Apparently today is the official start of the dog days of summer.
I always thought that meant dogs lying around in the shade, tongues hanging out. Turns out it has something to do with a star. Which is fine, I suppose, but around here it still mostly means dogs and sheep lying around in the shade, tongues hanging out.
Rita has been digging holes in the sand this week like she’s trying to reach China, just looking for one cool spot to stretch out in. I can’t say I blame her, and for now I’ve let it happen despite the mess.
But unfortunately, the sheep can’t dig cooling holes, and they still need looking after. This heat has turned that into a full-time mental exercise. We have a group of ewes inside with their lambs right now, and all week it’s been a battle of moving fans, checking water, keeping pens dry, and trying to keep enough air moving through the barn so everyone stays comfortable.
The trouble is our lamb barn runs on a limited off-grid power system, which sounds wonderful and simple until you suddenly need to run a bunch of fans in July. I’ve spent most of the week trying to find fans that will work on the power we have available, and so far I’d call my success limited.
So for now, I’ve been running a gas generator to power fans for the sheep and lambs. There’s probably some irony in having an off-grid barn and then dragging out a generator to keep everyone cool, but honestly, it’s been too hot to think that through very deeply. More special low-power fans are on order, but they won’t be here until Saturday, which means until then we’re just doing what farmers do best: cobbling together a temporary solution and hoping it holds.
Anyhow, the other day I was sitting at the door of our nice air-conditioned house, putting on my boots to head back up to the barn for another check. And as I sat there, cool air around me, boots half on, worried about the sheep and knowing exactly what kind of wall of heat was waiting outside, I had one of those thoughts.
I have random thoughts from time to time. Always have. I like to think it’s because I’m an out-of-the-box thinker, though I’ll admit not every thought deserves a box of its own. Some have value. Some do not. This one was likely in the second group.
I thought, “Could I just bring the sheep into the house for a few days?”
Now, don’t worry. I didn’t act on it. But for a moment, I fully pictured it. Lambs bouncing across the couch. Rita sprawled out on the cool tile floor like she owned the place. Ewes tucked under the kitchen table, chewing their cud and looking quite pleased with the accommodations. Maybe one standing in front of the fridge because she’d heard that’s where the good stuff is kept.
It made me laugh, sitting there with my boots in hand.
Then, of course, the second thought arrived.
Could a house ever recover from that?
I’m not sure it could. In fact, I’m fairly confident the only reasonable next step would be to condemn the dwelling entirely. No amount of mopping, airing out, or scented candles would bring it back. You’d have to hand the keys to the sheep and start fresh somewhere else.
So why such a prolonged daydream about livestock in the living room?
Well, if I’m honest, I think it was just procrastination. I didn’t really want to leave the air conditioning and walk back into the heat. I was sitting there trying to delay the inevitable, and my brain decided that imagining sheep under the kitchen table was more pleasant than actually going outside.
But that’s the thing about hot weather, isn’t it? It wears on everything. The animals slow down. The dogs dig holes. The farmer sits at the door a little longer than usual, pretending to have deep thoughts when really he’s just stalling.
Still, the boots eventually went on. I headed back out. The generator was humming, the fans were moving air, the lambs were doing fine, and Rita was tucked down in her hole, freshly dug another six inches deeper.
I suppose I could have really summarized this whole story with:
It’s hot. End of story.
But what fun would that have been?
Farmer Rod