Ram—It’s a Noun and a Verb

Autumn in the barnyard means our ram is in the mood for love. He’s a handsome chap—a three-year old Cheviot with deep-set, serious eyes and an arching Roman nose. Usually a calm guy, he hangs out with the horses during the summer, grazing in their shadows.

The fall rut is a time of lust, angst, and recklessness. The carefree, hoofs-off management style of the ram in summertime ends—and in autumn he becomes dictatorial, irritable and, well—to put it bluntly—kind of a butthead. His attention is split between the ewes who come into heat this month and his own sons (spring lambs from last year) who take every opportunity to threaten their father’s authority. (Ah, those teenage sons.)


“Butting heads” is not just a metaphor at our farm. So after the first several loud, head-on crashes, my husband, Doug, rounded up the lamb rams to stalls in the barn where they can hang out eating hay until fall mating season is over. The ram struts around the pasture, lord of his domain.
(My son Graham, who has been taking photos for this blog, had to be quick on his feet to get this ram picture.)

Cheers, Karen