Down on the Farm

When I was in the meadow yesterday I took some pictures of the animals.

These are the two newest calves.

This is Fiona. Let me eat, she's saying.
She's so cute and fuzzy I just want to hug her. Not that I can catch her. She's about the same size as a sheep.

This is Casey, one of the mothers. Don't ask me who her calf is. Could be Ella. Could be the holy terror (the one who chases sheep with a big grin). Andrew would know but he's not here to ask.

And here are some of the sheep.

Sheep are not smart. These sheep are in the field with all the short grass looking over at the meadow with all the long rich alfalfa and timothy. They're trying to figure out how to get over there.

Hint: Try the gate!

And here, having followed The Hat, and therefore enjoying the sweet grass in the meadow, are the rams.

Sir Poppy on the left is senior ram. That means he rules the barnyard. Or thinks he does. The bull thinks otherwise, but they've reached a truce.

Mike is 2 years old. Which makes him the equivalent of a 22 year old human. Which explains why he has a funny looking nose and limps slightly.

You would too if you thought it was a good idea to charge the bull. Daily. Hey, Hughie, you big dummy, I can take you. Biff.

Hughie the bull is very patient. He lets Mike headbutt him, ignoring him as one would a pesky mosquito. But ultimately, he gets fed up, and tosses Mike with an easy flick of his big head.

Doesn't bother Mike. He just tries again. And again. Hence the squished nose and the limp. Not that Mike notices. I sure showed that bull, he's thinking, smugly.

Testosterone. Amazing stuff.