Bitter cold

I never used to mind winter, at least not until late February when I had grown increasingly tired of shoveling out the driveway and bundling up in 20 extra lbs of clothing just to go outside and get the mail.  But dealing with snow and extreme cold when you have a handful of animals living in unheated quarters gives you a whole new perspective.

Snow and arctic air (we’re hitting a high of 1 degree today with the night plummeting to -12 degrees; unexpectedly cold for December, even up here) dramatically impacts the world of farm animals; in the case of our sheep, for instance, shrinking it from several acres of pasture to a 30’ x 24’ barn with run-in.  The hens and sheep are used to grazing and foraging for food, and suddenly access to anything remotely green or even brown has been lost.  In addition, with the intense cold comes voracious appetites as their bodies require more and more energy (i.e., food) to create the internal heat necessary to their survival.  So the sheep get extra hay and sweet feed, and the hens get extra feed as well (along with treats such as spinach, lettuce and cabbage).  Anything to keep those internal engines churning along.

Moving around becomes more difficult as well (for us, as well as the animals).  The hens dislike walking in even a ¼ inch of snow and will fly the 2 feet from their ramp into the small lean-to that sits next to their coop in the winter, where there is still a patch of greenery.  But when you add bitter cold to the mix, the brave one or two (often Chatty Cathy or Ida) stick their head out the coop door when I open it in the morning, glance around at the frozen wasteland, and then look at me and start squawking, as if this weather is all my doing.  Then it’s back into their warm coop with its ample food supply and comfy perches. For the next couple of months, this process will be repeated every morning. Everyday, they will stick their heads out of the coop hoping for some green grass and warm sun. Everyday, I will be chided for my inability to provide such simple things for them.

This is my first winter with sheep, and I admit I’m likely projecting my own fears and discomforts onto them.  No doubt I’m worrying unnecessarily.  I know they have thick, insulating wool to keep them toasty, and the local sheep farmers have told me that sheep are not phased by cold (new-born lambs, yes, but not healthy sheep).  Nonetheless, today I opted to keep them in the barn with extra hay and warm water, and an added layer of fresh straw on the floor to add more warmth.  I felt a little better thinking of them snug in the barn, contentedly chewing on hay, with dry hooves.  The reality is they probably feel unjustly imprisoned and are staging their escape as I write this.

The dogs, on the other hand, have the best of both worlds.  They joyously bound out of the house after a fresh snow fall to play.  They romp, they roll, they chase snowballs.  But when the cold is too bitter, like today, they go out as a matter of necessity to do their biz and immediately return to the warmth of the house.  On days like today, you will find the dogs lounging in front of the fire, or sleeping contentedly on the sofa or on a bed.  Dogs have it figured out.