Cowfeathers Farm to Foxcroft Farm: Welcome to Finn!

Middlest and the newest lamb in her fold.

There is a particular scent that accompanies lambing. It is a bit metallic, organic and unmistakable. There is a particular satisfaction that accompanies lambing as well. Live, feisty lambs with their still- long tails bouncing and wiggling and their demanding, yet small bleats. Frederick and February were both of a size, and good, too, but with the rather copious girth of Dolores, I was surprised there were just the two. I can relate personally, as with my first two pregnancies, I can hardly count the number of times people would question me; "Are you suuuure you're not having twins?" With D-Lo, that was so, the twins. Sadly, we lost the curious and sweet Frederick, leaving February all that milk for himself, and boy! Is he growing! As he is a boy, he will be a market wether. This will distress Middlest, but the world has little use for boy sheep, beyond the rare use of breeding and the frequent use of chop with side of mint jelly.
Between now and then, he will have a decent sort of life. That promise of care, and enjoyment of the time on the farm, is the main job we have as small, small farmers. Raise a healthful product for consumption, and make sure they get the best of everything while under our wings. He goes out with his Mum and bounces and leaps and bounds off up the hill, then, looking around like he's not sure how he got there, he races back to Dolores' grazing side.
February may have lost a brother, but he has gained a cousin. Dancer went into labor on a Tuesday morning. My friend, Kendra, was here as she had kindly offered to help prepare the tractor shed for the arrival of hogs (oh, so much going on here at Cowfeathers). Instead we spent the day in the sheep pen. Dancer would labor a bit, and then get up and eat a bit, then lie down and look a little intent, then up again. We waited and watched, and nothing presented out the correct opening, so we waited a bit more. Eventually, we got worried. So, I went in for a recon. I could feel the fluid bubble of the placenta, in the birth canal. I gave her a few more minutes, then went back in, and ripped through that to see if I could find a lambie. I felt the top of a neck, bent over. Shucks. So with Dancer furiously pushing to get the baby out, I pushed it back in and started the task of feeling my way, in the cramped space back down the neck, to the shoulder and then identify a knee joint, pull that forward, straighten that leg, then make my way over to the other side and repeat. This is the reason the phrase "easier said than done" was coined. Then, ease the head up between the two front legs, and then, allow the baby to come find Momma. I helped pull the baby out, gently waiting for contractions to help the delivery. But, he was dead, and I'm afraid it wasn't really recent. I undoubtedly waited too long to help. Bad, bad shepherding. After my futile attempts at reviving the little white wooled boy, I laid him by Dancer's head. She had a look, but not even so much as a lick. She knew it was useless, but I didn't want her to wonder. I remember in 2009 when she lost her little ram lamb during delivery, and she was inconsolable. Fortunately, for us all (except for the sweet little white boy lamb), there was another baby in there, so I went in and lined her up and got her out, not wanting to leave her in the womb any longer, having mucked it all up. This time we had a girl! Black with white clouds on her face. She was a little slow to get going, but Dancer and Kendra and I worked at it, and she is just beautiful.