It is my pronouncement that March came in like a lion then left like a lamb…being chased by a Polar bear. We get everything around here.
The very mention of lambs brings up all sorts of images; I love lambs. They always manage to arrive on the coldest/wettest/most inclement night of the Spring/Winter–in the middle of the night, when sensible creatures( farmers or shepherds, say) are trying to get some sleep. And their mamas–not the brightest barnyard types–will occasionally take one look at them and, in effect, say, “Who are you? I don’t know you and you are not welcome at this all-night diner. Beat it, kid.” (Actually, this is incorrect on its face, baby goats are kids, not baby sheep. But what do ewes know?) So that means that somebody (See above–farmers & shepherds) has to feed the little blighters–by hand–using a rubber nipple on a Coke bottle or some such container. Either that or convince the reluctant ovine maternal unit to let this stranger drop in for lunch.
Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Feeding a lamb by hand is an entertaining exercise in itself; they get so excited…and so sloppy…butting away at the bottle and slurping all over the place…and the tails…the tails are just beyond wagging, practically vibrating with excitement–and hunger, of course–like the most delighted puppy you ever saw. “Cute” doesn’t begin to describe it, if you ask me.
Anyway, there are lambs out there. I have seen them in pastures with their mamas and others of the flock when the weather has been fine. Another thing that they do is to gambol–nothing to do with being cardsharps or blackjack fiends, as in gamble–” a jumping and skipping about in play; frolic” (from Italian–a leg). Little lambs gamboling are five-star cute; they jump up and come down with their little stick-like legs stiff and straight, then bounce up and run off hopping and leaping in all directions. Too much fun to watch. Makes you seriously consider a hop or two yourself.
Anyway,you get the picture; here’s a verse on April and lambs by Eben E. Renfort : April is here
Blithest season of all the year
The little brook laughs as it leaps away
The lambs are out on the hills at play.
April, of course, is followed by May–as in “April showers bring May flowers.” –and May is Skin Cancer Awareness Month…leading to a few thoughts on frogs and illegal baseball pitches. (What?? You thought I’d bring up dermatological issues ravaging all of us outdoor types?) It seems that outdoor athletes like baseball players have cottoned on to the fact that they need protection from Old Sol and one of the preferred brands of sunscreen has been one called BullFrog. O.K., fine, but some pitchers–naming no names for fear of being sued for defamation–have apparently discovered that this particular product (also apparently discontinued), when mixed with the powder from the on-the-mound rosin bag and applied (surreptitiously) to a baseball, will cause said baseball to perform high-speed balletic maneuvers on its way to home plate and a waiting batter. This is, of course, illegal, but what’s a pirouette or two among friends on a baseball diamond? Anyway, some pitchers are felt to be crowding the plate, so to speak on this rule, over-protecting, perhaps, sloshing on more “protection” than is really needed and practically-speaking, acting as their own oil slick. They’re sometimes referred to as “Bullfroggers”. Can’t be too careful out there.
And speaking of safe…. The folks at NASA have declared that the earth is likely safe for the next century or so from being smacked into by the asteroid Apophis, which had been predicted to be possibly menacing Earth in 2029, 2036 or 2068. This is a 1,100 foot space rock which could cause some major damage (as if we weren’t doing enough for ourselves). However, more recent observations have given us a little more breathing room. I don’t think that I’ll be around to worry about it, but you never know.
Thought for the day/week/month/whatever:
Live every day as if somebody left the gate open.
Got it from a yard sign on Center Street. Sounds good to me.
