Having hair sheep since 2011 has been quite the education, and let me tell you, the biggest lesson learned is this: prepare for constant goat confusion! Seriously, you could show a picture to a dozen people, and at least half will confidently declare, “Cute goats!” Nope, folks! Genetically speaking, these wool-less wonders are all sheep. Think of them as the canine equivalent of those breeds that grow a thick winter coat only to dramatically shed it come springtime. Our old ram was a master of the one-piece peel-off, leaving behind what looked like a perfectly sheep-shaped fuzzy rug. Others? Not so graceful. They’d sport the “just survived a bar fight” look for weeks, with tufts of hair clinging to every tree they used for an impromptu scratch session.
Now, while they might look a bit goat-like, their personalities are decidedly more… skittish. Forget the docile, woolly stereotypes. Unless they’ve been bottle-fed and hand-grain-bribed from day one, these guys are suspicious of everything. Startle them, and they’re practically Olympic high jumpers, capable of scaling an invisible wall around a six-foot human. The upside? No shearing! Their lack of wool also means no matted, messy tails, keeping their rear ends surprisingly tidy.
When it comes to babies, hair sheep are prolific. Twins are the norm, and triplets? Not even a head-turner. We even learned a trick called “flushing” to encourage even more lambs. A few weeks before introducing the ram, we’d treat the ewes to extra tasty grain, making them think it’s a bumper year for resources. This little confidence boost for their bodies dramatically increases the chances of multiple births. And get this – even though ewes only have two teats, they somehow manage to raise three, even four, lambs like it’s no big deal! Then there’s the “ram effect.” Introduce a ram to a group of ewes who’ve been living the single life, and BAM! Instant sheepish romance novel. They all go into heat around the same time, leading to a glorious lamb explosion.
Speaking of lambs, their nursing habits are utterly charming. Picture tiny tails going full helicopter mode – that’s your indicator they’re getting their milk fix. They also instinctively head-butt their mom’s udder to get things flowing, a behavior that becomes significantly less cute (and more like a full-body shove) as they grow. I’ve seen twin lambs practically launch their poor mother into the air with their enthusiastic bunting! Eventually, the ewes have had enough and stage a strategic retreat, forcing the youngsters to find other dining options. It’s not long before those long, wobbly legs mean they have to awkwardly bend their front knees just to reach breakfast. If a human picks up a lamb, the mother looks around frantically on the ground. It’s not a natural instinct for ewes to look for flying lambs!
Weaning is the inevitable “time to grow up” moment. We separate the lambs from their moms, usually around three months (though it can be done earlier). Prepare for a few days of intense baa-ing drama. The lambs sound utterly heartbroken, and some mothers call back with equal distress, while others seem to relish the peace and quiet. Eventually, the ewes’ milk dries up, and the families are reunited. This is also the point where the boy lambs get their bachelor pads – even though the odds are low, they can breed surprisingly early. Funny enough, some ewes will wean their lambs on their own, especially if they’re looking a bit worn out by their demanding offspring.
Honestly, watching lambs is pure entertainment. They’re like tiny, fluffy daredevils, constantly trying to sneak sips of milk from unsuspecting ewes. Pregnant ewes become unwitting jungle gyms, with lambs gleefully leaping onto their massive bellies. Some moms tolerate this bouncy behavior; others deliver a swift head-butt as a clear “get off my lawn!” message. And like their distant mountain goat cousins, all sheep, especially lambs, have an inexplicable love affair with hills. Higher ground is always the ultimate goal. They also have this adorable habit of running in tight circles as a group, punctuated by random, gravity-defying leaps.
Over the years, we’ve had three main hair sheep breeds. Katahdins are the beefy, light-colored ones. Painted Deserts are the supermodels – trim and sporting a stylish mix of white, black, and brown. Then there are the Barbados/American Blackbellies, mostly a rich brown with striking black markings around their eyes and neck. They look almost identical, except for one key difference: Barbados Blackbelly rams are hornless, while the American Blackbelly boys proudly sport impressive horns. It’s trickier to tell the ewes apart, but most in America tend to be the American variety.
Of course, raising livestock comes with its share of worries, and predators are always a concern. Eagles, coyotes, wolves – they all see a tasty lamb snack. Our defense strategy involves Fort Knox-level fencing and, crucially, livestock guardian animals. Many folks opt for big, brave dogs like Great Pyrenees or Anatolian Shepherds, who live with the sheep and instinctively protect them. Others choose llamas or donkeys. We had a llama named Rosie, and I’d bet my boots she could have drop-kicked a coyote into next week. She was a formidable, if slightly intimidating, presence.
So, are sheep fun? Absolutely! If you’ve got the land and decent fences (trust me on the fence part!), they’re surprisingly low-maintenance. But remember, a hole in the fence is an open invitation to explore the greener grass (literally!) on the other side. And say goodbye to low-hanging tree leaves. For the most part, they’re content to graze and do their own thing, but they’ll also keep a watchful, slightly suspicious eye on your every move. They’re definitely more than just “goats in disguise”!
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