Ho hum….
I shove my finger through the surpisingly tough membrane bag that holds the lamb, still suspended in its amniotic fluid. The gush of wet soaks the straw and reveals the tiny writing body, instinct driving it onwards to get up onto its feet as soon as it can. Sods law has it that as soon as Hazel heads into the house the lamb would be born, and so this is what happens. Being alone and ushering another life into the world is something special, to be present when that first gasp of air is taken is a real privilidge.
Later the lambs go downhill. A lamb is born with “brown fat”, a substance which even human babies have, which provided energy and warmtg for them during and just after birth. However, premature lambs or lambs which have a traumatic birth can use up their brown fat reserves and plunge into hypothermia, shivering and quickly dying unless action is taken as soon as possible.
These lambs were premature, and true to form they both get very cold very rapidly. This also meant they were unable to stand and get their first vital drink of colostrum, a very fatty milk full of antibodies which is vital to the lambs survival. We pass a tube into the stomachs of the lambs and feed them colostrum via syringe, and then put both into the “hot box”, a wooden box with a grille floor where hot air can be blown over them. This ensures they are warm and dry and helps revive them. Once both are up to temperature they are brought into the house to keep them from getting chilled again.
Later that evening, despite doing all we can, the lifeless form of the smaller lamb is quietly taken out and placed in a bag ready to be buried.
You win some you lose some.
