hours to give the sick baby fresh warm milk, and I was encouraged by the fact that she was eagerly taking her bottle. Still. It was apparent something was still wrong. We just couldn't pinpoint the cause. At first I thought she was blind, but soon realized she could see me, she just was stiff and uncoordinated. When given dexomethesone, the stiffness left, and she became more alert and curious about her world.

When the drug wore off, she returned to a state of stiffness, walking like a Frankenstein sheep with an extended neck and half-closed eyes.

I was still wracked with guilt but also couldn't rule out that she had been born with a neurological problem too. Other Half wasn't convinced that she had ever been truly normal since she was the slow one to nurse and the first 24 hours both babies had been uncoordinated and sleepy. Because this is normal for newborns, I didn't notice anything unusual before I left for work on that third day.

After a short while I began to see a pattern. The baby would get a shot of dex and her response was dramatic. She was eating and taking a bottle and I was lulled into a false sense that all would be well, until the drug wore off. Friends stepped up to help shoulder the burden of caring for the baby and still juggling an "away from the farm" job. Other Half returned and decided it was time to bring her into the house, slap some diapers on her and let her be a house lamb.

She was cute, tottering across the carpet with an attentive Labrador in tow, but a cloud still hung over my shoulder. At 9:30 pm I watched her motoring along the living room floor when she suddenly tilted her head to the side and began to spin in a circle and stagger like a plane going down. She collapsed with her neck extended and went limp. I picked her up and helped her to her little dog crate. A few minutes later she was back to standing stiff-legged, staring into the dark corner of the crate.

What was the problem? The cloud over my shoulder darkend. The baby refused her 4 am bottle. I told Other Half, and then I left for work. I had to. On my first break I got a text from Other Half.

"Call me when you get a break."

The darkness filled my stomach. He confirmed it. She was dead. Sadly we will never know the cause. Was she born with a neurological problem? Was she injured? We will probably never know. I will always blame myself, and the rains which forced me to put everyone in the barn, and the schedule which kept pulling me away. There is a frustration that comes with not knowing, for it is human nature to seek closure.

As Dear Friend Sue in Wyoming said, "Some things are too special for this life and they are for the master shepherd."

Yes, little Jelly, my perfect little lamb who looked so much like her mother, is with the Master Shepherd now. I am thankful that I still have Jam, her sister, the last of that line. And so it is with life. It is a puzzle. Jam was the lamb blocking the birth of both lambs. She was the log jam. She was the lamb who had the traumatic birth. Jelly was the second in line. Her sack was still intact. Her birth was easy. The odds were stacked against Jam and yet she is bouncing around the barnyard today, the picture of health. Isn't life a puzzle?

"Everything works out in the end, so if things are not working out, then it is not yet the end."

This is one of my favorite quotes from a delightful movie, The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel. On days like this I have to play that quote over and over again in my head. Let me tell you what stress is:

Stress is a Tropical Depression bearing down on your farm, bringing with it lots and lots and lots of rain you don't need. Stress is trying to move an entire farm during hurricane season. Stress is your husband being deployed to the border one week before he is due to retire. Stress is finding out that they retired his police dog on paper last week so she is not allowed to go to the border with him! Stress is the hot water heater going out. Stress is the air conditioner deciding that it may or may not work if it gets too hot outside. Stress is having to juggle 8 dogs in a hot house during a Tropical Depression that will probably become a Tropical Storm by tomorrow. Stress is also having a murder trial set for tomorrow.

Now that we have set the stage, let me tell you about my day:

Other Half returns home from a 12 hour shift. He has been asleep for about an hour when I go outside to feed the livestock. Release the barn door to allow all female goats, sheep, and babies outside to eat. Everyone races out except Brand New Mother and her Babies, and Maa, one of my oldest and most loved ewes. Note that Maa is in hard labor. Note stringy yucky tissue hanging out of her back end that normally occurs only after the babies have been born. Look around. See no babies. Maa is calling for her babies. She is certain that she has given birth. I look again. Nope. No babies. She considers taking babies which belong to Brand New Mother but decides they are not her missing babies. Brand New Mother shuffles her toddlers outside before Maa changes her mind.

I race back into house. Wake up Other Half and inform him that either something has taken her babies (highly unlikely) or babies are stuck. I do not know how long she has been in labor and am deeply concerned that I will lose her. Call Dear Friend Cathy, veteran of difficult goat and sheep births. After discussing the issue, we decide the best course of action is to pull the babies out ourselves.

Fortunately Other Half has always wanted to be a large animal veterinarian and thus he is equipped for such tasks. (He really does come with a most remarkable set of skills!)

I hold Maa's head while Other Half sticks a gloved hand up there and finds Baby#1. He pulls it out and we are both certain it is dead until an eyelid flutters and it lets out a cry. SCORE! Baby #1 is still alive and it's a girl! While her mother is cleaning her off, Other Half pulls Baby #2, who is also a girl! This baby slides out easily.

Baby#1 was apparently the log jam, thus, her name will be Jam.

Baby #2 looks just like her mother, Maa, therefore today I named her Baa.  Not original but when you're in your 50s you just want names that help jog your memory. Five years from now I might need help remembering this baby marked so like her mother is Maa's daughter. Yes, I do write all this stuff down somewhere. That's why I know that in all likelihood I will change both names later so I could name them Peppermint Sassafras Lollipop today and it would be okay. Actually, if her sister's name is Jam, I might just call her Jelly.

We get the babies settled and start filling water troughs in preparation for Tropical Storm complications. My phone rings. I juggle the thing to keep it from falling in the water. That would just be the cherry on the sundae of my day. The district attorney's office is calling to inform me that my murder trial has been re-set. YES!!! (almost as good as having two ewe lambs in one day!)

I am still hoping that all the weather predictions are wrong and this storm hits somewhere else. Anywhere else but here. Actually, that's not true. I really don't want to wish ill will on anyone. So many people in this state have been hit hard by flooding recently. Nowhere in Texas wants 8-10 inches of rain tomorrow.

So keep us in your prayers. More lambs are due. I've already decided that if I have a ram lamb born tomorrow I'm naming that sucker Tropical Storm Bill.