The Best Goat and Sheep Part 2

It's been too long.  Since I've seen my favorite goat and sheep.  I think they have probably been eaten, actually.  However, I now know their actual breed!

To recap and bring folks up to speed:  Last post I discussed my favorite goat and sheep, Best Goat and Beyonce, respectively.  Since relating their exploits, I sorted both Best Goat and Beyonce into the correct pens and asked Farmer Bill about what kind of breeds they are.  I also quit sheep farming to become a carpenter.  In this post, I will relate the sorting of the livestock and how I feel about farming now that I am no longer a farmhand.  I will also include any pictures left over from the summer.

So Beyonce the sheep is probably some bastardization of a South Down - basically Vermont Sheep.  This is a joke among old farmers about how a lot of Vermonters just mix in any and all sheep breeds and bully the consequences.  Some farmers go for purebred sheep or goats, while others just go for sheer ovine volume.  South Downs originally came from Sussex, England in the early 19th century to Pennsylvania.  They are excellent breeders, but not the best milkers.  This makes them suitable for a farm where the sheep are bred for meat.  More lambs, more meat.

Beyonce

Best Goat

Best Goat is an Alpine Goat, not a Thuringian.  They are basically milk goats, but Best Goat, as a male on Bill's farm, is destined for pretty much one goal, stew.  Perhaps kleftiko, a greek recipe cooked in a coal pit, historically by bandits.  There is not much left to say about him really.

Beyonce and Best Goat were both sorted into the male and female pens by yours truly about a month ago.  Beyonce had to be flipped over in order to determine her gender.  Best Goat was so clearly a buck, his alpha male malevolence did not warrant a flip check.  Actually he had a ruff along the spine of his back, so almost definitely a male regardless of caprine temperament.

So once you've determined the goat and sheep's respective genders, you can sort them into male and female pens.  The ewes with lambs under a year old get their own pen (below).  Other separations can be new inductions to the herd (to quarantine until they've been dewormed), the feeder (described in a previous post for June 16th), or orphans (who demand additional attention at feeding time).

So sorting was one of my last tasks as a farm hand.  A few days later I moved down to Providence to start work as a carpenter's apprentice.  Perhaps I will write continue to write about the differences between being a carpenter and a sheep herder.  There are many.  

Anyways, about a month into not being a farmhand, I started to realize how much I miss being surrounded by sheep.  Here's why:

I visited the farm this weekend and instead of a hubbub of voices and cars, you hear the low murmur of sheep going "meeeeeh."  Occasionally other sounds pierce the sheepish murmur.  Tractor = time to hay.  Goat screams = babies soon.  Fighting horses = BAD NEWS.  Each sound carries a particular meaning, carries weight and relevant information.  But the cars and the hubbub of city folk have no meaning to the individual.  Petula Clark calls the meaningless roar of traffic the gentle bassanova of the city.  I felt more at home dancing to the slow exhausting waltz and occasional horse fighting duets of the farm.  

Of course, the city has bars and cafes and theaters and museums and music and a job with a future.  So, while I miss the sheep, they will have to wait for my life to slow down again.  Until then, farewell sheep.  It's been good.