Notes From The Pole Barn

Hot again.

The sheep lower their heads into corners and behind gates,
they shake their legs and stamp their feet at the flies,
their wool quivers with their breathing, as if driven by a small engine.

The sheep spend their day in the shade of the pole barn,
by the afternoon it’s filled with manure and piss.

I muck out the manure and throw wood chips in the puddle of piss to  absorb the moisture.

Lori squats and creates a long stream of urine, refilling the puddle.

The sheep are restless,
they lay down and get up again,
walk from one side of the barn to the other
dropping manure where I just cleaned,
as they go.

Kim holds her bad leg off the ground.

I know she’s waiting for us to leave before she lays down.

She’s the only animal on the farm afraid of Zinnia.
Probably because,
unlike the other sheep,
when Zinnia chases her,
she runs
so Zinnia get excited
and chases her more.

Maybe when the dogs and I leave the sheep will settle, I think.

I call the dogs and leave the barnyard.

Sometimes it better for the sheep when the shepherd isn’t there.