How silly it feels to be a piddle sleuth, but that is what I have become, after last week noticing blood in our Border Collie's urine. We hurried to the vet clinic for urine and blood lab work. Of course, Weed maintains discreet privacy if at all possible, so her urine sample had to be collected via a needle puncture to her bladder. The vet examined the sample for crystals, white blood cells, and abnormal cells that might suggest cancer, but found only anomalous red blood cells. She suggested rat poison as a possible cause of the bleeding, yet we have none, and Weed does not roam away from our place. We left the clinic with urinary-care kibbles and both anti-inflammatory and antibiotic meds. A recent dusting of snow has allowed this piddle sleuth to evaluate each and every one of Weed's squat locations, and, as of Monday, yellow snow is the only clue she's left behind. Whew!    

A picture of my temporary barn set up for shearing:

Taking advantage of the past few days of above-freezing temperatures, today I readied the barn for shearing, which is scheduled for early February. We do not have enough sheep to warrant setting up the portable chutes and shearing floor that professional shearing crews travel with. In past years, our dog, Weed, has been a great help in pushing groups of 20 - 30 ewes into a holding pen in the barn. However, she has never assisted in moving the sheep, three or four at a time, into an adjacent small catch pen, out of which each ewe must be backed, one by one, onto a sheet of plywood where the shearer takes over.  Of course, naive first-time ewe lambs are easy to push into that small pen; experienced older ewes are decidedly less cooperative. Inexplicably, the older I get, the more resistant they get.

I have lost a fair bit of sleep recently visualizing a solution to that resistance, and today I worked to bring my nighttime envisioning to reality. I was able to drive metal posts where needed, despite hitting frozen hard pan not far beneath the surface. The holding pen is essentially unchanged from previous years, so Weed will still have an important job. In place of the catch pen I created a crowding alley and chute out of metal posts and portable panels. Most of my time was spent measuring and trying to anticipate sheep-think that would thwart my best efforts to create a smoothly-functional set up. By the time I finished, the sun was low and the barn dark; tomorrow I'll try to get a picture. If the layout works as intended, our upcoming job will be a breeze for all but the shearers. Of course, the cautionary tale of best-laid plans made by mice, men, and, yes, me, is in the back of my mind. Stay tuned.       

In case the gallery of my paintings leaves any doubt, let me state the obvious: I love trees. Recently a huge limb fell from one of our matriarch cottonwoods, and I fear that the entire tree will go down soon. I have no elixir for reversing its antiquity, but yesterday I tried to document a glimpse of its grandeur.   

Here goes a trial run at inserting photos into this blog format and arranging image and text exactly as I want them, side by side, I hope. Stand by.

Success! Did I mention that it has been windy around here? This picture of a Border Leicester ewe was taken years ago when we had a fair number of Borders. I think it illustrates my point about our wind. 

I'm entering new territory with this blog post. To be safe, let me start with the weather. 'Twas negative 18 when we left the house this morning to feed livestock. The mercury rose to a balmy +2 early in the afternoon when I ventured forth to fill a stock water trough. Weed, our loyal Border Collie companion, joyously accompanied us for all chores, but her paws are sore from our sustained cold. Her protective booties should arrive in time for next week's predicted thaw.