The fog was thick, as the warm air met the frozen ground, still covered with a thin layer of snow. Though it was after sunrise, the sun itself had yet to make an appearance. Today held promise, however. The first day in over a week to get above freezing. I got up, still sick from the exposure and exhaustion of the past week. Regardless, the sheep must be checked and fed, the hogs as well. But my attention is on the lambs.
As I go about my chores, opening hay bales and setting them in place, I notice one ewe off by herself under a cedar tree bordering the sheep lot. For the last week, I’ve kept the sheep up in the corral area adjacent to their feeding lot. Easier to take care of. Everyday I’ve gone down to the lot to feed hay, break ice in the water trough, tend the newborn lambs in the stalls, and check the ewes to see who might be next to birth.
Freckles’ daughter had had her lambs this morning, picking a dry spot under the cedar tree, two nice white lambs with brown spots, covered in dirt, struggled to get to their hooves. “FD” cleaned them off, licking the afterbirth from each lambing, thereby forever knowing the scent and the sound of her lambs. Nineteen and twenty had made it into the world without my help. The day was going to be warm, so there’d be no need to put them under the warming lamps in the stall. Dixie, the amazing border collie, and I returned to the house. Coffee had yet to be made.
Hannah came over a bit later. She’d been taking care of the night checks since I’d come down with the crud. Coffee, sausage, oatmeal, eggs, cheese toast. Breakfast is eaten like a king here. We talk about the farm, what today’s work will look like, prospects for the future. I take and make several phone calls, all part of keeping this farm running. These days I live for the emails to arrive with the week’s orders attached. Finally warmed up, it’s now time to go outside.
We check the tractor, and it is what I feared; the radiator is empty and the crankcase has coolant in it. The extreme cold has cracked the block on the engine. This is fatal. I do get the tractor started and move it to another location where I can work on it. Hannah and I discuss the alternatives. I simply need a tractor with a front end loader. It’ll be a challenge to replace this.
Walking back to the barn where the sheep are, I notice a ewe in labor. We go on about our business. An hour later, I check back – no progress. Something is wrong. Hannah gets the nitrile gloves from the shed, and we set about to get this ewe, A16, up in the stall where it’ll be dry and reasonably clean to work on her. We ended up tackling her in the corral, Hannah going face first into the fence, as A16 was doing everything should could to disrupt our plans.
A quick examination revealed the issue at hand; the lamb was breech and upside down. I told Hannah this was not going to end well. I worked on the lamb nearly a half hour with very little success. I could get the hind legs out, but couldn’t rotate its body. The lamb was dead. The issue now was to save the ewe, and it didn’t look promising. Hannah asked to switch, as she’d been holding A16 down and comforting her. And so Hannah took over.
It’s an amazing thing to see your child function as an adult. Hannah stayed working on the lamb for over an hour. With her small hands, she could partially rotate the lamb’s torso and move it gingerly past all the sticking points. Finally, it was out. The body was a mess. They are simply not supposed to be born that way. But it was out. The ewe would live.
We put A16 in the stall she’d been so reluctant to go in only two hours before. She needed warmth; she was in shock. We needed a shower, clean clothes, and lunch. By this point, Dixie needed a bath, for she’d been frolicking in the gully while we worked the ewe. We relaxed around the table. Pasta from our good friend Gianni – a combination of sausage tortellini and pansoti.
We began the afternoon feeding and egg gathering. Hannah will be 20 this year. She has worked with me nearly all her life. She knows how I think, she’s not afraid of hard work, and she’ll nicely tell me when I’m full of crap. I return the favor.
As I’m feeding the sheep, I notice another ewe in labor, but not progressing. Hannah and I both recognize the ewe – Henrietta’s daughter. A slight chill runs up and down our backs as we consider dealing with the psychotic offspring of the most skittish sheep in the fold. I half -jokingly ask Hannah if I should simply get the gun now. We both envisioned another horrible ordeal, this time multiplied by a ewe with an attitude.
This time, we’d try to at least tackle her on dry ground. And we did. I got hold of a hind leg, Hannah grabbed a front, and we flipped her over on her side. I gloved and probed in – front hooves! I worked the head and soon the baby was out and breathing. I went back in to check for a twin, and trouble awaited me. The second lamb was feet first, but the head was slung back over its shoulder. The ewe’s hip had it pinched. I worked the lamb back, created just enough room, and could move the head around into the correct positon. In short order, the second lamb was out, the mother up and licking them, and soon they too were up in the stall (You might wonder why it’s easier to get the ewe in the stall after the lambs are born. The ewe will follow the lambs. I pick the lambs up, and just like a carrot in front of a horse, lead the ewe where I need her to go).
I’m not sure the last time I took two showers during the work day. I’ve also done more laundry today than usual. I love what I do. I love the heartaches as well as the triumphs because it is all part of the tapestry of life on this farm. There’s simply nowhere I’d rather be. And Dixie got her bath.
Jan. 9, 2018
PS: Hannah did the 10pm check and found “HD” (the last ewe in our story) had prolapsed her uterus. She was in full contractions attempting to push it out. I called our vet who confirmed my suspicion; recovery was unlikely. She was suffering with no reasonable hope of recovery and so I put her down. Hannah took her two lambs and is now engaged in bottle feeding them – in her bedroom. I still love this life, but damn, it’s hard on your heart.