It’s been exactly a month since I moved the flock to the Woodbury place, and for the longest time the pasture felt infinite, a big square field that swallowed up my sheep. It’s still a big field, but the uneaten portion of it is shrinking by the day, and I’m suddenly anxious whether the grass will last until the move on Saturday.
The bit between the flock and the barn in the upper is all that’s left, and I’m hoping we can squeeze five more days of grazing out of it. The grass is very lush in the lower part of the field, but the farmhouse and barn at the end of the pasture look awfully close from the sheeps’ point of view.
The sheep, bless them, are utterly unaware that the gas gauge is close to E, and are as enthusiastic as ever moving to the next grazing area.