Little Lambs

Mary may have had a little lamb, but not all lambs are white.  Some are mottled like Blue Heelers (a point of irony if you know what heelers are for.  Sort of a reversal of the wolf in sheep's clothing), some are tawny like wheat ready for thrushing.

Some are like soot, set to grow into black sheep.

Here we have just such a one.  Either willfully or unwillfully abandoned by the mother, the result is still the same.  We had a young lamb without a mother.  Alyce and Suzie call him 'Woolie.'

Peachy McCrockPot: The Early Days

I call him 'Peachy McCrockPot.' 

It's mostly because I wholly believe we should all have at least a rough idea of where we're going in life. 

The other lamb kept on premises is a plain, nondescript white among sheep-kind.  This is probably just a ruse, to be quite honest.  The nondescript sheep had been unfortunately singled out some weeks ago from the same herd as Peachy McCrockPot by an excitable dog.  You see, when dogs get excited about sheep, they tend to bark. . . or to want to hug the sheep.  

With their teeth.

Obviously, the older lamb survived the experience, probably because whatever canine exercising his wiles had no idea what to do with a sheep once he caught it around the throat (how we managed to transport and keep the animal alive is something of a story in itself).  End result?  Two sheep on premises.  Yet again we have a naming inconsistency between the Alyce/Suzie faction and myself.  They call him 'Lucky' which is true enough.  I call him Colonel WoolyBritches on account of the expression that he had when he realised we had finally effectively fenced him (for the time being).

There's scientific evidence suggesting that sheep can feel rage.  Seeing that expression as we walked away?  I can believe it.  So never quite believe that lambs are docile and sweet.  Just because they don't have much in the way of defense capability doesn't mean that they aren't capable of more than meekness.

We might just be harboring the ruminant incarnation of Hitler.

And as for Peachy?  Don't worry about him.  He's growing into a bona fide bruiser of a ram.  All the better for my crock pot.