I might – just might – accidentally, of course – have acquired some more fleece.

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It was very inexpensive, because some of the fleece is still being used:  Some sheep are coming to live with us. Their previous Person With The Grain Bucket (a.k.a. Marianna from Thorndale) is paring down her flock, and so they haven’t got anywhere to live, and although they will certainly be able to find other homes because I’m sure they’re very nice sheep, I bet other people won’t treat them as well as I will. I will treat them so well that they’ll probably be sick of me, because it’s taken me two years to relax about the chickens and not fret every time one of them appears slightly under the weather or has a few less feathers than usual.

Raven was trying to explain to Bryan about this most recent alteration to his comfortable world. (Bryan thought “being a farm dog” meant “having a big yard all to himself, and a truck”). Raven said “it’s ok puppy, the sheep won’t be in the house… much.”

And I haven’t got a leg to stand on. We had baby chickens on the hearth all last winter, plus Brat the HouseHen, recovering from her Horrible Foot Incident.

Really though, I have no intention of bringing sheep in the house. They’re too big to sleep on the hearth. Except maybe a lamb. I am almost entirely kidding.
Look, we’re building a shelter for them!

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I’m kind of terrified about this. I mean, I can deal with sheep, I’m sure I can. But, little added twist about these ewes? They’re pregnant. Up the spout, knocked up, buns in the oven, due in midwinter. Yes. There WILL be lambs. Cute baby lambs, in oh, January or so. Raise your hand if you think I’m going to be camped out in the barn frantically knitting little lamb-cozies?

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