I brought you in, I’ll take you out?

As I write this Dylan is outside in the shop skinning the lamb I so stressfully helped bring into the world. Y’all remember the lamb I had to pull out of Calpernia? That’s the one. I got home today and she was dead, from what I can only assume was a yak/cow or sheep vs. my little Molly situation. 

Remember those puppies we had? Two of them had been living in the barn, one awaiting pickup by her new family and the other, Ghost, about to learn how to be a sheep guardian. However, I had limited space options for a lamb carcus, so the puppies came into the house. All the better to soothe my broken heart. 

I barricaded the puppies in the mud room and went to have a good cry. Returning to the mud room to find that the puppies had torn open a bag of concrete. Because why not? I then moved the pups into the bathroom, thinking that was a safer place, and went to assist Dylan.

 I suppose I’m some kind of horribly twisted masochist because I was no help and just sat staring at the little lamb I had birthed. Recalling both my joy and terror that day. I guess I just wanted to see how bad I could feel. Pretty bad it turns out. 

Back into the house. I had already called the vet about the pups and the concrete, watch them overnight. Cool. I was hoping to have one more thing to keep me up all night, one just wouldn’t be enough. 

The bathroom was not a safe place. 

Update: puppies are fine.