The temps fell to eighteen below zero (F) last night and I did not explode or shatter into a million pieces.
Score one for me.
I did worry about the animals who had to spend the entire night outside in it though. So, when I entered the sheep barn this morning, I was a little concerned to see Jed, the daddy of Jack and Jill, lying as still as a stone in his pen.
First of all, I rarely see Jed lying down. He is always on his feet when I walk in. And secondly, he is never quiet in the mornings. He wants his food and he wants it now. Ram that he is, he usually communicates this by slamming his head into whatever hard surface is at hand. Repeatedly. I've gotten used to it so I hardly notice anymore.
But I did notice its absence.
At first I couldn't tell if the steam coming off him was from his body or his breath. Both I guess.
He is such a grizzly, gnarled, old behemoth.
And, um, notice the hammer I put down when I pulled out my phone is so innocently lying on
top of the water. Yeah, Jed's little bucket froze clear through overnight despite my filling it with heated water at night check. There's a special place in hell for little buckets. Jed drinks so little though, that a large bucket would still freeze AND be too heavy for me to lift over the door. Sigh.
In the end, I think he was just enjoying the spot of sunlight streaming through the open window.
Marthajones, caprine troublemaker extraordinaire, who shouldn't have been anywhere near Jed's pen, was enjoying a spot of Jed.
I interrupted foal watch across the street this afternoon (that's another story) to come home and feed the crew. When I walked into the barn I found this little fellow. He's loud and forward, just like any kid of Marthajones would naturally be.
