Friday the 13th

The reason why Springtime, not Easter, was so gigantically massive became very apparent this morning when I did the rounds. My initial feeling of joy was followed by an immediate sinking feeling as Springtime ran along the runway to get breakfast followed by a solitary lamb. Given her size she had to have had twins, where was the second. Having fed and fought off the rest of the greedy flockers I spotted a crumpled blob of white motionless on the hard concrete floor. Not good, the lamb was freezing cold (we had a frost) but the last vestiges of life were refusing to leave so I stuffed it into my jacket and was about to fetch help from my beautiful and oh so patient wife who was feeding and watering the infant when I saw another lamb lying on the straw in the shelter. This lamb was massive, dead massive, the birth sac had not cleared its nose and it suffocated, not far away was another not quite so big but equally dead lamb, this one with no sign of cause of death, just lifeless. Panic set in, were there two ewes that had given birth? A quick check of the lined up backsides (the fronts were hoovering up breakfast)revealed that only one had given birth and she had had all four. This is unusual, especially in a breed that almost always has one large lamb, rarely has two, but four!

The lamb in my jacket was now needing urgent attention, days gone by we would have stuck it straight in the rayburn but since its forced demise I stuck the lamb in a box on the cookers plate warmer with two hot water bottles and an angle poise lamp for good measure. While that was taking effect I milked Springtime to get the vital colostrum milk for the ailing lamb.
The one with mum was now feeding, good news. The one on the cooker was responding well to the heat and took 25ml of the milk. This was followed by several other small feeds and at this point it is snoozing in the kitchen under a heat lamp while the one with mum is warm and cosy in a deep straw bed. Hopefully both will be with us in the morning.





The journey to work was also eventful, and very productive. A ewe was on her back in one of the militias fields so I did the decent thing and tipped it the right way up. It was very grateful and no doubt will name one its lambs after me. Not too much further down the road I got over 30kg fresh of venison thanks to a driver who was obviously vegetarian and left the victim of their sudden meeting for me to pick up.

Danger, Lamb Mines!!

A quick update.

The lambs are doing very well, bottle feeding them every four hours was a test of endurance, particularly on the 3 am feed but they now sleep through the night, bless.

Who says sheep are stupid?

These three hardy mountain sheep soon found where the best place to sleep was, on the dog bed under the radiator in the lounge. They then found an even warmer place only a hop skip and a jump away, so they are often found welded to the side of the Rayburn in the kitchen. The cats are most put out as this was their preferred spot. I made the mistake of feeling sorry for the lambs the other night and instead of putting them in their crate over night I left them in the kitchen. In the morning we discovered they had had a right party, dancing on the furniture, sorting through the DVD collection, getting on the table and generally making a mess. I stepped in a Lamb Mine left at the bottom of the stairs as I blearily made my way towards my much needed early morning caffeine hit, bright orange pooh squishing between my toes set the tone for the whole day. It was also the day I set out to work and then realised that I had left the dogs out, by the time I got back they were a mile away chasing rabbits. Once they were rounded up I eventually got to work and then found I still had my farm boots on. My colleagues are used to my footwear being somewhat soiled but even they were taken aback at these.

Visitors to the Rock are used to fighting for sofa space, they now have to contend with Jess, Daffodil and Katy pushing their way in. Its funny now as a twenty pound lamb jumps up for seat space, I wonder how funny it will be when they weight over 120 pound and demand cushion rights. Hopefully by then they will be hardy enough to be out on the ridge with the others and not the pampered creatures sat watching me now.

They have had a few moments though, where we thought they wouldn't make it. Daffodil was eventually persuaded to eat from the bottle and is now quite a tough cookie, Jess, the largest was doing very well until she crossed paths with Faith who suffers badly from PMT so got bit and needed antibiotics, as did Katy the tiny lamb who developed a hip infection and stopped eating. So all in all they have been hard work, but hearing them bleat their appreciation makes it all worth while.

Except for the pooh, in between your toes, nothing is worth that.