This Place Is Insane!

There are moments on the farm when I pause, look around, and wonder if I accidentally stepped into a deleted scene from a Monty Python movie. Today was one of those days.

We have an 8-foot hay feeder out in the pasture with a slanted plywood roof—practical, straightforward, keeps the hay dry, does what it's supposed to do. What it’s not supposed to be is a launch pad for sheep gymnastics.

One of our ewe lambs decided the feeder was not for feeding, but for freedom. She’d get a running start, charge up the slanted roof like she was storming Normandy, and hurl herself off the top—onto the backs of the other sheep. Most of them were not amused. There was a lot of panicked shuffling, annoyed grunts, and the kind of side-eye that said, “Seriously?”

But Bruce—oh, sweet Bruce the ram—just stood there. Like a saint. Or a bored playground dad who’s been used as a jungle gym one too many times. She’d land on his back, spring off again, land back on the feeder, and repeat the whole process like she was auditioning for Cirque du So-Lamb. Sometimes she'd fall off him entirely and just zip around to do it again, like a woolly little parkour expert with no sense of personal space or gravity.

Eventually, the rest of the flock had enough and shuffled away to the far side of the pasture. All but one ewe, who stood nearby, clearly regretting her life choices. She watched the whole routine with a look on her face that can only be described as, “This place is insane.” You could practically see the gears turning in her head as she weighed whether she, too, should find somewhere else to stand. Or maybe move out entirely.

And then I noticed why she looked so particularly done with the day:
She had a chicken roosting on her head.

Just standing there like it was the most natural thing in the world. The chicken was perched up high like she owned the place, and the ewe stood there like a woman stuck at a dinner party she couldn't escape. The combination made her look like she was wearing the world's weirdest hat. For you Harry Potter fans, imagine Neville Longbottom’s grandmother's vulture hat—but more... barnyard chic.

So, yeah. I have to agree. This place is definitely insane.

No Wonder Sheep Are Dumb

Meanwhile, back in the land of questionable judgment and limited brain cells… Pippin, the Saanen goat and Tiger, a wethered sheep, have formed a special bond based entirely on mutual idiocy. They’re about a year old, full of beans, and apparently decided yesterday was the perfect day to reenact Gladiator.

Their game of the day? “Head Butt”. Because nothing says “friendship” like repeated blunt force trauma.

Pippin reared up on her hind legs like a boxing kangaroo. Tiger came charging in from a solid three feet away, both of them going full throttle—and crack! You could hear the collision echo across the pasture.

They both stood there blinking, clearly trying to refocus after seeing stars. And then one of them said, telepathically:

“Hey! That hurt!”
“Yeah, but what a rush!”
“Let’s do it again!”

Which they did. Several times. Why? Because sheep... and goats.

At this point I’m starting to wonder if there’s a correlation between repeated cranial trauma and their complete inability to solve basic problems—like, say, not getting stuck in a fence they just walked through two minutes ago.

I'm sure all this causes brain damage. Which explains a lot!

That's farm life, where even the smallest animals have big personalities, questionable instincts, and no sense of self-preservation.