When Phil’s alarm clock went off at 6:15 this morning, I got up, too, and we stumbled over each other getting our layers of clothes on to head out into the downpour.
I had checked the sheep at 1:30 this morning: no change. I figured that if I stayed in bed, warm and calm, Phil would throw open the door and announce a new lamb’s arrival. No thanks! I’d go out and see for myself.
Nothing.
Fine by me. Downpours and babies don’t mix well. Clementine is doing fine, though.
Mid-morning, Phil came in and sat down. “Any babies?” I asked.
“Yes, five,” he announced, without moving.
Ha, ha. He’d be a bit more worked up if there were actually lambs on the ground.
Today was supposed to be the day of renewed internet access, but, as often happens in the country, it wasn’t quite so easy. The repair man did show up, but didn’t have the proper line, so he’ll be back tomorrow.
This was deeply disappointing to me. I know there’s no help, but I’m ready for emails and internet research, for connection outside the Lykosh six.
I went out to check the rain gauge (1.4”). The rain had ceased, but the grey sky threatened yet.
Going on to check the chick feed, I heard a strange sound. I went to the sheep pen and saw not one, not two, but THREE little bundles on the ground.
Both Rotten Isabella and Eve had delivered!
We hustled Clementine and Zara out of the lambing jug and brought the five others in. A white and a black belonged to Isabella. Unlike last year, she was actually caring for her babies! Unlike last year, both her babies were alive! The black, first born, was ignored, but that was because she must have cared for her well before the white second born arrived. The black baby was extremely vigorous, ready to nurse, suckling eagerly.
The white appeared exhausted.
Two ewe lambs from Isabella!
And the incredible white ropy afterbirth that shows labor was done.
The black baby out of Eve was not doing well. I fed the baby a lot of cow colostrum and tried to keep it warm, but it wasn’t interested in nursing, and, when held to the teat, showed no aptness to suckle.
Eve was clearly uncomfortable, pacing around. She laid down and a dark water-balloon emerged from her backside. That wasn’t a white rope: maybe she’d have twins, too?
I kept working with the three babies, drying off, towel after towel, ounce after ounce. Cut off the cord, soak the stump with iodine.
And then, a glimpse of white hooves in Eve. Another baby on the way!
Strong push, and hooves emerge, still in the bag.
A split second later, the bag bursts and a lamb head, resting on hooves, is recognizable.
The face is more apparent a split second after.
The baby's front legs are next.
And the shoulders.
Then the body squirted out the rest of the way, and our fourth ewe lamb of the day was born.
I was a bit concerned with actually watching this birth. The baby was covered in thick, viscous liquid, and tried to sneeze it out. Eve made no motion to turn to her baby (perhaps momentarily stunned with the impact of delivery), so I rubbed off the baby's nose. You can see in the photo how dried off the nose looks by comparison.
I was thrilled to actually have a chance to get the full amount of colostrum in the baby in the first fifteen minutes like the books recommend. But I’m not sure my immediate presence was, in the end, beneficial. Eve vacillates between licking off the baby and butting it with her head. I’m sure part of her confusion comes from having four ewes, two white and two black, from two mommies, in the same shelter, but if I caused some of the confusion (we did take Eve’s babies inside briefly to warm them), that will have long-term negative consequences.
The rain started again. Another half inch. How lovely that the babies were born in the one dry period today.
I looked at little Maybelle, standing with a hunched back and large bag. Phil carried her to the cattle trailer: almost 100 chicks in the front of the trailer, and a first time soon-to-be mother in the back. Maybe we’ll get five lambs today after all.
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