 Ann feeds a mother-to-be ewe and weighs a cute newborn. Alice hands me a different lamb from the pen of ewes and their offspring behind me. "We switch them so the babies don't get too tired and stressed from all the people contact," explains Alice. Speaking of tired, I'm running on adrenaline. Since I arrived at the farm yesterday afternoon, we've been going almost nonstop. Turn back the clock with me to... Saturday, 1 p.m.>> Alice shepherds me straight to the barn. "Some new lambs born the last few days need our attention," she says, setting up a clinic near rows of small pens called "jugs." Each holds one ewe and her young ones. "Bring over one lamb from the first jug," she directs. As I hesitantly climb over the rail, "Mom" backs into the corner, protecting twin lambs behind her. "Push her aside with your hip," suggests Alice. The hefty eye bleats loudly when I wedge her away to take a twin. She continues her loud protest while I weigh the lamb in a bucket, hooked onto a scale suspended from a barn beam. "Eight-and-a-half pounds," I report. "Good size," Alice says, noting the weight in a dog-eared logbook. "We are not a fancy operation–things are pretty simple around here, as you can see. 
Vaccinations come next. |
"We have 100 crossbred ewes and more than 90 lambs on the ground to date," she informs. ("On the ground" means born, I learn) "Twins are most common, so this means half the ewes are still to deliver.
A retired pediatric nurse, Alice give the lamb a shot and inserts an ear tag, handling the animal with kind authority. I take it back to the jug and round up the other twin. It Hurts Me More Than You! 1:30 p.m.>> We treat 12 lambs, to the "baa-baa" bellowing of ewes missing a baby. Alice teaches me to give shots. "Stick the needle in just under the skin on its neck," she indicates. I cringe and my patient lets out a high-pitched squeal as I give the vaccination. Now for the ear tag. Ouch! We put little fleece jackets she calls "jammies" on some of the littlest lambs to keep them warm. Meanwhile Ray–a retired Extension horse specialist– and their son Troy (one of their four grown children) clean the big sheep pens. "The oldest (month-old) lambs also have a creep area. It's fun to watch them play "king of the mountain" on straw bales there and nibble on grain in feeders. 2:00 p.m.>> Feeding four "bottle babies" every 4 hours or so is part of Alice's rigorous routine. She has me retrieve a triplet, noticeably smaller than its siblings, from a "hospital nursery pen" near the jugs. "Wedge its mouth open to get the nipple in, then hold its mouth closed around it," she coaches as I cradle the delicate lamb. This one is obviously not getting its fair share of mother's milk Twins of a ewe short on milk need supplementing, too, as does a little lamb that "just doesn't get how to nurse." Follow the Lambs 2:30 p.m.>> Next, we need to free up some jugs by moving ewes and lambs out into mixing pens. "So we know who's who, we mark the backs of each family with washable spray paint." Psst, psst. I help spray on fuchsia, green, red or blue markings to identify them. "The best way to move a ewe is to hold her lambs out in front, and she'll follow." I pick up twins as Alice coaches, "Hold them close so she can smell them, and walk backwards slowly." C'mon, Mama, I coax. 3 p.m.>> "We switched to sheep a few years ago after raising horses for many years," Alice says as we houseclean the vacated jugs. We shovel out old bedding and spread fresh straw...clean and fill waters...and sweep the aisle. "With only 37 acres, we use managed intensive grazing. We like people, so we decided to host school groups and others at shearing and lambing time." |