Amongst the chaos of last nights routine, not long after I ran along the lane in the dark shouting obscenities at the fox and tripping over enthusiastic but useless as fox deterrent Bernese Mountain Dogs, I walked past the remains of the haystack.
Daffodil, our only surviving bottle fed lamb, was curled up all cosy amongst the tarpaulins and dropped hay. The gave a small bleat of acknowledgement as I stumbled past in the darkness.
I almost paused as I wondered if she would be safe from the fox, but as she was only metres from the front door and overlooked by our bedroom and therefore in easy range of the gun I considered her safe.
This morning, a beautiful frosty clear morning and I opened the window wide and drew deep lungfuls of freezing cold air. It was a good morning. All was right in my world. I looked across and could see Daffodil still in position on the haystack, she looked so cute in the frosty sunlight, the ice glistening on her fleece. So much so I even commented to Tracey that the fat lamb was still tucked up in her bed.
About halfway through the morning feed routine I could see why she was still there, and as you can see from the picture above she was not going to go anywhere without the aid of a sharp knife having tied herself up in the tarpaulin strings. The poor thing had been trapped all night, big guilt trip from this part time shepherd.
She had even managed to tie one of her ears to her head. Stuck so fast even Houdini would have had trouble escaping!
Don't they let you down!
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