Two lambs came this morning; Fat-Head and Twiggy. Can you guess who was on the shallow side of the placenta?
Fat-Head was stuck for a bit. It took two of us to actually pull him out, one on each front leg. Lambs are supposed to “dive” out of their mums, to put things eloquently. Fat-Head belly flopped into a pool of fluids on the grass, making his grand entrance.
The farmer pulled Twiggy. She was moving out and then had a change of plans and decided it was not quite yet time to join her twin in the cold, windy real world, so she started moving back in. By the looks of things, she was hiding up near her mum’s tonsils before the farmer’s hand got a good hold of her and brought her out blinking into the sunshine.
This morning was a beautiful morning on which to be born. The skies were clear, and the wind although gusty and sharp, was not steadily blowing. Darker clouds are taking over the afternoon as the farm falls into a shadow of grayness. More rain, I’m guessing.
Later in the morning, we welcomed another set of twins onto the farm. I’m still amazed at the ability of a sheep to run around a field with a good chunk of offspring hanging out of her birth canal. I can’t imagine people doing that…running out of the hospital room with a baby’s head up to it’s ear’s poking out, shouting, “I’ve changed my mind, I don’t think I’ll be doing this just now…”
I was holding the ewe, smiling at the new little souls, when one of the lambs sneezed and shook it’s head, splashing amniotic fluid into my mouth. Rule #368: Don’t smile on farms.
I found a relatively clean spot on my arm on which to wipe my face and looked down in slight horror at the dried colostrum that had clumped in my eyebrow. It had been there for awhile. Le yuck.
After the fun fluid-filled morning, I was happy to spend some time mucking out stalls. Give me feces over fluids any day!
Sir Snuggle-luffagus got another bottle this morning. He took it with more enthusiasm than in the past few days. He is getting some milk off his foster mom, but not enough to thrive. He must be sneaking sips while she is sleeping. She’s horrible to him. Poor little reject lamb. I told the farmer that it is my goal to make him the fattest and brightest lamb in the flock. I looked at the other ewes, sizing up my competition, and the farmer shook his head, noting that they all had a bit of a head start. Still, if I can’t outsmart a ewe , I don’t know if I am in the right profession. Game on, mamas; Sir Snuggle-luffagus is going to be the biggest, fattest and brightest lamb in the bunch!
As he was finishing his bottle, Sir Snuggle-luffagus turned and started to nuzzle my neck. I laughed. It was adorable. Unless I get orf on my neck. Then, it was gross, really truly gross, as is Sir Snuggle-luffagus.