This is an article in (more or less) English. Die deutsche Version gibt es: hier.
Brad sniffs at my hand. It smells faintly of food. But there’s nothing left. How dare I have no food with me. I should at least scratch him behind his ears. Own photo, licence: CC by-SA/ Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported
Brad is castrated. It was necessary. Rams that are raised by the bottle are not scared of humans and become dangerous when they grow up (with balls). If castrated there’s nothing they got to fight for. That means I got no ram. And I need a ram if I want to get lambs.
The evening sun in Brad’s eye. Own photo on Flickr, licence: CC by-SA/ Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported
I told this to an old farmer and he said he could get me a ram. Then he even said he found a ram for me. I could get it in September. In September I asked what about that ram. The farmer said, it’s too early. It’s only for rent and I will only get it, if I have sex with him. I said “no”. He can have sex with the ram instead. I got to get a ram somewhere else. I went up the hill to my “new” neighbours. A homosexual couple. How wonderful, that they would never get strange ideas about me.
They got a very small six months old ram. I asked them if they lend me their ram. Yes, after he has done his duty with the two ewes. And at Christmas he’ll be the dinner. So in November I’ll hopefully be able to introduce the little boy to my girls. It’s not a black-headed one. Which is good, because I prefer them to be of lighter colour. My sheep aren’t pure bred anyways, except if “wild mixture” is a pure breed.
The lawnmowers advance. The dark one is Kleines. Own photo on Flickr, licence: CC by-SA/ Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported
Daffne looks to the right. Own photo on Flickr, licence: CC by-SA/ Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported
The sheep walk in a queue back to the sleeping stable. Own photo on Flickr, licence: CC by-SA/ Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported
Stirnlöckchen on the other hand has still decided to live forever. She feels quite good atm and gets up on her own. Doesn’t even need a lift. She’s just old. An English worker, who has done some repairs in the castle would love to kill her. I don’t let him. And I won’t ever let him. I think it’s enough to say, he has already proven, that he is not capable of killing sheep properly. If necessary I’ll call the vet for euthanasia. It costs only 30€ and the animals feel no pain. It’s a much better death than the one proposed by the worker. Can’t explain that to him though. I know his way is cheaper. But it’s not cheaper for my soul.
“Hey human, don’t you think the evening sun is wonderful today? And while we’re talking so nicely.. how about some food?” Own photo on Flickr, licence: CC by-SA/ Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported