Cheat death, that is. Twice. We ended up with 4 new lambs about a week and a half ago. One mom was a young ewe, first time mommy. Dumb as a box of rocks. Really. She rejected one, and was mildly ambivilent about the other. So I suppose this is where we’re supposed to be all google-eyed and “oh, let’s save the little lamb”. And that is exactly what we did. Sorry, we are not really farmers. We do not stand by the “if’n it lives, it lives, ifn it don’t, well there’s more where it came frum ‘ventually” Personaly, I cannot stand by and watch something die if there’s ANYTHING I can do to avert that fate. And so that’s how the lamb ended up in our bathroom sink. It was near dead when I found it up in the lambing shed. Amazing what a hair drier and some fresh sheep milk will do. I really never thought I’d be out, in the wet stanky hay on my hands and knees MILKING A SHEEP. A very very unwilling, stupid, slimey-crotched sheep. Nor did I ever envision tube feeding something so cold and near death as this little lamb was. I did not imagine it would have come back the way it did, wanting more and demanding to be kept alive. Poor Art, he tolerated me yelling at him to “hold the damn thing still, we need milk or she’ll die” as I violated that stupid ewes udders, he stared at me like I had two heads, fussing so much and getting so angry over the dilema this little lamb was in and the prospect that it really might die if things weren’t done right. He’s a very tolerant man.
And then I got dumb. I figured, heck, she’s doing great. Let’s just put her back with mom and see what happens. And, um, well let’s just say that was stupid. Art found her near death again the next day. He brought her to work and Margo and I put her back together again.
“Well, doc, whatcha think her odds are”
“Oh, I dunno…….. it’s a sheep. I do dogs and cats, but, um, I reckin ’bout 50/50.” (in her best backwoods drawl, which is pretty durn convincing if I must say so myself)
“Hmmf. Well, it IS just a sheep. Think she’ll be able to go back to her ma?” (the stupid in me refuses to be kept down, it rises in big “stupid” bubbles and pops outta my mouth despite my better intentions)
Insert uncontrolled laughter here. No, uncontrolled guawffing, complete with snorts and short bursts of giggles. Yeah, that was more like it.
when she finally caught her breath,; “Uh, I hate to break this to you Lisa, but you gots yerself a bottle-baby. ”
Insert more laughing, and not by me, mind you.
Then she gets on the internet and pulls up all sorts of info on the plethora of infectious diseases and grotesque parasites sheep carry, nay, infectious diseases and grotesque parasites THIS sheep is most likely toting around, just waiting to make everyone within a 50 foot radius incurabley ill.
But it was so darn cute. Deadly, sure, if you believe everything you read. But really, darned cute. So we wrapped the little wooly death bomb up and toted her home to feed every 2 hours.
“Let my peopleeeeeee gooooooooooooooo……”
We named her Grace. As in, amazing Grace. Cheated death twice. Now she lives in a dog crate, and is fed every 4 hours. I’m trying to convince her that sheep SLEEP at night, they do not eat. Yeah, right.
These are a few of the last pictures of her in the house.
She is a pooping and peeing machine. She goes NOWHERE near my carpets, her poopy little feet bounce around OUTSIDE with the dogs. She races with them, it’s adorable. Dee has a prey drive that’s hard to contain, so there are no unsupervised dog/lamb sessions. And I’m fairly certain the dogs will come down with some sort of ick because they swarm around her and play with her. But I’m paranoid (Thank you Dr. Hogan, thank you ever so much) and we’ll cross that bridge and let Margo say “I told you so” when we get to it.
Oh, and the other babies are just fine, thanks for asking. One of them looks like a cow. We’re calling it “Cow”. How original.