Doug and Denise invited us over for breakfast, so we trekked over and had a relaxed meal of waffles with blueberry sauce. We contributed Martinelli’s Sparkling Cider that didn’t get drunk on Christmas, but was festive and fun for the New Year. We all bathed, too, and even though the children have mostly been inside for the last week, the water when they had gone through one-by-one still looked like greasy spaghetti sauce: dark orange with darker flecks. Incredible. Where did it all come from?
By the time we got home, it was after 2pm. Phil put up some more fencing, and I watched this process. It requires something like 7 unique metal attachments for each panel, two unique T-posts driven into the ground, and one 16’ cattle panel lifted off the truck and set in place. Phil has driven the middle support stakes in at 16’ centers. As he goes, he puts up the supports on either end. He listens to sermons on his I-Pod so the tedium does not drive him mad. I felt antsy just watching him.
Acorn began signs of labor at about 4pm, and it was so great. With Ashley, she didn’t do any of the typical labor signs. She just looked like she dropped, bagged up and her tail flipped out a little more than usual. Acorn, though, gave all the “right” indications. She would lay down and stand up. She would paw the ground making a nest. She would stand apart from all the others.
As the evening progressed, I grew more nervous. We have a book named Managing Your Ewe, which reminds me a bit of What to Expect When You’re Expecting, the most stressful pregnancy book on the planet, as it tells everything possible that can go wrong with an ewe during labor. I am not an ovine obstetrician, and this book is a bit much.
At 8pm, Acorn had been leaking fluid and visibly contracting for almost an hour. I know because I was out there with a flashlight, watching her posterior for that entire time. In the wind. (Another reason to accuse Zach Bush of luring us here under false auspices: he claimed it never snowed and there was no wind. Ha!) Based on the book, I decided an internal exam was in order. Long-suffering Phil held the halter as I imitated James Herriot. I soaped my hand and arm in wonderfully warm water and inserted my hand in the vaginal canal.
As far as I could tell, the amniotic sac was still intact and just inches from birth. Relieved, I withdrew my hand and decided to wait.
It’s now about 11pm. Acorn has still not delivered, but does not appear to be unduly stressed. And, since she had (perhaps unwelcome) company from myself until not too long ago, it’s possible she just needs some alone time to labor well. That’s Phil’s theory. He’s an optimist. My theory is that something is horribly wrong and we need to intervene. I’m a pessimist.
The harsh reality is that, unless she lambs on her own, it’s a death sentence for her. If she dies today, that is the worst, as we won’t get her meat, and we’d have to dispose of a 150 pound ewe with frozen or mucky ground (and the rental place has picked up the auger, so no help there!). If she doesn’t die today, but we have to do radical intervention—by which I mean I would have to somehow pull the lamb or lambs out manually—that would mean she is on the cull list. A polite euphemism for dead before bred. Maybe even dead before spring, so the grass can be utilized by “permanent” animals.
That’s one of the hardest things about Ashley’s deformed ram lamb: she will not be bred again, and her lamb will not be bred. They are terminal in 2010.
In other news, Phil watched our cat Tiger pounce on a mouse in the barn this morning. What a wonderful blessing that cat is!
This evening, Phil spotted our unwelcome possum visitor in the barn for the second night in a row. He tried to shoo it out, but the wily possum evaded his pursuit and my ineffective aid. A bit later, Phil checked the barn again; the possum was in Chloe’s food bag. So Phil got the .22 and plinked it. Goodbye, possum.
Maybe the mouse of this morning was actually a baby possum. Happy hunting, Tiger.
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