That's Rambo, our visiting ram (left). Off to chat to the girls. He was dropped off last Monday. Just for a short stay while we host a Suffolk sheep version of the Bachelor. He belongs to Chumpy who gave us the five minute overview on how to breed sheep as we stood beside the ute asking a lot of 'definitely not farm folk' questions. Our girls have been living the good life for well over a year now and unfortunately, are probably more suited to an episode of the Biggest Loser rather than any lamb creating dating game. We've tried saying they are just big boned or that it's probably just all wool, but we're kidding ourselves as our barrels on skinny legs stomp around the paddocks blocking out the sun. Hopefully Rambo won't have any major reservations and will appreciate them for their sparkling eyes and vibrant personalities. He didn't take long to introduce himself and was soon part of the group munching away on the small sprigs of oats that are coming up again in the paddock (yes more rain please). He will very soon appreciate the fact that those who are born to, or even unceremoniously dumped on this property, even for a short time do very well indeed. Minnie being the perfect example of an unwanted dumpee was smart enough to steer her dumper towards the house on the hill with the robust farm animals. I could just imagine her peering out of a box on the back seat of someone's car saying 'not that one, not that one, yes this one'. From day one she called us home and we've served her well since then. Now, Minnie by name only, she's maxed out in all the wrong places. Now her only exercise seems to be moving from one comfy bed to another. I counted up recently, she has about four. All with hand me down fleecy high viz vests and flanno shirts, she does alright on the sleeping arrangements. But lately it's the laying boxes in the old shed. So to outsmart her I moved them to the chook pen. Didn't work. No wonder we have no eggs!
That's Rambo, our visiting ram (left). Off to chat to the girls. He was dropped off last Monday. Just for a short stay while we host a Suffolk sheep version of the Bachelor. He belongs to Chumpy who gave us the five minute overview on how to breed sheep as we stood beside the ute asking a lot of 'definitely not farm folk' questions. Our girls have been living the good life for well over a year now and unfortunately, are probably more suited to an episode of the Biggest Loser rather than any lamb creating dating game. We've tried saying they are just big boned or that it's probably just all wool, but we're kidding ourselves as our barrels on skinny legs stomp around the paddocks blocking out the sun. Hopefully Rambo won't have any major reservations and will appreciate them for their sparkling eyes and vibrant personalities. He didn't take long to introduce himself and was soon part of the group munching away on the small sprigs of oats that are coming up again in the paddock (yes more rain please). He will very soon appreciate the fact that those who are born to, or even unceremoniously dumped on this property, even for a short time do very well indeed. Minnie being the perfect example of an unwanted dumpee was smart enough to steer her dumper towards the house on the hill with the robust farm animals. I could just imagine her peering out of a box on the back seat of someone's car saying 'not that one, not that one, yes this one'. From day one she called us home and we've served her well since then. Now, Minnie by name only, she's maxed out in all the wrong places. Now her only exercise seems to be moving from one comfy bed to another. I counted up recently, she has about four. All with hand me down fleecy high viz vests and flanno shirts, she does alright on the sleeping arrangements. But lately it's the laying boxes in the old shed. So to outsmart her I moved them to the chook pen. Didn't work. No wonder we have no eggs!
Maybe Minnie thinks she's a chicken?
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