Lambing is in full swing – checking the sheds every 4 hours, penning new mothers and their offspring (or helping during the birth in some cases), disinfecting navels (with iodine or copper sulphate), giving a dose of antibiotic, and later in the day, ringing tails and (for the poor boys) balls. Older and more sturdy lambs take the express transport into the fields (and thank goodness there has been some rain and it's a bit warmer – the grass has finally started to grow), while the weedy and just plain odd stay behind for a little more tender loving care.
What happens when a lamb kicks iodine over you…
A first taste of freedom.
Our stock of tame lambs has grown (orphaned, the third of a triple or from a completely useless mother who may find she doesn't get another chance unless she bucks up her ideas), so we are immensely glad we have an automatic shepherdess to feed them (a fancy way of saying a bucket with nipples on it).
Daisy and Irene have been a godsend – hard working and lots of fun – and an excellent way to get the sheep used to people talking around them. Two particularly sorry ewes are confined to the orchard as they are not standing still so their lambs can feed – one is even tethered to a tyre to slow her down. However, daily they have to be held still so that the lambs can get a drink.
Irene and Daisy really are small enough to ride sheep!
The first of our Exmoor mules produced lambs that obviously had the Charolais ram as a father. Partially wool-less, thin faced, wrinkly and spindly – affectionately known as the rat-babies. I mentioned how challenged they were in the looks department to Ann, who said that all lambs were lovely. When I took her to the pen, her revised opinion was "Wow, that is ugly!" Rat-babies they may be, but they are my favourites – and perhaps one day they will grow into their skins, stand up straight and pronk off proudly.
The first rat-babies.
Another couple of weeks of this, and then perhaps everyone can have a rest.
Comfy place to sleep.
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