Lurking Sheep

Poppy knows that if she shows up at the right time after I finish milking, while I'm filling the feed bucket for the next day, she has a chance of getting a treat.  She might give a straight-leg kick to the door, or come to the gate to the feed room.  If the goats are anywhere around, they butt her or pull her wool, so she has taken to lurking behind the corner of the barn and poking just her head around to keep them from seeing her.  If she's timed it right, then she hurries to the gate and puts her big, moosey nose through the gap, her black tongue flicking in the most obvious nonverbal, "Gimme, gimme, gimme!"  I sneak her three small helpings from my hand...just three, but always three...and then she wanders off, probably humming, "Mother always liked me best."

Linda's comment yesterday made me smile..."She who can't be named," is a quote from the old BBC program, Rumpold of the Bailey, referring to Rumpold's bossy wife.  Anyone who is interested in the history of my little Earth Mother can Google the Venus of Willendorf.  The little figurine is thought to be the earliest representation of a human form.  We found it interesting that it is of an obese woman, at a time when that many calories must have been difficult to find.

The problem with tearing a room apart to paint is that it must be put back together afterward.  I'm trying to be selective.  One just accumulates so much stuff over the years.  It's overcast and threatening rain today...a good day to stay in and sort stuff.