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Morning Show:
At 5 AM, a granny ewe, fiercely positive that a lamb freshly delivered by another ewe was her own, gave me a run for my money. Thankfully, the birth mom hung with me as I ran interference with the determined foster mom and packed the newborn to a warm, strawed jug, where a twin sibling soon joined the first-born.
Three hours later, after spreading hay and releasing ewes from the barn to eat outside, I was busily mucking out the night pen when an old ewe appeared at the door, marched to an interior gate, and waited patiently for me to open it so she could move to a lambing jug. She lay down before going into the jug--giving me time to get straw behind her--and delivered a lamb in the lane. Shame on me for harboring disparaging thoughts about how she could have licked wet lamb #1 a bit more thoroughly. Certainly she had ample reason to be distracted. When I returned to the barn thirty minutes later, after a quick breakfast break, she had delivered lambs 2 and 3 and had all three spiffy clean and sucking.
Late Day Wrap-Up:
I look forward to the night routine and linger alongside the night pen longer than is necessary in order to listen, observe, and prolong my sense of peace and purpose. No matter the hour, nearly all ewes are cudding, and the soft, moist sound of it indicates that all is well. The ewes trying to sleep groan with each exhalation in a rhythmic group-moan that suggests multiples within and restricted lung space. They often get up to change positions, stretch, and move about. When ready to lay down, the older matrons assert well-earned senior authority, pawing at younger reclining ewes and forcing them to get up and yield their warm nests. Young novices learn how to avoid conflict--keeping their heads down, avoiding eye contact, and deferring whenever a veteran looks askance at them: good advice for all adolescents eager to achieve adult status.
Bottom line: lambing barn news sustains and reassures me. Would that FOX and MSNBC could be equally uplifting.
At 5 AM, a granny ewe, fiercely positive that a lamb freshly delivered by another ewe was her own, gave me a run for my money. Thankfully, the birth mom hung with me as I ran interference with the determined foster mom and packed the newborn to a warm, strawed jug, where a twin sibling soon joined the first-born.
Three hours later, after spreading hay and releasing ewes from the barn to eat outside, I was busily mucking out the night pen when an old ewe appeared at the door, marched to an interior gate, and waited patiently for me to open it so she could move to a lambing jug. She lay down before going into the jug--giving me time to get straw behind her--and delivered a lamb in the lane. Shame on me for harboring disparaging thoughts about how she could have licked wet lamb #1 a bit more thoroughly. Certainly she had ample reason to be distracted. When I returned to the barn thirty minutes later, after a quick breakfast break, she had delivered lambs 2 and 3 and had all three spiffy clean and sucking.
Late Day Wrap-Up:
I look forward to the night routine and linger alongside the night pen longer than is necessary in order to listen, observe, and prolong my sense of peace and purpose. No matter the hour, nearly all ewes are cudding, and the soft, moist sound of it indicates that all is well. The ewes trying to sleep groan with each exhalation in a rhythmic group-moan that suggests multiples within and restricted lung space. They often get up to change positions, stretch, and move about. When ready to lay down, the older matrons assert well-earned senior authority, pawing at younger reclining ewes and forcing them to get up and yield their warm nests. Young novices learn how to avoid conflict--keeping their heads down, avoiding eye contact, and deferring whenever a veteran looks askance at them: good advice for all adolescents eager to achieve adult status.
Bottom line: lambing barn news sustains and reassures me. Would that FOX and MSNBC could be equally uplifting.
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