The rains did not come as usual. But the rains did come. They came as invaders would come to a country, laying siege to the land, digging enormous moats between entry gate and stepping stone to the house, leaving hulks of mud.
And in all of this storm and stress, a lamb is born, too weak to nurse its mother and ready to drown.
Which is why I am so busy these days, mixing lamb milk replacer with electrolyte and warm water. I am cleaning up after this bummer lamb. I did so want a lamb from this ewe. She is so old, a badger face Icelandic, so old and old and old, but still with her spare figure and never had a lamb. Silly ewe had to birth in the middle of the worst weather we have had yet, March 29, and so I brought this jet black tiny tea-cup-sized lamb into my kitchen, warmed it with my own body heat and towels, and squirted what I could get from his mother's first milk down his throat.
It is hard to believe, now, looking down at this ram lamb, still so very small, and see how it has thrived, especially in my heart. It is curious about everything. Shoes, an ancient straw hat that had belonged to my mother, cardboard boxes, plastic wrap. Everything except hay and sheep food interests him. He would never have survived because he still has a hard time finding the Pritchard nipple, even when it is right in front of him. He pokes at this side and that.
The guard dogs have adopted him. Moses loves to sniff and lick the lamb, and to give him a bath with his tongue; and the lamb seems to like to share their food, which I discourage as much as possible. He follows Moses up and down the outside stairs.
I have taken pictures of him with the digital camera, from day three, under my walker, and to the present, hanging out with Moses. But I don't have time to plug in the camera to the computer today!
So, there is hopefully a next time!