Out In the Sticks.

The ewes, man, are they a mixed bag this year. Some are having these, tiny miniature lambs, and others are popping out whoopers. Just to put it into context, the size of these lambs is equivalent to squeezing out a 12 year old child, complete with school gear. They’re HUGE.
And trying to catch these old biddys to pull their lambs is a challenge. But to be fair, if I saw someone running hell for leather after me, with green elbow length gloves on, I wouldn’t be hanging around to find out why the gloves go all the way up to the elbow.

And 17 hand reared lambs later, and the novelty has worn off.
Don’t get me wrong! The dear little things are adorable and what not, but I’m kind of sick of them relieving themselves on me.
I think they sense when I’ve got nice, fresh clean clothes on, and they just rub their little hoofs together and think, ‘Winner, got me a clean canvas to go on!’.

Every morning I nervously go into each paddock dying to see tiny little lamb feet on the ground…

AND NO ONE IS SQUEEZING OUT BABIES FOR ME.

Sitting out there a few hours before the sun-sets, with the birds flying about and happily talking among themselves, the breeze rustling the trees and carrying the sounds of the ending day was so damn relaxing.
I had my pet sheep chewing on my boots and the cows licking my elbows while I snapped a few photos and I thought ‘I really am lucky, this lifestyle is entirely something else.’