Several weeks ago my 4 year old day care child Lillian and I took an aenemic,limp Romney ewe lamb home from a local farm. Lillian immediately named her Whitey. Dewormed,medicated and loved, Lilly and I found Whitey walking out to the road 3 days later. We no longer had to lift her to get her on her feet. Putting her in with the Blues didn't work. Whitey hated them and refused to go near them. SHE had decided she was a Shetland. Putting her in with the wee terrors was so funny to watch. In true Shetland style, they wanted nothing to do with this stranger. She was butted at the feeder and tormented. Since she needed calories, Lilly and I supervised feeding to ensure that Whitey got enough grain. Last week Whitey started butting the Shetlands back. Her wool is peeling off but the pink skin underneath reassures us that life is good for Whitey.
Yesterday, my husband directed a dumptruck driver to unload "topsoil" from our neighbor's driveway project in our front yard. We live on a piece of PA that does not have one level acre so Bill has made it his life's mission to collect enough dirt to turn this place into the great plains of PA. We have piles of dirt everywhere. Even the local gravediggers bring the dirt here. A woman at the local market once referred me to the woman married to dirt man. Well in yesterday's pile of topsoil, there was a well rooted little evergreen shrub. There was a perfect spot for it by the barn so I planted it. Shall I name it Greenie and hope for the same result?