I was reduced to wrestling it out with my ram - my fault for not closing the gate when I went to inspect Dodie, the expecting sheep. She high-tailed it out of the small pen, and he came roaring in like a big black thundercloud. My usual offer of a good petting sure didn't stop him, so I grabbed his ruff or mane or whatever you call it on a hair sheep, turned him around and started to physically push him toward the gate, calling for help. I am amazed that someone actually heard me - the kids are usually deep in the basement and I was on the far side of the barn. My lovely 16 year old boy came out and rattled food and I shoved the distracted ram out the gate and shut it. I now stink, but having my blogging priorities in mind, I am typing smelling like a ripe ram.
Positive news- my five mature hens laid 3 eggs today. Molting has been rough - having to pour food down their greedy beaks for no eggs. They are back to regular appetites and beginning to pick up production. I have lost track of how old my young hens are, but I am assuming I have at least two months until they start laying, too.
Mustard cabbage is only thing in the garden that is surviving alternate vog and cold buckets of rain. But, ever hopeful, I am meeting a guy at the local little market to pick up some of his excess seed potatoes. It's worth a try, anyway.
I sure wish someone had videotaped me and Elvis - it would be sure to give someone a laugh. I am just so glad I didn't fall, splat, in the mud out there. It was a close call.