My poor woolly sheeple are ready to be sheared. It is not that hot – summer is determined to evade us – but still they are struggling in the non-existent heat and have decided that they hate all this wool.
I came outside and found ‘Ster lying down, unmoving. Oh, the worry. I thought he was dead.
I shouted to him and nothing. Then he just managed to open his eyes.
And straight back to sleep. After Puzzah’s unexplained demise, I worry possibly all the time.
Anyway, eventually ‘Ster stood up, stretched and said all was well. Phew!
‘Bert has a thick wool coat along with his classy rasta dreads.
He has the appalling affliction of horns that will kill him. They grow straight into his temples. A terrible design flaw and his horns will be cut right back.
‘Bert, too, hates all his wool and struggles under its compact weight.
There is the odd “hentilagit” too.
Last, Lambie who is not as miserable. But smelly. He is very very smelly.
He sits in a pile around the place with the accompanying whiff of strong pee. He doesn’t seem to mind. I do. The doors are always open.
So I have booked the shearer to come next week – hopefully Monday evening, all being well and then I will have some more beautiful fleece to work with.
Now to convince the Boyzenberries to come into the stable in the evening. I need to stock up on ginger biscuits. My sheep always know when I want them and have a nasty habit of vanishing immediately!