A full, round moon shines brightly over the tree tops as I write this early in the a.m. It is quite silent in the early morning innocents of the day. In a few moments I will pull on my boots, coat and hat and inhale to cold air that smells a bit like spring is close by. The deck will crackle from my weight as I step on to it's cold planks. The gate will creak, and then I will hear it. The ear-piercing "maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" that belows from the small, long-legged monster. Lyra knows I am coming!
She will gallop down the hill from her warm straw nest. He little voice will be as mighty as that that comes from a trumpeting elephant! The old sheep will shake their heads at the young whipper-snapper. The younger sheep will rise, startled from the noise. And I will step into the paddock, pull up my bucket-chair, and produce a warm bottle of milk from my coat pocket. The attack will ensue.
This is no exaggeration. It is an attack. After sucking down the warm milk in record time, Lyra will try and climb in my lap. If I don't rise from the bucket immediately after the frenzied feeding, tiny sharp hooves will dig into my legs. As I feed the others, spreading hay around, filling all of the feeders, a nose bonks my legs. The swift black monster weaves in and out of my legs, occasionally tripping me, or sending me, off balance, into the fence.
When every creature is contently munching hay, I stop, sit back down on my bucket and allow Miss Lyra to take all she needs from me. my hands rub and scratch her back and head. I kiss her cheeks and talk to her. What else can I do?
Lyra's ovine mother enjoys her breakfast, oblivious to the fact that she is the one who should endure the incessant "bonking" and demanding. She is the one who should be climbed on and calling this little creature to her side ...this little pest.
Mother nature hold many mysteries. The mystery of why Lyra's mother rejected her. The mystery of my patience, and the energy that this little soul has tapped from me ... where does it come from?
It will then be time for me to come inside and wake my own two-legged monsters. Time to get ready for school, and the day. The little black face will watch me walk away. Her full belly has recharged her to hop and pop around the paddock with the other lambs, pesting the older sheep, tasting the different grasses from the hay, and exploring all corners of her world.
"I'll be back soon.", I always tell her. And I will ...ready to face the next attack.