From the Archives:  August, 2012–Piles of Poo…Literally

Well howdy!  I know it has been a long time since I’ve squawked at you but things have been a little hectic around these parts–and not in a Janet Reno going all Watts 1992 on the neighborhood or anything cool like that, but hectic like I haven’t known what day it is since June.  Truth is, things have been really quiet on the ranch with very little excitement, save the occasional mishap.  As a matter of fact, everyone is quite cooperative, content and relaxed here on the Lazy Lamb.  Everyone but me.

The fact of the matter is that Jake and I bit off a little bit more than we could chew this Summer.  Now I’m sure our loyal readers likely saw this coming, just like all my friends and family did.  In the literary and cinematic worlds, this is called foreshadowing.  You know what I’m talking about:  Your protagonists are digging themselves into a hole, heading to certain disaster, creating a storyline that can only end in tragedy.  The reader or audience knows this and even most movie trailers will let you know if it’s going to end badly, yet somehow the main characters never seem to get it until somebody gets dumped, loses the big game or is executed on death row in front of a sobbing Susan Serandon.  Well where were you this time, Susan?

In truth, this is not a tragedy.  Jake and I are both in relatively good health, financially stable and have learned a lot about the realities of the food business–for better and worse.  But after two months, we were forced to close Moo Bah Bah early because frankly, we were too busy and the opportunity cost to great.  My work at Smith as become very consuming and I found it very difficult to focus on MBB with so much going on in the office.   Jake has become one of the busiest fly fishing guides in the Valley.  He aptly describes his day-to-day as “Ground Hog’s Day,” which actually ends well, if you recall.  Jake hasn’t had a day off in over a month, and has taken a grand total of three days off since June.  Meanwhile, I have been trying to manage my job and the ranch and everything else, house guests and a sad attempt at a personal life while traveling for work and spending most evenings on my laptop, just treading water at Smith.  But back to the ranch…

Phil, our herding dog, is now at camp.  And by camp, I mean a working sheep ranch and herding dog facility  in Western Idaho.  Sporadic reports from his trainer indicate that his “drive” or desire to herd the sheep has been difficult to harness and that he’s immature.  After watching him uncontrollably chase sheep around the ranch for the first eight months of his life, I paid somebody to tell me that. I am also told that Phil, once ‘broken,’ will be a terrific working dog–he’s just a little slow on the uptake and perhaps a little young to start working.  Tough shit, Phil.  You’re not coming home until you’re ready to contribute.  Phil will be back in late September or early October, supposedly with a game face and an understanding of his job.

Steve, my hunting dog that looks like a homeless Muppet is at a different camp where he trains for hunting.  He loves it there, typically does well and doesn’t miss me at all.  He’ll be going with his trainer to California for two weeks to run a few field trials and enjoy life in the Sunshine State.  Tough shit, Steve.  See you in September.

Fan-favorite Janet Reno has become very comfortable on the ranch and lives quite the life.  She has taken to the flock, following them around, relentlessly screaming at mule dear and the neighbor’s cattle, and building her horrifically large poo piles.  If you didn’t already know it (shame on you), llamas relieve themselves in the same place every time.  This means that Janet has over five acres to roam and habitually makes her way back to the same spot in order to crap.  The result is a poo pile big enough to see from neighbor’s yard.  One day I amused myself by spreading said poo pile out with the tractor.  Janet was visibly upset by my redistribution of fecal wealth program.  But, all in all, she’s happy.  One day the gate got left open and instead of her hitting the throttle and trying to run back to Narnia or the Shire or whatever mythical realm beasts like her hatch in, she came back in on her own and simply returned to the flock.  She has also developed a dominant position within the flock, especially at feeding.  When sheep approach her while she’s eating, her ears go back, her neck does this horrible Exorcist routine and she immediately barfs on them, occasionally throwing in a few swift hoof punches for good measure.  Most of them have learned to respect her personal space at dinner.  When I’m working inside the pasture, she routinely follows me around, staying at about 5 yards at all times.  I’m not sure what she thinks she’s doing but I’m pretty sure she’s either protecting me or plotting against me.  Odds are pretty even there.

Due to the drought that has left our property looking like Libya, we ended up selling four of the Suffolk ewes because our pasture couldn’t carry them.  Don’t worry, faithful readers, we kept #66 as our lone Suffolk ewe because of her personality, but we’re down to 18 head.  If you recall, she’s the downright outgoing one–she’ll come right up to you and nuzzle her giant head into your hand, sometimes climbing up the fencing to make sure she gets scratched behind the ears.  She’s very easy to manage, is an excellent mother and we thought she was a good one to keep.  Either way, a drought is the worst thing that can happen to a small scale sheep rancher who doesn’t own water rights for the breadth of their property.  Thank god our good friends at Alpine Cattle down the road are running a sizable organic hay operation which we use to supplement their diet.

The lambs are no longer cute.  Just last night, we weighed two of the bigger ones–Chunk and Big Honky–and they were 110 and 122 pounds.  Don’t tell them, but it’s almost time to go to the pasture in the sky.  The rest are between 80 and 90 pounds and still have about a month.  The ewe lambs will be kept for breeding stock.  If you ever get the choice, choose to be a ewe, not a buck.  Ewes tend to live a life of leisure and breeding (both big pluses) while most bucks aren’t long for this world.  Speaking of, if you’re looking for a whole butchered, all-natural lamb, give me a shout.  We only have a few left that aren’t reserved.

So that’s about it.  Gearing up for butcher season, battening down the fencing for the upcoming winter and making arrangements to send the ewes to sex camp in November.  Pretty typical, really.