Colors, Markings and Patterns. Oh My.

So I had the opportunity to attend the Indiana Shetland Sheep Breeders meeting held at Under the Son Farm yesterday. It was nice to get out and meet fellow shepherds crazy about the colorful little breed. After the business end of the meeting, Theresa Gygi presented on the topic of genetics. One of the the things about Shetlands I had yet to comprehend fully.

Shetlands come in so many colors and patterns it tends to be more than a little complicated but Theresa did a fantastic job of explaining it. People, much smarter then me, have figured out if you breed certain colors and patterns to other colors and patterns you will get a certain result. If you follow all of this when choosing your breeding pairs you could predict what the lambs will look like. About the time I started to really understand I started smelling smoke. And it wasn't coming from the wood burning stove. I think I fried my brain. I decided that if and when I decide to breed Sophia I'll be breeding for cute. Much easier result to predict!

Visiting Theresa's basement is a fiber lovers dream. I emerged after the meeting with a burning desire to felt some wool, a bag of raw fleece from the mule lamb I purchased from her this fall and a large bag full of Shetland roving. Just what I needed to break Mildred out and take her for a spin today.

Rose "The Nose" Nylund

From the very beginning I've suspected there is more to The Golden Girls than meets the eye. At first glance they play their roles very well. Their personalities stay true to their characters. But sometimes they lose track of who they are. I'm not sure if they get caught up in all the Hollywood hubbub or what.

Take Rose here for instance. She usually comes across as mild-mannered and naive. However, don't let her fool you. "The Nose" knows. In fact she's sharp as a tack.

"You have a cookie in your pocket. I know you do. It's right there. I'll eat through your coat unless you give it to me now." she says.

Clearly Rose thinks she's a beagle. It might be time for a Hollywood intervention.

The Sheep Ate My Homework

The charms on her bracelet shook while she wrote the assignments on the blackboard. Mrs. McNeal taught eleventh grade English. The punks in the class used to tease her relentlessly. The more they teased the more her hand shook. She was a timid woman, which made her an easy target. They thought it was funny. I thought it was cruel. Mrs. McNeal was a small, soft spoken woman who cared deeply for her students. I remember I once wrote a gritty essay pouring out my teenage angst on the page . The next day in class she asked me to stay after; she was deeply concerned about my well being. I suspect she’d been worried about me all night. Prior to that day I'd never met a middle or high school teacher that seemed to care. She quickly became my favorite teacher.

I was an average student. Nothing spectacular because I never really applied myself. I know that due to fact the teachers never failed to mention it when the grade reports rolled out. But I always did well in English. Thanks to Mom dragging me to the library for all those summer reading programs, I actually liked to read. The rest came easy. Mrs. McNeal wasn't the first teacher to encourage me to write. Problem was, I didn't want to write. If I wrote stuff down then people would know what was going on inside my head. And let me tell ya, it's a scary place that brain of mine. I was always afraid a few men in white coats would show up and tell me we were going for a ride in the country.

Flash forward nearly a quarter of a century and here I am, sitting in another English class surrounded by students who appear to be twelve years old. Now that my two children are nearly raised it is time for me to figure out what I want to do now that I'm grown up. Until I do, I am taking general education courses at the community college with plans to transfer at some point to a larger university. Who knows, maybe I’ll major in English? I wouldn't mind seeing the countryside. I hear it's nice there.

Yeti Spotted in Indiana!

Oh, wait. It's just Willa of the Great White North. Whew! Scared me there for a minute.

Ahem...

Excuse me, pardon me for interrupting. I'm terribly sorry. Hi, my name is Sammy. Sammy Chicken.

Yes, that is my last name. Why do you ask?


Um, anyway, I, uh, was just wondering if I could possibly, I mean if you would perhaps be so kind to, uh, entertain the idea to allow me to, uh, well since you seem to be sitting down anyway maybe I could, uh, perch in your lap and warm my toes for awhile because it's, uh, FREAKIN' COLD OUT HERE!

Gangsta Sheep

Listen here, Lady. You ain't going out that gate behind us until you knit us some legwarmers. And take off those boots. You'll bring us seven more pair or else. Got that?

Good Grief

So I've got this sinus infection/bronchitis/pneumonia thing going on. I've been sick for a week. Finally decided I needed to go to the doctor as it doesn't seem to be going away on it's own. So in the shower I hopped this morning...I was 3/4 of the way through shaving my legs when the hot water ran out. I still needed to rinse my hair. I should have went back to bed right then. But no.

No I needed to go tend to the animals in the freezing cold. Apparently the budget crisis in Indiana is so bad they couldn't pay the heat bill any longer. It's REALLY cold. So I bundled way up so nothing but the whites of my eyes could be seen considering how I was already sick and all and had just taken an ice cold shower. Part of my morning routine is to release the Golden Girls from their sheep shack. The door on the shack is one of those dutch door things with a bottom door and a top door. I swear the top door was open when I went in to refill the hay feeder. It was NOT when I tried to leave. In fact it was closed and latched and didn't move an inch when I slammed into it with my head. I should have went back to bed right then. But no.

No the chickens still needed tending. Their waterers were frozen again. It's been getting so cold at night the heat lamps can't keep up with it. So I scattered some scratch for the little buggers and headed back towards the house to thaw the water. Have I mentioned all the other ice? The two inch layer of ice that resides under the smattering of snow that is everywhere, even in the yard? You know where this is going don't you? Yep, with both hands full I slipped on the ice and proceeded to do some sort of twisting gymnastic thing that would have probably gotten me a 10 in the Olympic trials because I'm sure it was spectacular to watch. I should have went back to bed right then. But no.

No I needed to go see the doctor. So I called. And they could get me in right away. I thought "Great my luck is changing." Until I realized I'd not yet eaten breakfast or brushed my teeth or thawed the water for the chickens. I had to prioritize. I brushed my teeth and gave the chickens as much water as I could vowing I'd be back with more later. I skipped breakfast. Then I somehow managed to get to the doctors office and through the visit without incident. Their setup is pretty slick. They don't even give you a paper prescription anymore. It gets sent electronically to the drug store of your choosing. Of course the drug store of my choosing just happened to be swamped and even after an hour or so of killing time buying groceries my prescription was still not ready. Should have went home and went back to bed right then. But no.

No I needed that medicine. So I killed more time at the drug store and when they FINALLY had it ready...there was a problem with the insurance. So there I was starving, sick as a dog with a bruise on my head and a zig where I should have zagged and I just didn't have the strength left to argue about it. I just handed the girl my credit card. I came home. Put the groceries away. Ate a bowl of leftover beef stew with a dumpling and then had a big fat brownie. I took my medicine and NOW I'm going back to bed!