Baron Von Milchschaf

Congratulations, Ross!

I Fish, Therefore I Lie!

It's raining. It's pouring. I don't hear anyone snoring... I'm waiting for the ark to come floating past, though. We've had nothing but rain and snow since November and the place is soaking wet. I know some folks are dealing with drought, and trust me, if I thought I could send you a gallon of rain I would. Or a barrel. A rain barrel full of rain. Except that they've made it illegal to collect rain here in Washington without a permit. Why, I don't know. It's not like we've got a shortage of the stuff!

Not that the rain doesn't play a role in our growing seasons. A couple of years ago we had very little spring rain, so our intuitive governor declared a state of emergency. She also said that farmers shouldn't water their crops. I suppose it's because someone else needed the water more than we needed food.

Like the cemeteries. As you know, I'm rather drawn to cemeteries, and one of the things I noticed during our drought was that there were an awful lot of sprinklers keeping lawns green while our farmers weren't growing food for us to eat. Many of those sprinklers were in cemeteries, and they splashed a good amount of water all over the paved roads. Now, I'm no expert, but it really didn't seem right that the farmer's were needing to ration their water while dead people were allowed to have beautiful lawns.

Dead People's lawns can be watered, but we cannot water crops or collect rain water without a permit.

Then again, politicians tend to favor those who vote for them, and since our governor had a large contingency of dead folks vote for her, I suppose she was just doing what she felt was right. But enough talk of dead people and droughts. It's raining now, and the ground is so wet I can't plant my peas, which should have been in last month.

I wouldn't mind the rain so much if it were fishing season. Everyone knows that fishing is good after a rain. I come from a long line of fishermen. Well, at least the previous generation fished. A little. There's this kid's fishing derby held here each spring, and my Uncle Warthog and Dad were there at the first one ever held. Uncle Warthog paddled around the pond in his little row boat. He was the first kid to catch his limit, and he still has the bamboo fishing pole he won that year.

Sunset down at the bay where Dad and Uncle Warthog used to fish.

My dad and his brother the warthog were great fishermen. They'd go down to the docks at the bay and fish during their lunch breaks 'back in the day', eating their sandwiches and tossing their hooks out into the water. Dog fish were what they were after. A bucket of white paint sat on the dock with them. They were the sons of a painter; painting was their summer job. When they caught a dog fish, they'd pull it up and slap a white stripe down it's back, then set it free. And that's how there came to be skunkfish in the bay.

I've never fished for skunkfish or dogfish. I do recall a fishing trip with my dad and Little Hitler (my bossy little sister) when we were young. He brought us, along with the neighbor girl and her dad, down to the falls to fish. We climbed down the steep hill and over slippery rocks. Little Hitler and her friend stayed down on a small rock while Dad pulled me up onto the big rock that was right beneath the falls. That's where the fishing was best, he said.

Do you see the rock? Neither can I.
But I swear it's there, under all that water.

Now, this particular creek was for kids 14 and under only, so no adults were allowed to fish. Which is why there were grown ups all over town grabbing the neighbor's kids and dragging them out on fishing trips. None of them, however, was as brave as my father. We were the only ones who dared to go right under the waterfall. The others were up above us, or down below. Kids and their adult partners, all with their poles in hand and hooks in the water.

Another view of the falls.
Naturally, there was less water when we were fishing that day.

My dad had me by the waist as I tossed my line down behind the rock we were on. We were being sprayed with water from the falls, but that was okay. The dad of Little Hitler's friend stayed down on the low rock with them, where they were catching bull heads and crawdads, getting an occasional trout in the process. I, on the other hand, stood cold and wet and fishless on the rock with my father telling me to just be patient.

And then it happened...a strike! And a bite! It was huge; I'd never felt a pull like that on my rod before. Dad helped me set the hook and I began fighting to pull that fish up out of the water. There's about a ten foot drop behind that rock, and of course standing on top of it you can't see what you're pulling up. It was so heavy that I thought perhaps it was just a log or something, but Dad insisted it was a fish.

Soon a small crowd gathered above us, looking over the falls. People were lining the bridge. I had a huge fan club! Wow...too cool. I was ready to sign autographs. The neighbor dad left the smaller girls down on their little rock to come and look. A teen aged boy got brave enough to jump over the big rocks to stand alongside of us. He layed down on his belly and reached over the edge of the rock.

The bridge that crosses the creek; the falls are there to the left.

I heard shouts and gasps coming from the people around me. It was a big one! But I couldn't see it. I could only hold onto that reel with my cold little fingers and try to pull him in. Then the line lightened. "I got him!" shouted the boy. Another cheer!

My eight year old mind raced. What did he think he was doing? That was my fish he'd got! And I gave a huge yank on my pole, lifting the fish off his fingertips...and of course once it was off the fingertips it fell back down to the end of my fishing line...which snapped...and my fish was gone.

The cheering turned to groans. Heads were shaking as people walked away, disappointed. The teenager, who'd only been trying to help, was still cheerful, saying he'd never seen a fish that big come out of the creek, must have been three, four pounds! Friend's dad had gotten a peek at it, saying it was at least 18 inches, if not more.

Walking back to the car, Little Hitler wrinkled her nose at me, stating that she'd caught trout for dinner, but I hadn't. I sneered back. "You may have caught trout, but we'll eat it and they'll be gone. My fish story will live on forever!"

And so far, it has!

I'm sick...sniff!

They've all had it; City Boy, Darling, and the Geek Boy. They've all been sick, coughing and sputtering all over me for a full week now. I've done my best to ward it off, but my body just couldn't fight it any longer. It's wet out, it's cold out, and I tend to spend too much time out in the wet cold. And my immune system finally said 'no more'.

But despite this, I know that you all are awaiting another days worth of lambie pie photos, and I can't bear to disappoint you! So without further ado...lambies!

Name me and WIN!

Despite several attempts, no one was able to guess the correct lambing date on Taffy. So, we'll just have to find another way to give the prize out! And that would be giving this dear sweet boy a name. His mother, of course, is Taffy. His father is Carrot. The breed is East Friesian, which is German (or Finnish or Dutch, but most often German.)

The prize includes, but is not limited to, the following: One hand felted lamb, perfect to stuff into some one's Easter basket or set upon a bed. A jar of sheep milk Manna, milk and silk Heavenly Body Butter, a bar of Ewe Stink sheep milk soap (the soap doesn't stink, silly!) and plenty of other goodies. All in all, a $50 value! So put on your thinking caps and offer up a name for our sweet little guy!

Yesterday Alice the Cat decided to accompany me out to the shed to watch the proceedings. Normally hanging out in the rain is not on her to do list, but she realized that everyone else was there, so something important must be happening. Sure enough, there were slimy things making noises!

Taffy is not so sure that a cat should be allowed in the birthing suite. She gives Alice the 'stare down' glare and stomps her foot. This technique works with most would be lambie assassins in the barn yard, but Alice pays no heed. She's wondering what lamb chops taste like.

Look, there's something hanging off the back end of this slime ball!

Kill it! Kill it!

Oops! A bit too close! Taffy charges and Alice jumps away from the target.

Aahhh...they just want to be friends! Alice doesn't appear to mind the blood and slime all over the little one. In fact, she appears to rather enjoy it!

This morning the lambs are bouncing about and a bit cleaner (thankfully! I know you all were rather disgusted yesterday!)

Here's Mr. Droopy Ears. No, that's not really his name. Darling has yet to give him a name. Well, she did try, but I vetoed Gollum. I mean, I didn't want my lamb wandering around saying 'My Precious' and talking to itself!

Did you know little lambies will try to nibble on solids so soon? Amazing, isn't it? Now, if the weather would just begin to cooperate, they'd be able to go outside and play. But for now, they've got enough space in their cozy little shed to bounce and drive mamma crazy.

Now, I do believe I'll go take some drugs and drift off into lala land for the night. Hope you've enjoyed the pics, and don't forget to leave a comment with your name suggestion! =)

And the winner is.... Stormin' It Up!

Being as Quiet Storm is Darling's horse, I felt it only fitting she should select this week's winner. And who would it be? Rachelle!

***********************************

Yesterday they held parent conferences at Darling's school. You may recall me telling you she was going back after a couple years of homeschooling. She was all excited, but after a day she decided she didn't really want to be there. So we cut back the on how many classes she's taking and that does appear to help somewhat. She's got just two teachers, and one of them wasn't there. So we spent something like, oh, a minute and a half with the teacher who was present. He said she has a good attitude and comes in with a smile, and that aside from a few holes, she's doing well.

After that taxing, exhausting and emotionally stressful event we came home to find three ewes staring into the sheep shed. Taffy was not among those staring. Being in my 'dress up and go to school' shoes, I couldn't walk through the gate(too muddy), but did go up alongside the fence beside the shed, and from there I heard Taffy's voice. Baaaa....baaaa...baaaa...in a tiny little whisper meant for mamma's and babies. I ran to get my boots, Darling ran for the camera...

....which means you get to see the whole, bloody event!

This is what greeted us as we walked into the pasture; one very new and very yellow lamb. With floppy bunny rabbit ears. Taffy was lovin' all over her new baby while he tried his best to get up and move. Newborn lambs can walk within minutes! And we complain when our children are walking before they turn one...

I had no idea how long ago she'd lambed; obviously not too long as he was still quite wet. I sent Darling off for some towels and walked in to inspect. Which is when I saw...

...oh...icky.

Before I could set the camera down and step in for a closer look, she gave a push...and out came lamb number two!

Another ram lamb; he was born breech, but so quickly that there were no ill effects. Taffy pulled the sack off from his face and I stepped in to pull a bit more away from his nose so he could breath. Darling was back out with the towels by now, so she took my camera while I wiped and inspected.

The bad news here is that no one guessed the correct lambing date! The good news is I'll have more photos up tomorrow, along with a new contest for you all, so be sure to come on baa-aack, y'hear!