As I was recouping from a great, but long, day yesterday (I admit, recouping currently means mindless games of solitaire alone in my room for 15 minutes after coming home), I kept hearing a persistent, but oddly soft distress call from the sheep.
I figured that a lamb got on the ram side and was locked away from mom, so I headed outside to check it out. It's always a bit of a rodeo to get the lambs out of the rams, because you have to keep half an eye on Elvis and try to herd the little guy through a cracked open gate - without letting Hulu or Elvis through. Let's just say I wasn't feeling terribly enthusiastic about the adventure.
As I rounded the corner to the sheep pen, I had to laugh. All the sheep were piled up against the gate, seemingly in abject fear, and the complainant was in the barn with a bucket firmly stuck on her head, calling for help with the regularity of a metronome. I thought she was a lamb because she was muffled.
I pulled the bucket off and all the sheep came flooding back in, hoping for a second course of dinner. Too bad, guys.