Spring on the Farm: Zoomies, Worms, and Sheep That REFUSE to Walk on a Leash!

There's something about that first real hint of spring that makes every living creature on this farm lose their mind a little.

The light shifts. The air smells different. And apparently, our Valais Blacknose sheep have been paying very close attention, because the moment we cracked open the pasture gate for the first time this season, they absolutely lost it.

Full zoomies. All of them. Racing around our very sad, very patchy, very much still-recovering pasture like it was the most glorious meadow in all of Connecticut. They did not care that the grass was barely there. They were out, and that was enough.

We kept them out for just a couple of hours — enough to let them stretch their legs and get some fresh air without letting them destroy what little grass was coming in or upset their rumen by eating too much too fast. It's one of those things nobody tells you when you get into sheep farming: the grass management isn't just about the pasture. It's about them too. Transition has to be slow, even when they're sprinting in circles and clearly very much over being inside.

Kuzco true to form, led the charge back to the barn. They're learning fast that coming home means grain, and honestly, that's been one of the most useful things we've taught them. Instinct plus incentive — it works on sheep the same way it works on most things.

When the Farm Teaches You Humility

Not everything this week was cute and wholesome. We got a wake-up call in the form of worms.

Max wasn't looking quite right, and after some investigating, we confirmed he had a worm load that needed to be treated — immediately. AC and I made the drive to Tractor Supply (where we also discovered, not for the first time, that we dress like actual twins — apparently that's just who we are now), picked up the necessary medication, and came home to figure out dosing.

Here's the thing about deworming: the dosage is weight-dependent, and we didn't actually know how much Max weighed. So we did what any reasonable farmers would do. We dragged our bathroom scale out to the barn, AC picked up a full-grown sheep, and we did the math. It worked. It was also a moment.

Total cost to treat Max and then prophylactically treat the rest of the flock: $650. Not what we planned for that week, but this is farming. The surprises are not optional. You just build them into the mindset and keep moving.

The Leash Chronicles

With the vet visits and handling that come with having animals, we've been deliberately working on getting the sheep comfortable being led. Every morning, I go out to the barn with grain and alfalfa pellets and work with them on the leash — one by one, a little at a time.

Maisie and Ivy have taken to it beautifully. Patient, curious, willing to try.

And then there's Kassie.

Kassie has decided that the correct response to a leash is to become a liquid. The moment it goes on, she melts directly into the floor. Every single time. I break into a full sweat working with her, wondering if today is the day we make progress or the day she invents a new form of passive resistance.

But she's getting better. Genuinely. It's slow, and it requires more alfalfa pellets than I'd like to admit — but she's figuring it out. Which, honestly, is a metaphor for a lot of things.

Crack Hay and the Fly War

Two more notable events from the week:

We had some older hay that the sheep were tolerating but not loving. We picked up compressed Timothy hay from Tractor Supply to mix in, and I don't know what they put in that stuff, but the reaction was immediate and chaotic. They busted through the gate. They climbed over each other. Their faces turned green from shoving their heads so deep into it to get every last bite. We're calling it crack hay now, and there's really no other name for it.

On the pest management front — I've hung fly traps. Many fly traps. Possibly more fly traps than any reasonable person would hang. AC, to his enormous credit, has said nothing and simply helped me install them, because he understands that I am at war with the flies and I intend to win.

And finally — our new hay delivery arrived at the end of the week. The flock was immediately restored to a state of contentment and peace.

What This Week Actually Taught Me

Every week on this farm has its rhythm: the wins, the problems, the unexpected expenses, the small victories that feel disproportionately satisfying.

Getting Max treated mattered. Teaching Cassie to walk on a leash matters — even though she hates it and I'm sweating through my barn clothes every morning. Knowing that our sheep are learning to trust us, that they come when called, that they're eating well and moving freely — that's what we're building here.

Wool & Wonder isn't just a breeding operation. It's a long game. And spring, with all its zoomies and worm treatments and crack hay, is a pretty good reminder of why we started it.

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