A visit to our neighbors' farm

Our evening adventure started with an email that I read when we got home from church. My busy, funny and very sweet neighbor, Cleta, had promised to let us know when we could come and see lambs; and she had also offered to let me buy some of her excess hens. In typical Cleta fashion, this was the message:

about done lambing
have about 50 when you want to bring the grandkids
while i was out of town the boys did not close the hen house till late: a possum moved in and killed about 10 of the hens.
he literally moved in: i found him, obese and well fed, under the laying boxes.
i dragged his little hiney out with a rake and shot him about 10 times: once for each hen!
so i only have maybe 2 for sale>
must be extra good ones
they survived the holocaust

After the farmboy and I laughed and laughed -- and then laughed some more -- at the thought of tiny Cleta doing battle with Mean Mr Possum, we made arrangements for a trip to her farm.

 

Could there possibly be anything sweeter than baby lambs?

The only thing sweeter might be baby boys who think it is grand to be barefoot outside in the grass with lambs bleating on the other side of the fence --

Cleta's little lambs are truly adorable. The mamas were very protective but we were able to get up close and personal with a couple of the older ones.

 

Wyatt had his hands full with this one which is about two weeks old.

 

 

Each mama bleats in her own unique voice and her babies know it and respond when she calls.

Cleta only allows her ewes to be bred once a year, with the result being that most all are multiple births. There were mostly twins in the flock, but also quite a few triplets. Cleta said, "What was God thinking when He only gave the ewes two teats???"

This little guy received extra attention from Cleta when she realized he might not be getting his fair share. He was supplemented by bottle for about 10 days, and now he is thriving on his own.

 

Wyatt and Addie got a wonderful lesson this afternoon from a willing teacher.

 

 

Remember the rest of the email relating the doins' of that sorry chicken thief, Mr Possum? After admiring the lambs, we visited the survivors of his chicken-holocaust and congratulated them.

 

 

We couldn't leave the Sweeney's farm without Wyatt making a quick climb up into the cab of Mr. Sean's huge loader.

 

 

 Thanks, Cleta, for sharing a slice of your interesting, busy life!