Happy Birthday, Shadrach!
This little stinker is one year old today. So, let's do a quick retrospective on his young and silly life so far... Last year on this date I went out about 8 AM to feed the sheep, and it was clear that Number Two (the ewe) was in labor. I shooed the other two ewes out of the hut to give her some space to labor in peace and sat down on a stool to watch. It didn't take long. Before I knew it, out came this skinny, wet, shapeless blob, which, when towelled off, sort of resembled a lamb. Number Two got right to cleaning him up, and I couldn't keep myself from helping. As a ram lamb, his destiny seemed locked as a freezer filler, so I worked very hard not to get attached, and he got the un-touchy-feely name of Two Point One.
But a few days later, a big storm came up and his mom did not do a great job of keeping him back from the entrance of the hut, exposing him to the freezing cold, wind and rain. I dried him off, and sat in the hut on a stool with him in my lap wrapped in a towel most of the night. (My name is Cindy and I'm an overprotective ninny, sometimes.)
Somehow, despite my herculean efforts, he survived and thrived, gaining weight faster than a show pig on steriods. He earned the nickname, "Tank." As the only youngster in the sheep pen, he really enjoyed running around, getting all the ewes to either chase him, or run away from him. He learned to climb up to the top of the sheep hut, and started getting the adult ewes to do it, too! They tore holes in my tarps with their pointy hooves. (And now that he shares the pen with Lucy and Zacchaeus, he's taught both of them that terrible game.)
As he grew, his fleece got longer and longer, with lots of crimp and a surprising degree of softness. That, plus the fact that he was bulldozing his way into my heart, saved him from becoming Easter dinner. His new name, Shadrach, tells the tale of a young man who has been saved from the firey furnace. I'm really anxious to shear him and get a good look at that fiber. It may surprise us all!