I know, I know.

It’s horrible to continue calling her Peehead. A little lamb struggling through a life of travail with a mother who pees on her every day, a lamb who has to live in the shadow of a favored brother who is twice her size though they are twins. She should have a name to reflect her tiny, soldiering spirit, something strong and hardy like Pallas Athena. But that is too grandiose a name in a herd of sheep whose names are the numbers tagged on their ears. I don’t know how 77 and 38 will feel about having to share grain with the patron of Athens, but I imagine there will be jealousy issues and inferiority complexes aplenty.

Or what about a name like Lucky? But it seems somewhat twisted to overlook the unlucky circumstances of the estrangement from her sheep mother to focus on the lucky circumstances of milk replacer and humans who supply it. She isn’t particularly lucky; she just has an attentive shepherd. Her twin brother is the lucky one, because when he comes to nurse, his mother does not butt him hard with her head and hustle away. The name Peehead is at least accurate if inelegant.

Peehead’s wool has become so saturated that she has turned yellow over half her body. Only her rump is still white, and I desperately want to give her a bath. But she is a shy lamb who would not appreciate a good scrub, unlike the other bottle baby Billy Madison who I could swing around overhead like an airplane through the pasture and she’d wobble dizzily and bounce after me for more. Since I can’t wash her and her mother will not stop peeing on her, Peehead is going to look like a lemon drop before long, and while that sounds sweet, Lemon Drop for a name is only a refined Peehead.

Here is a picture of two-toned Peehead, being fed by one of her human mommies, all of who refrain from peeing on her as she eats. We hope to set a good example for her sheep mother, but at this point, she remains unimpressed.

While gazing at this picture, Peehead reminded me of a certain singer. Every time I watch one of her music videos, I am overcome with the urge to give her a hot bath and a flea dip.

The grungy similarity is uncanny.

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The lamb now has a better name, one that will not make me flinch to call over the pasture. Sheep flock, meet Ke$ha.