Farm Fresh Blog

     Since with the addition of the "retirement ranch" we simply cannot maintain three properties, so we have finally made the difficult decision to consolidate farms. Therefore ALL the animals need to move to one property. (Eeegaads!) This simply isn't possible, so we must let go of some sheep and cattle. And even though we've already cut down numbers for the drought, we have to be realistic and cut down some more. This translates to a lot of leaning over the fence, assessing who stays and who goes. We cuss and discuss temperament, productivity and the importance of being objective.

The problem is . . .

. . .  I'm not very good at being objective.

I just can't seem to bring myself to sell this ewe. She doesn't keep weight as well as the others, and her babies aren't any bigger than the other babies. Most of the other sheep are just sheep, but this ewe is different. And so . . .

. . .  is her dog.

But then . . .  since a sheep alone is an unhappy creature, I need to select one or two "friends" to come with her. Do you see how this plays out? One extra sheep becomes two or three. But Other Half has no leg to stand on, no room to gripe about my inability to be objective - for he has Killer.

     Killer is a cockatiel.  Year ago he found Killer wandering along the railroad tracks.  Other Half picked him up and Killer promptly bit the sh*t out of him. Killer has been a Prisoner Of War since then.  He sits in a cage in the living room, watching television, and staring out the window, dreaming of days when he was free - free to search for his own food, free to freeze to death, free to be eaten by hawks, but free nevertheless.  Killer does not wish to make friends with his captors. There is no Stockholm Syndrome at work here.  His best friend is his reflection in the mirror. His image is as grumpy as he is, but it doesn't eat his food, so he's okay with it.

I begged Other Half to find a proper bird home for Killer. He reluctantly agreed, but then, at the 11th hour, he backed out.

"I wanna keep Killer" he said.

And that's when I knew . . .

. . . I knew there would be no discussion over why I was keeping this lame ewe.