Joe: after the dirt of the day
Phil noticed that Eve, one of the babydolls, looked like she would go into labor today. Her tail was out just a bit, with a bright pink vulva showing. Sure enough—she separated herself from the flock and did the typical "giving birth" things: pawing the hay, standing up, lying down.
We had a long list of "to dos" today, but I kept an eye on her in between helping Phil wire the lights on the truck and trailer, finish the wheel hoe that he'd painted and assembled. He needed to run a few errands, and we assessed the situation: we didn't think that she would need an intervention if he took just an hour or so away. Compared with Annabelle-the-goat's easy delivery, though, I feared something was wrong. It was taking too long; she was working too hard.
Shortly after that, she started losing fluid. All I could think about was poor Acorn, so I collared Jadon and had him come to hold her while I did an internal exam. I felt squirmy flesh, and nothing in the actual birth canal, so we released her to labor some more.
Thinking that maybe a watched ewe never lambs, I went inside for ten minutes. Came back out to find her delivering a white lamb, still in the full amniotic sac, unmoving. But she didn't get up to help the baby breathe—because a black lamb shot out right afterwards.
These were our first lambs born in the daytime, and I was amazed at their color--the amniotic fluid turned them green. And, wow, is that stuff sticky!
The weather was a gorgeous 80, and she was alone in a bed of hay, so I didn't want to move her and the twins to a damp lambing jug. The babies seemed like they'd be better off warming in the sun.
What a perfect April gift!
Until an hour passed and neither had stood up to eat. And Eve hadn't passed the placenta. In my ideal world, the babies would just start to eat when they felt like it, and Phil would prefer as little intervention as possible. I tried milking out colostrum to feed the babies, but Eve wasn't letting down, and her colostrum was almost as thick as pudding. Each pull yielded a single drop, that was hardly usable because it wouldn't run.
After another half hour, though, they both looked more sleepy and, well, almost dead. I checked the lambing book, and it said that lambs that don't eat in the first half hour are in grave danger of death. I believed it.
When I picked up the babydoll ewes, I brought a cooler for colostrum, but I set it down to help children use the bathroom and forgot it. Since the house is two hours away, I haven't made the time to pick it up again. Oh, the guilt! If I hadn't left that precious box, I would have something to help the babies live!
As it was, I ran to heat the only milk I have on hand: goat Annabelle's milk from this morning. I gave them booster vitamins for lambs. I moved the babies out of the sun and into the jug,
Four hours after the babies came, still no afterbirth, no nursing, no standing. A total disaster.
I called my Mom for prayer, and that was very helpful. While we were still on the phone, Eve passed her first placenta (the second came three hours later).
A bit later, the white ram lamb (7 pounds, 13 ounces) perked up, and stood up and nursed on his own. What a relief.
The black ewe lamb (6pounds, 2 ounces), though, was not doing well. I didn't have Karo syrup on hand, but I did have sugar. I had butter, too, so I made a poor substitute sheep formula out of goat milk, butter, and sugar. I gave her ounces and ounces of the stuff with a drench.
We had opted when we first got the sheep to not buy syringes and other "excessive" intervention tools. We've both read plenty of books about how the best money-maker sheep drop their lambs unassisted. By needing so much assistance at birth, it basically ensures that Eve and daughter will be culled. Except the daughter will quite probably die, sparing us the trouble.
It may be that this ewe lamb is the first death from our (mis?)management. Colostrum or subcutaneous vitamins or more knowledge at the front end all might have helped.
But as I think about the day, it could be that none of those would have made a difference. When she was born, there was meconium in her amniotic fluid (a sign of stress in human births), and a good bit of blood. It could be something went wrong with the delivery itself (perhaps the length of time?); it could be her sac had broken earlier and it was that fluid that was leaking.
As I look back at the joyful photos of the new births, I am struck that she didn't look good from the beginning.
I vaguely remember hearing a small grinding noise, almost like bone-on-bone, but I don't remember when, or even which animal. I fed goat milk enough to get her energy up to nurse multiple times, but she could not get her balance. Her legs could not support her. Yet she could move them. Maybe her back isn't broken, but she has a hip displacement? Or some other bone issue?
The goat had no trouble kidding, but we've had issues with three for three of our sheep. Maybe this is a mineral issue. I fed goat minerals to the sheep, and the copper could have caused some sort of copper toxicity, just in the sheep. But that's usually fatal for the mother, if taken in high quantities.
And half of all lambs born on the farm have survived. The first two have thrived (and so may the ram lamb). So maybe it's not copper toxicity. Or related to our poor soils. Or my failure to keep the mineral bucket supplied at all times with fine sheep minerals.
Could it be a parasite load issue? Sheep have more parasites than goats. Could it be that I didn't clear out the baby's nose quickly enough and she aspirated fluid? (I am pretty sure I got some fluid in her lungs as I drenched her with goat milk.)
I am disappointed enough to feel like it's a mockery of the name "Spring Forth Farm." It feels like not much good springs forth. But if righteousness and praise are what I want to spring forth, I suppose the impending death of a much-wanted ewe lamb is not enough to keep me from pursuing righteousness, or to praise God for the healthy ram and the grace he shows in the challenges of each day.
I do wish, though, that we were a bit more like Jacob of old, who "increased exceedingly, and had much cattle."
Or maybe I just need to learn patience.
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