sheepless in suburbia...

It's a dog's life...

... he's done it again. Despite the warnings, the nagging, the cajoling and brow beating, Cosmo the Wonder Dog has managed to find something he just outta naughta... and he ate it.

... and now he's got a sour tummy.

So off to the Vet. Heart check. Temp check. Tummy, breath, ears, eyes, skin check. "Hmmm... yes he's got a bad tummy." The vet sighs. "'Oh Cosmo! Did you eat something you outta naughta?"

We look guilty. We look at our feet. We do our best... but he just seems to find something ghastly to nosh on.

"Well, here's an antibiotic. And he'll need some hypoallergenic food for a while... it's a bit expensive..."

Tonight, we (the two legged inhabitants of the sheepless household) ate hotdogs.

The canine dined on basmati rice, pheasant and duck.

I'm ready for my close up Mr DeMille...

Saturday was sheep shearing day. I am the scooper and flinger of fleece, sweeper of the board, ear tag checker, belly fibre trasher, and all round helper outer. Pretty much anything that does not require too much technical expertise. As my Grannie would say, "I'm just looking for someone with a broad back".

It is a job I love. Each year I am asked if I would like to do something else - and each year (clutching my broom to my chest in true Charlton Hestson NRA glory) I defer.

I see the before and after shots; the first visual of the inside fleece.  The lanolin warmed locks as they peel away with each long blow of the shearing blades. Oh, my precious...

Shetlands are of particular interest, due to the many colour possibilites. White, charcoal, pewter, musket, fawn, moorit. Single and double coats.

We work a full day. We eat cookies and sip iced tea. We get giddy with play on name games. This year we amused ourselves with a new musical group we have christened "The Travelling Woolberries".

 Shearing day is a "De-stash Freebie Day." This year two big bags of fleece have come home with me for a midsummer fleece assessment.

Work beckons... bye for now.

And I walk...

.

Last weekend I was a Calgary Half Marathon participant. Although my time wasn't steller by any means (I am a walker) I have to say I am rather pleased with myself.

However, having said that,  everyone in the sheepless household has thoroughly enjoyed watching me hobble around the house, using sheer body momentum to get myself up and down stairs (if the feet don't follow the body - I'm flat on my face), using my arms to lift my legs in and out of the car, and agonizing as I bend, twist, and squat.

Today's question... just because you can do it, does it mean that's a good thing? I recently listened to a radio spot saying that the "prestige of the marathon" has been tarnished by the average Joe and Josephine participant. Introducing half marathons, walking instead of running. Times in excess of 6 hours for completion. Medals for just finishing...

Well what can I say. I've got the T shirt. And the medal. I came. I walked. I finished.

Yea me!