Out Like a Lamb

Our first lambs of the season arrived this week. The twins were born early Saturday morning and were already standing and happily nursing by the time we got to the barn. All our lambs this year will have names that start with the letter “W” (it’s 2023 and “w” is the 23^rd letter of the alphabet). We named these two Willow and Wilma.

 The ram, for whatever reason, was being completely obnoxious. More obnoxious than his usual obnoxious self. I don’t know if it was enthusiasm for the chilly spring-like morning, excitement over the arrival of 2 more lambs to add to his harem - or just the fun of being an aggressive butt head, but it was clear that someone was going to get hurt.  Even if he never managed to hit us, constantly having to walk backwards to avoid being blindsided, was also dangerous, and irritating, so we locked him in the barn. The tranquility that immediately settled over the barnyard was palpable.

We spread hay for the rest of the flock and then spent some time checking out, and admiring, the newborns. We can always tell how good a mother the ewe is, and how strong the bond between them is, by how clean and dry the lambs are. The twins were completely clean and totally dry. The bonding that is formed over the hours long initial cleaning and nursing process, is very strong. The smell of each is imprinted on the other, as are the sounds of the mother’s guttural cooing, gurgling and eventually the lamb’s plaintive cry. After those first few hours of bonding, they will know each other for life.

As we were standing watching, another ewe came over and tried to lure one of the lambs away. “Stealing” is a definite indication that the would be thief is herself going into labor. I admire the logic - “This lamb will do nicely. No need to go through all that myself”. Within minutes though, she started licking her lips (another sign) and lay down in the middle of the pasture with legs rigid and her lip curling as she pushed.  

Normal presentation at birth is the lamb’s nose nestled between its 2 front hooves - as if the lamb is diving into the world. This one, though, showed only one hoof alongside the nose, which could indicate a problem. The fact that we could see the nose meant the lamb was at least facing the correct direction.  In that case, the two most likely “sticking points” are the head and the shoulders. The size of the forehead can make for a difficult birth – especially if it’s large as is often the case with rams. (The extra padding needed for a lifetime of smashing into things with one’s skull). The other point of resistance can be the lamb’s shoulders. Sometimes a particularly long legged lamb and a small ewe can cause problems. Chances were that if I hadn’t intervened, the lamb would have eventually sorted it out and been fine.  But a difficult birth increases the chances that the ewe will reject a lamb, so helping out seemed the best option.

I was able to grab hold of both legs and pushed one gently back and one gently forward which streamlines the shoulders and the lamb slid out effortlessly. I handed the lamb to the ewe with umbilical cord still attached. She started by cleaning off the nose and mouth and the lamb began to breathe on its own. Within half an hour the lamb was standing, trying to find the teat under all that wool.  We named our new long legged friend Whistler.

We locked the mom and lamb up in our “maternity ward”, which is a spacious pen inside the barn with plenty of hay and water - and a camera that I monitor on my phone.

As we watched, Whistler finally found the mom’s udder and had a nice long drink. When a lamb latches on and the milk starts to flow, their tail wags enthusiastically. Whistler latched on and stayed happily wagging her tail like a pro. When she drank her fill, I picked her up to check her belly.  A lamb’s belly has an unmistakable fullness and warmth that radiates through the lamb when it’s full of milk, and that’s the moment I relax and feel comfortable leaving them alone. Whistler promptly lay down and fell asleep in the middle of the pile of hay her mom was eating.

As we walked away, I turned to Anne and said “this just never gets old “

“No” she agreed, “it never does”.