Dear Curiosity Journal,

When the songbirds sing in the morning, my first steps carry me to the sheep. I’m anxious to move them from their manger to the new pasture before they start munching the overgrazed moonscape of the barnyard. I sleepily carry the grain and they follow me like school children awaiting a treat. On the dew-dampened grassy hillside, I pitch my camp chair and watch and listen. I observe bellies, udders, developing waddles, and other clues that lambs are on their way into this world. We’re almost positive that Betty has twins again, pretty sure Cauliflower is pregnant, not quite as certain about Joy Jr, and don’t think Pearly has taken to motherhood. Today was a flock health day, so we wrangled everyone into the barn in the evening, dewormed, gave supplemental vitamins, and trimmed hooves. Rufus heroically took several kicks to the back in the process of clipping feet with the most pathetic pair of trimmers we’ve ever used. They were brand new, but useless (just folding over the hoof, and not really cutting it) which made the task ten times more difficult. I’m pretty sure Rufus has a giant hoof scratch across his back from one of the yearlings (Birdie) going absolutely wild when we flipped her over. Understandably, he was not thrilled, but still humored me and finished the job, stating that he was happy to return to his docile vegetables after being thrashed by the sheep.