Oh, those naughty sheepies. They are up to it again. I have yet to earn back my shepherdess status since my return.
Sarah and I have been walking in the evening. (Yes, she is off the crutches and walking! Incredible and unbelievable)! So the Professor has been sneaky, and putting the sheep to bed while we are on our walk.
But last night, either he was late, or we were early, when we returned from our walk (she made it all the way to the end of the street and back--about a half mile!) and the sheep were still in the pasture. We stopped at the fence because Sari wanted to learn who is who.
Me: "The one with the black stockings is Timothy.
The one with the brown stockings is Eliza.
The one with the blaze on her face is Pumpkin.
The brown one is Hershey."
Sari: Points to Sadie.
Me: "No, that's Sadie. She's the black one."
Sari: "But he doesn't look brown. He looks cinnamon."
Me: "But Cinnamon doesn't fit as a name. Hershey fits. Or Latte. How about Latte?"
Sari: "No, I like Cinnamon."
Me: "Okay, you can call him Cinnamon. But his name is Hershey!"
And of course, everyone remembers George!
While all this was going on, the Professor entered the pasture with a bucket of hay. But Sari and I were distracting our poor little sheepies with all our name calling, and by the time the Professor was at the shed, there were no sheepies following. Not one of them fell in line. I had this sinking feeling, "Oh, it's going to be one of those nights!"
So I popped in the fence and Sari went to ice her knee. I had some grain (always prepared; I've learned the hard way) and tried to assist. Lately the one who is giving us the problem is Eliza. If Eliza doesn't go in, well then Pumpkin and Sadie will not go in. (The boys always go in).
I walked backwards through the pasture with a handful of grain right in front of Eliza's nose. We got all the way down to the shed, in the door, and then she turned and bolted! Oh, this is not good. It was getting dark. I can't see in the dark. The Professor says, "You go in. I think they are used to just one person putting them in." (Oh, this breaks my heart! No sheepie night night stories. No hugs and kisses before tucking them in).
So, I go in, and for the next half hour, I hear the Professor calling, "Come on girls," in his gentle Professor voice. He is so sweet and patient. Such an animal push-over!
But after a half hour, even the Professor gave up and came inside. I never would have lasted that long. If they don't come in, they don't come in; but means I don't sleep well that night!
As soon as he settles himself down with a book and a cold drink, it thunders. The sky lights up. The Professor got up, so I thought he went upstairs or to the kitchen. (To tell you the truth, I was working on a project for my summer farm to yarn camp, so I was a bit distracted).
The next thing I know, he comes back and sits down, takes up his book again, and says, "You're sheep are in!"
Me: "What???"
The Professor: "The thunder did it. They came in a flash. Nothing to it!"
I think we were fleeced!
Abu
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