December 18, 2025 — Stains

On a damp, cloudy morning, the goal is usually to get the chores done without becoming part of the landscape. I was in my daily farm uniform—my favorite oversized hoodie—moving through the usual routine.

Then there’s Skeet.

Skeet is our wether sheep who has a specific morning requirement: a hug.

He doesn’t tackle me or knock me into the muck; he is far too polite for that. Instead, he waits for me to squat down as I’m cleaning out his hay feeder, then gently places his two front hooves against my back.

He has a very light, deliberate touch—his version of a tap on the shoulder to ask, “Is it time yet?”

Later, as I walked out of the pen to secure it for the day, my husband looked at me and shook his head, smiling. “You’ve got mud all over your back,” he said.

I looked at the brown hoof prints staining my arm and likely all the way down the back of my hoodie and realized I didn’t feel the urge to go change anymore.

I used to care about the “mess” of the farm, but in that moment, the mud didn’t feel like dirt; it felt like a badge of honor.

I’d take a muddy hoodie and a gentle, affectionate sheep over a clean jacket and a lonely morning any day.

Some stains are worth keeping for a little while.