Have you ever had a smell in your house that just won't quit?  Well, that's what I'm dealing with...although it's a dead smell...and I can't find it.  Thankfully the smell is in the cellar.  Sadly I go down there numerous times a day.
     It all started on Monday when I went to the cellar for canning jars.  This gal Kid knows is doing a fundraiser and had asked around for jar donations.  Rarely being one to say no to a kid's fundraiser, I said I'd happily give her a dozen along with some extras to have painted for myself.  Anyway...I'm kind of getting off track.  I went to the basement for the jars I've used over the past few months and as I was looking through the boxes I found a totally creepy snake skin.  Yep, that's right...a snake skin...in with some of my canning jars.  *shudder*  Needless to say I was not impressed.
     Suddenly I had numerous questions rattling through my head...the most important being where is the snake now?  Is it living in a box?  Will I find it before it finds me?  Is it Anaconda-sized, just waiting to swallow me hole,  with my family profiting from the Lifetime (or SiFi) movie deal that'll arise from it?  We watched a television program earlier this week about a man that wanted to be swallowed by an Anaconda.  Yuck.  The issue of where the mystery snake went has made me put a plan of action together where I ask the kids to go down there for anything I need that I know they'll be able to find.  There's a lot of stuff in the cellar.
     Now you're wondering where the smell comes into the story, I bet.  All this talk about a snake, but not the smell.  Well, next to the snake skin was a dead mouse.  Again, yuck.  I got it and the snake skin out of the box and threw them in the woods, by the way.  Problem is, on Tuesday when I went into the cellar there was this light odorifus odor of dead mouse lingering in the air.  I know I threw the one outside that I had found, so where is this smell coming from?  Hopefully not anywhere near wherever the snake is.
     I had figured *pft* the bait trap did it's job.  I can handle the smell of one little mouse...although if I could find it and get rid of it that would be better...but the snake...  Since Tuesday the smell has increased from the smell of one dead mouse to the smell of one dead mouse and all of it's minions.  For all I know it could be the snake, the mouse, and it's minions.  The smell is that stinky.
     I had hoped last night when Hon went down in the cellar to unplug the outside Christmas lights that he would notice and oh...I don't know...maybe look for the air de-freshener, but he didn't say a word.  I'm wondering if his head is completely stuffed up from a cold.  I've had Eldest go down there and turn the water to the barn on and off for me.  Still, not a word.  They're making me feel like it's all in my head, when it's actually all in my nose.
     How long does it take for a decaying mouse and it's minions to dissipate?  Possibly a snake?  I'm rooting for the snake, personally.  If I reach into a container or box for something and pull up a snake instead, trust me, you'll know.  That's because the scream coming from my lungs will cut through air and travel distances only dreamed of.  

     Since we're in the midst of the holiday season, what traditions do you enjoy with your family and friends?  Is there something you look forward to every year?  I don't know about you, but the first Saturday in December is one that I always look forward to.  That's because it's the Westerville Christmas Spectacular.  It's also because my nephew Matt is a part of the production as a dancer.  That's him over there in the picture wearing the red and black outfit, by the way.  Notice how he effortlessly picks up that young girl and keeps on keeping on.  Yep...that's my nephew, alright!  You rock, Matt!!
     The Westerville Christmas Spectacular has been around for I have no idea how many years, but we've been enjoying it since we moved here to Ohio.  It's been a lot of fun watching the dancers as they grow up on that stage. We may only see them once a year (besides Matt, of course), and we may not personally know each other, but I recognize the changes.  It amazes me when I see a little girl carrying a bear around, so unsure of herself and then five years later dancing with amazing grace and confidence.
     I can only imagine all of the work that goes into a production like this, and our family appreciates every bit of it.  Each year a Westerville charity organization or family in need is chosen to help as a way to give back to the community, and that is an added bonus to this amazing show.  To me, helping out is a given any time of year, but for it to coincide with a fun event like this is an added bonus.
     From dancing penguins and elves to dolls and reindeer, this is a great performance!  Let me tell you, though, it's so good that it's hard for me to contain myself in my seat!  I've done good over the years tapping my toes and doing a little hopefully unnoticed seat wiggle dancing, but I'm afraid one of these days I'll be jumping up to dance the Elf Lean.  Yep.  I can see it now...
     So folks, what do you enjoy doing this time of year?  I don't mean the rushing around stuff where you feel the need to get all of the decorations up, the presents bought, and everything just so.  Relax!  Do you bake cookies? String popcorn? Support your community in some way? Cozy up in front of the fire or at the table and play board games?  Don't forget the hot chocolate and marshmallows!  There are so many fun activities going on!  Pick one...something you haven't done before, even.  Make some memories.  You'll be glad you did.
     Next weekend I'll be at the Adena Mansion in Chillicothe to help with their Breakfast with Santa event.  That's a new one for me, maybe even a new tradition.  Who knows...but I will tell you I plan on having a great time and enjoying myself.  Have a wonderful weekend and enjoy time with family and friends.  I don't know about you, but I'm feeling a need to do the Elf Lean again.  Smiling & Waving, Sharon 
     
     

     This  morning I woke up to one of my favorite ewes, Crystal, doing what she does best...yelling at me to get out there and feed her.  You'd think with thick brick walls surrounding me I wouldn't hear it, but her hollering would probably penetrate Ft. Knox.  That, however, is just the beginning of the story...and actually has nothing to do with what I now call "the joyride."
     So there I was, walking out to the pond pasture to get the geese out while listening to Crystal yammering at me, and I heard a weird noise.  At first I thought it was just the wind in the trees.  It made me stop and listen, though, because it was sort of like an engine idling.  Huh, weird.
     After I let the geese out for their morning flight around the farm and back I noticed the sound was still there.  Hmmmmm, that's weird.  It wasn't coming from the trees, but from just down the street.  I figured it must be hunters parking on our side yard again without asking if it was okay.  They ask, we're okay with it.  They don't ask and it's just plain rude.  Anyway, I took a walk over to the road and when I glanced down there I saw a big 18 wheeler grain hauler truck that had been parked in the neighbor's field for the past few weeks.  The engine was running and the lights were on.  I didn't appreciate the big dents in the soft ground from it or the ones it was making from resting there for who knows how long.  What to do...what to do...  I know, go get Hon.  He can talk to the person this time after we find him.
     Hon took a walk down the road and found the truck was empty.  Then we got to thinking the driver must be hunting.  It's not the first time someone has seen a deer and decided to plunk themselves in our side yard and see if they can get it.  Honestly, we were kind of irritated.  
     Since I was smart and had my smartphone with me, I Googled the truck company and gave them a call.  Okay, so I thought it was the right company.  Come to find out the trucking company on the side of the truck has the exact same name as the one I called, only the latter having no clue what I was talking about.  Poor man.  He must have thought I was a genuine strawberry blonde for calling, which I am, but he said he'd check into it and see what he could find out for us.
     In the meantime, Hon decided to turn off the truck engine and lights because it had been at least a couple of hours and the thing was still sitting there running.  After prowling around the woods for the driver and coming up with nothing my stomach was really growling so we decided to call it a morning with the mess and go eat.  Okay, so Hon made me eggs...I Googled the company again and came up with the correct truck company.
    As it's Sunday I left a message, the company calling back within a very short time though.  Being the woman I am, I let Hon get the call.  Sometimes it's better to have him handle the weird situations and give me a break.  Come to find out the truck owner was a bit surprised to put it mildly that his truck was in our side yard because he's had it sitting down the road in the farmer's field for the past two weeks.  He also wasn't happy when Hon told him that a big part of the truck cab's front driver side bumper-type thing was missing.  There are some big swerve marks in the road where the truck about took a telephone pole out, too, but clearly that damage must have been done somewhere else on the road because we didn't see the missing truck part.
     Here's what I don't get...why in the world would you leave the keys to your rig in it?  I know we live out in the county, but crime and plain 'ole idiocracy happens everywhere.  We've had our share of less than stellar folks coming to call over the past almost seven years.  Shoot, whether I've lived in a city, the suburbs, or the country I've never left my keys in a vehicle.  Someone might come across it and decide to...oh, I don't know...take it.
     So there you have it folks.  I'm glad we were able to track down the truck's owner.  I'm also happy we'll have it out of the side yard soon.  I'm hoping whoever decided to take his truck for a joyride feels horribly bad this morning...for both their wrong doing and for the major hangover they're probably suffering from.  I can't imagine from the swerves in the road and skirting the muddy ditch, not to mention the big hunk of truck missing, that they did this sober.  Oh, and as for the man I spoke to at the other trucking company, I did call him back to let him know I located the correct trucking company so he wasn't continuing to help us solve the mystery.  Smiling & Waving, Sharon 

     Every once in a while I like to get out of here, enjoy time with friends sans family, and then head on back to whatever awaits me.  I know, you're shocked.  You don't understand.  Why in the world would I ever want to leave this little slice of paradise just shy of heaven?  Well, I see it as a period of rejuvenation.  It's amazing what a few hours away will do to my psyche.  It doesn't happen often.  You may include knitting with friends once a week, maybe a trip to the grocery store or the farmers market as away time, but I don't.  I'm talking about a roll the windows down because the air conditioning doesn't work right, turn up the pop-type country music, don't call me for stupid stuff like, "Can I eat a Hot Pocket," and get on down the road for an afternoon of friend visiting...or whatever is on my agenda.  It really does me some good to get out of here so I can come back bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to face whatever havoc has happened while I was gone.
     Yesterday I went to visit my friends George and Jerry, who live in the big city of Cincinnati.  You see, George bought Jerry a picker for Christmas and offered to let me give it a workout with a still dirty after washing three times fleece I bought while I was in Maryland this past May.  Oh yes, I went to a big fleece show in Maryland, and didn't even tell you about that one.  Man oh man, was that a blast!  Uber rejuvenation time since I hadn't been away in way too many years.  Anyway, for those of you don't know what a picker is, it's this equipment that can cost, well, I'll just leave it at an arm and a leg to be polite, and does a fantastic job removing vegetation and other various splodgy matter from fleece.  It's also a dangerous piece of equipment because it has these stainless steel nails that are on the top and bottom of it that the fleece moves through as the arm of it is swung back and forth.  It's also a piece of equipment that kind of freaks George out because of the dangerocity of it...even though he bought the thing.  The picker has warning stickers all over it, and George gave me the skinny on the do's and don'ts of it, but still, he's a little jumpy when it's in use.  Even so, I was up for the challenge.  Besides, it wasn't like trying to hang curtains using screws and a hammer.  It was fun.
     In the end, George told me that Hog Island fleece I bought from Mt. Vernon through the Maryland Sheep and Wool show was the dirtiest fleece he'd ever seen when it came to the junk left in it even after it had been cleaned.  Oh, I knew it was dirty...real dirty...but I also felt good about buying that particular fleece because the money I spent on it would go back to the upkeep of a heritage sheep breed at Mt. Vernon.  I also figure that, although the fleece had gone through the picker three times, it could have gone through another three or ten times and still have stuff falling out of it.  Even so, an amazingly nice fleece.  
     Now you're probably thinking I spent my whole time while I was visiting working hard.  Nope.  George worked on the fleece, too.  I just so happened to bring along a couple of Icelandic fleeces.  I figured it was a good time to see how the picker worked on those, too, since we don't coat our sheep.  Jerry worked on the Icelandic fleece, and did a mighty fine job of it, too.  George said he (Jerry, that is) likes to use the picker and I can see why.  It really does a fantastic job at getting unwanted stuff out of fleece.  It also pulls the fibers apart and fluffs them up so the fleece is like a fluffy cloud.  Ahhhhhhhh.
     So, there you have it, folks.  I drove, I worked, I gossiped, and had an overall fantastic time with great friends.  I even made it home just fine...after going the wrong way on the interstate and finding myself in Kentucky before being able to turning around, barely escaping a taxi and car collision in front of me, driving through a torrential downpour that was determined to follow me, and finding pickles and mustard on my burger. Thanks for the lovely afternoon, George and Jerry.  I truly appreciate the use of the picker and your friendship.  Smiling & Waving, Sharon 

     I know what you've been doing...patiently sitting on the edge of your seat...waiting to find out if we brought home the queen in that swarm.  Well, sadly, we didn't get the queen.  Don't fret though, everything will be a-okay.  Young'un's new hive is thriving and before you know it, a new queen will be ruling it.
     You see, after we got home with the partial swarm and I voiced (okay, texted) my concern to Dan Williams about half of the swarm up and leaving in a cloud of, er, bees, I was afraid the queen was one of the bazillion that took off.  I was also afraid the bees we did have would also take off not long after getting them situated in their new home, rendering our bee busting excursion a bust.  He said what we needed to do is put a frame of brood from Young'un's established hive into the new hive because the bees wouldn't leave the babies whether there was a queen or not.  
     Truth be told, I was skeptical.  I mean, why would a bunch of bees that were caught before they could head out with the rest of the swarm, stuck in a box that was duct taped and bungie corded together, drug across town in an un-airconditioned van, and then stuck in another box want to stick around and raise some other bees brood?  
     Anyway, I must admit, Dan was spot-on.  The bees that were there stayed with the brood and took it upon themselves to raise them up.  What good bees!  Even though they stayed, we still didn't know yet if we had the queen.  After a few days of letting the bees settle in we went to take a peek and see.  Sadly, neither of us could find the queen.  That wasn't unusual for us, though, because although we know the queen is in Young'un's established hive, we can't find her.  She's a sneaky ruler.  
     We decided to wait a few days and then go back in the hive and see if we could find the queen.  Again, we couldn't find her, but we did find something else.  Queen cells.  That's right, queen cells.  We had heard about them when we took our beekeeping class, but now we were seeing them up close and personal.  Come to find out, because the bees didn't have a queen, they decided to make their own.  They also only did that because we took Dan's advice and stuck that frame of brood in there.  What that means is the bees began making some queen cells, which are sort of weird longer cells that stick out further from the frame and remind me of a Morel mushroom.  Then they selected some of the developing brood and placed them in those cells.  
     A few weeks from now we're expecting those potential queens to hatch out.  I know, you're thinking lucky girls...being fed royal jelly...pampered...you know, a queen's life.  Well, let me tell you, it's not going to be all you think once they hatch.  That's because there are six queen cells...and only room for one queen.  This is where the adage, "The strong will survive," comes into play.  Only one queen will reign, while the others will have had a severely shortened lifespan.  Sad, but that's the nature of the beast.
     So, there you have it, folks.  There's not a queen in the hive, but there will be.  We're anxiously awaiting the day she hatches out and begins her reign...which I can only imagine is quite a job considering all those bees she has to keep in line.  We're really enjoying our beekeeping experience and can't help but dream of the day when we get our first taste of sweet honey from Young'un's hives. Oh, and I've been stung once now.  The perils of being the sidekick.  Smiling & Waving, Sharon 

     You may not know this, but Young'un and I became official beekeepers last month.  Well, technically he's the beekeeper and I'm the sidekick...but still, sometimes I think I should get a genuine costume to wear for the things I think of and do for the love of Young'un and his bees.
     For example, the morning we actually picked up the bees I got up and said, "Hey Hon, I think we need to make Young'un a bee yard for his bees so the sheep don't rub the boxes over when they scratch their butts on them."  Then I made breakfast and we piddled around a bit.  Then I said, "Hey Hon, we have to pick the bees up in four hours.  Let's get that bee yard started."  Let me tell you, it's amazing what our family is able to accomplish in four hours when we put our minds to it and are on a deadline to bring bees home. 
     This week we got a call from a local fella who said he had a swarm of bees he wanted us to come and get.  First  thing that came to mind was where's Ashton Kutcher because I think I'm being punked.  Then I realized the guy was serious.  After that came thoughts of us having no idea what to do to get the swarm...although since we had only one hive, we wanted it badly.  You see, there's a real nice guy by the name of Dan Williams who has been a wonderful asset to Young'un and his bee adventure.  He's the person that came here last year and took a swarm out of one of our trees.  Come to find out, he was at work and couldn't get the swarm, so he gave the man our number to give a call because we really wanted another hive to add to the bee yard.
     First thing I did after telling the fella we'd be over in a bit was consult the Beekeeping for Dummies book.  It has loads of great information, quite frankly, although after reading it I was still a bit foggy on what to do.  I sure as the world didn't want to go over there and cut off a branch on someone's tree when they weren't home and there was just a neighbor to show me where it was...and sometimes I'm not the best with tools, so Hon would probably have had a bit of a freak if he knew what my intentions were with his saw.  I decided to call someone in our beekeeping club to ask some questions and clear some of the fog from my mind.  I also had a few texts from Dan with some suggestions. Then it was time for us to put what was in theory to the test.
     In the end I told Young'un no matter what we were to go there like professionals...and under no uncertain circumstances let on that we were total noobs that were flying by the seat of our pants and a Beekeeping for Dummie book.  Then Young'un told me we were going over there to be bee busters, which of course had me thinking of the Ghostbusters movie, and subsequently stuck that theme song in my head which is days later still being sung in my mind.  We packed up the things we knew we needed for our adventure and off we went...singing our new theme song, Bee Busters.
     In the end we got our bee swarm...or at least part of it.  In short, this is how it went...  I put a tote under the swarm and gently tapped the tree limb so the swarm would fall into it while Young'un stood to the side and observed the delicate procedure.  So far so good.  Then I tipped the tote over so the bees would lightly fall into the nuc box so we could secure it and take the bees to their new home.  Problem was the bees had other ideas.  As I poured them in, half of them flew out of the box all around us and then off in a cloud of crazy. The neighbors that were watching from across the road decided at that point to run in the house for some reason.  All we could do is hope we had the queen.  We secured the top on the box reeeeeal well and off we went to take our bees home.  We even went back later that night to get any scouts that went back to the tree.  In hindsight, I suppose we should have used that smoker tool to smoke them before I did the whole process, but I consider this a learning experience...and we didn't even think to take it with us anyway.
     As of now the bees are happily doing what bees do in their little nuc box.  Hon is going to make us some larger boxes for the bees tomorrow and then we'll put them in their new bigger box.  When we transfer them to that box we'll get a good look at what's going on with the bees and see what we see.
     So, there you have it folks.  Youg'un is an official beekeeper and I'm his personal assistant. I still think a costume is in order.  We had what we both classify as an uber awesome experience bringing home our first swarm and look forward to doing it again now that we kind of sort of know what we're doing.  I suppose you'll have to stay tuned on occasion to keep up with what's going on in the bee yard.  In the meantime, below are a few pictures of us building the bee yard and setting up Young'un's first hive.  Smiling & Waving, Sharon 

     Usually I wake up in the morning feeling great.  Well rested.  I can easily convince myself that the decaf I'm drinking is actually leaded.  Today, not so much.  In fact, not yesterday either.  
     It's after noon and I'm sitting here nursing another cup of Two Roasting Joes spiked with loads of sugar and cream to help me along through schooling Young'un.  I think I might feel human again soon.
     I know, I know, now you're wondering why.  Well, you see, I've been shearing sheep day and night.  Yes, I said night, too.  It's like a never ending shear fest.
     I spent a good chunk of Saturday and most of Sunday shearing.  I'm in no way a professional. I use the old fashioned hand shears and don't follow the guidelines.  Why? Because I'm me and when it comes down to the nitty gritty of it, the way I do it is what works.  It takes me a long time to get to the end results because we both get a little nervous around the front of the neck area, privates, and the flappy bits of skin at the legs, but when I reach the finish line I have a well skirted fleece to work with and a happy to be cool again sheep.
     I don't have a shearing stand, although it would be nice.  Instead, I pick out my wooly victim, run around like an idiot until I catch her (ahem, or him - I really need to learn how to lasso), get a harness on her, tie her to the stall, and get down to business.  If the lucky winner isn't cooperative, I have a way with bracing her up against the wall with my hip and getting the job done.  Sometimes I'll utilize one of the family to help if I have an extra unwilling participant.  Either way I get 'er done.
     Here's the problem...  Shearing has crossed over into my dreams.  I've spent the last two nights shearing all night.  Alllll. Niiiiiiight.  I close my eyes and next thing I know *WHAM-O*  I'm shearing sheep. It's never ending.  There's a line up of sheep just waiting for my attention.  Well behaved sheep, reluctant sheep, big sheep, little sheep, horned sheep, polled sheep, sheep with spots ~ I think you get the picture.  It's just me, my hand shears, a rope harness, and sheep.
     What's not fair about it isn't just the lack of sleep because I'm working so hard in my dreams, but the fact that I look like I've lost a good 10 lbs from all the work...and they never pee in my boot when I'm working at the back.  When I wake up I'm bone tired, stiff, and the weight I lost is mysteriously back.  GAH! I won't even get into what's on my clothes (or in my boots) from daytime shearing after I've been sitting, kneeling, and scooting around on the barn floor. 
     So there you have it, folks.  That is why I sit here enjoying yet another cup of leaded Two Roasting Joes heavily laced with sugar and cream.  I've been shearing during the day and I've been shearing throughout the night.  Next time you're counting sheep to go to sleep, just remember when they leap over that fence as you drift off they're leaping into our pasture for me to get to work on.  Little Bo Peep's sheep are also here.  So are the sheep from the Serta mattress commercials.  All sheep, it seems, eventually end up in my dreams.  Time to get a move on. I don't have much daylight left before it's time to get back to work.  Smiling & Waving, Sharon 
     

     Of all the books I read to our children growing up, there's one in particular that stands out. I only saw it once at a little gift shop in Arthurdale, WV, when we lived there many years ago, and never regretted buying it. We were years away from starting our own family, and money was tight, but the Fates just wouldn't let me put it down. The book is titled What Makes a Rainbow, by Betty Ann Schwartz. Over the years I have enjoyed reading this book to our sons and my students many times, and will enjoy reading it to our grandchildren some day, too. It's not only a pop-up book, but one that has rainbow colored ribbons threaded throughout the pages. I was captivated. Every young child I read it to was also captivated.
     What Makes a Rainbow begins like this - “Little Rabbit and his mother were sitting under a big, red flower petal. 'Look!' said Little Rabbit. 'It stopped raining.' 'Yes,' said Mama Rabbit. 'Soon we'll see a rainbow.' 'What makes a rainbow?' asked Little Rabbit. 'Why don't you ask your friends?' said Mama Rabbit.”
      Now you're wondering why I've shared this wonderful little book with you. Is it because I want you to go out and comb the local bookshop for it? Well, you're more than welcome to. It really is a lovely book. Is it because I want you to read this to children? Reading sure is important, and I highly recommend doing that for yourself and to others, but still...not what I'm thinking.
      Ever since we brought our first Icelandics home six years ago I would on occasion think of this book. Not in quite the same way, though. When I take a look out over our little pasture I see a rainbow. Not one of reds and oranges, yellows and greens. Not even of blues and purples. I see an Icelandic rainbow.
      If I had the opportunity to write a book about a rainbow of colors along the same lines as What Makes a Rainbow?, it might go something like this:

Young'un and his mother were sitting under a big old Silver Maple tree.
“Look!” said Young'un, “It stopped raining.” “Yes,” said his mama, “Soon
we'll see a rainbow.” “What makes a rainbow, Mama?” asked Young'un.
“Look towards the barn, and under the trees.” said Mama, “Soon you'll see
one begin to form.”

Young'un looked to the barn and then it began. As he saw Daisy, he asked,
“Miss Daisy, what makes a rainbow?” Daisy gave a shake to her dark thick
wool and replied, “Black. Black makes a rainbow.” Next came Dahlia.
She, too, was asked what makes a rainbow. She stood proudly next to Daisy
and said, “Moorit. Moorit also makes a rainbow.” After Dahlia the parade of
Icelandics continued, spilling out from behind the trees. There were solids and spots,
whites and greys, even mouflons and badgerfaces. It was the most beautiful rainbow
Young'un and his mother had ever seen.

“So, now you know what makes a rainbow,” said Mama.

And that, folks, is the end of my story...for now....  Smiling & Waving, Sharon

     Today I woke up and decided to get off my hiatus and get back to writing. I enjoy it, and have had a bazillion stories to share, but then quite frankly just didn't do it. What can I say, winter was brutally cold and I felt like I spent it huddled under blankets with hot chocolate in hand.  Little did I know I'd walk smack into a story when I went out to the red barn this morning.
     As soon as I saw Minnie standing there looking at me I couldn't help but say, "Well there Minnie, you have yourself in quite a precarious predicament!"  If you're not familiar with what a hay rack looks like, that's one there under her.  Yep. I said under her.  Or you could say she's on top...or in...I could probably use some other adjectives, too.  
     Needless to say, her hoisting her heftiness up into the hay rack made for a bit of a problem.  First, there was Minnie, of course, who was stuck.  Then there was Dandy, who was angry she couldn't get to the hay.  Her course of action was doing her best to headbutt Minnie, which didn't work too well considering she was on the second floor of the establishment.  Maria and Annie didn't care that she was squishing the food.  They just ate around her, which was making her sink deeper into the hay rack.  The rest of the ewes, who are in another area of the barn awaiting their lambs, made sure to voice their opinions over the situation, too.
     I waded through the head butting, eating, and yelling, to assure Minnie I'd help her get out.  Of course, being an Icelandic, she knew exactly what I was saying.  Then I stepped back to assess the situation. I had hoped she'd just jump out, but she wasn't going anywhere on her own.  Next I wondered if I could summon a strong superhero to help.  Clearly they were all sleeping after a hard night of battling bad guys, because neither Thor nor the Hulk responded to my cry, and my bat signal must be on the fritz.  
     Next up on the list of What Can We Do To Get Minnie Out was to lift her out myself.  I summoned all of my strength, wrapped my arms around her legs and heaved.  Yeah, I about heaved alright. Minnie doesn't really live up to her name anymore.  She looked at me like I was an idiot. I think she said, "Try again, hot shot."  Again, I stepped back and assessed the situation.  Then I was smacked in the head with an idea...okay, so it was a bantam trying to get to a higher vantage point...but nonetheless I had an idea.  Hay bales.  
     That's right, folks, hay bales.  I had to move some more into the red barn anyway, so I thought it was worth a shot.  I made hay bale steps. Of course, the others thought I was being very generous in their feed today, and I had to work at keeping them off while trying to get Minnie on, but in the end it all worked out.  I made the steps and then was able to get Minnie's front feet over the edge of the hay rack and onto the bales. Of course, she wasn't too keen on the idea, so I then pushed her from behind.  Next thing you know, she hoisted herself onto the makeshift steps and walked down.  Then she looked at me like I was the idiot and kept right on walking out the barn.  Humph.  
     So, there you have it folks. I saved the day. Okay, it's a bit of an exaggeration.  Let's just hope when I walk into the red barn later I find Minnie with her hooves on the ground where they belong.  Smiling & Waving, Sharon