Life with Lucky

April 14, 2012

When last we posted, we were coming to grips with the challenge of saving Lucky, the bottle baby born one week ago today. Her mother was not interested in her, and in fact ran away when we brought Lucky to her attention. (“Um, Mom, we thought you might be interested in this? No? You hussy!”) We actually called her some worse names, though not in front of her. Disappointed though we were, we knew better than to upset the karmic order of the pasture.

We were happy, truth be told, to assume the role of lamb nurturers. But we were not going to throw in the towel just yet. Perhaps we could still negotiate detente between Lucky and her mother. We fed Lucky a potent brew of colostrum-enriched milk that first 24 hours. We set her up in a cat carrier in our house because it just wasn’t wise to have a 12-hour-old lamb fend for herself in a run-in shed full of larger sheep, some of whom clearly believed that if Lucky’s Mom rejected her, there was probably a good reason for it. These sheep (who, as fully functioning mothers themselves, really should know better) greeted each of Lucky’s shy introductions with a swift butt of the head. “Scram!”

The next morning, we noticed that Lucky’s mom, Willow, was standing near the spot where she gave birth, sniffing and generally looking like she had misgivings. She gently nickered, as ewes do to call their lambs to them. We grabbed Lucky and carried her out to the spot, placing her gently on the ground. “M-a-a!” Lucky cried, willing to forgive and forget their rocky start. “Meh,” Willow muttered and raced off.

Later that morning, Willow was in the shed, with Tilly, her neurotic lady-in-waiting, and Zorro, the ram and friend to all ewes. (Zorro has been having quite the week, with nearly daily new arrivals cementing his reputation as the man of the pasture.) We snuck Lucky into the shed and closed the gate. Once again, on cue, Lucky bleated, “M-a-a!” Zorro wandered over and sniffed. It was as if a light bulb went on over his head. This was the missing lamb! He returned to Willow and nudged her in Lucky’s direction. Clearly, Zorro knew what was up and in his role as Henry Kissinger urged the two great nations of Willow and Lucky to come together as one. But once again Willow spurned the lamb.

One of the ironies of this situation is the fact that for reasons known only to her, Lucky has assigned to me the role of surrogate mother. My wife Frances, who is devoted to the care of the sheep, would have been a more gender-appropriate choice. Lucky spends a lot of time nuzzling the folds of my blue jeans looking for the nipple that she knows by instinct must be close by. When Blue Jeans stand up and walk, Lucky scoots along obediently. When Blue Jeans run, Lucky scampers. One day mid-week I ran out of jeans and wore khaki slacks, confusing Lucky and setting back the state of sheep-person relations by several decades.

With each passing day, we have been integrating Lucky into the flock. Her fellow newborn lambs have treated her as one of the gang, but their mothers see Lucky as an evil force best to be shunned. They call to their lambs when Lucky arrives, but more and more the lambs are ignoring these cautionary cries. She’s a week old today so we think she’s big enough to stay out with the flock overnight. But no rush. If she prefers to continue hanging with us, well that’s ok too. Perhaps we’ll wait one more day — or two — until after the  forecasted Sunday storms pass through the area. She belongs with the flock but she’ll always carry a piece of our hearts with her.

Back on schedule

Sunrise and her lamb

April 9, 2012

For those of you following our story, we were thrown for a loop on Saturday when one of the Icelandics delivered what at first appeared to be a dead lamb. The ewe promptly rejected it when it sprang back to life moments later. So we were naturally a little edgy tonight when the other Icelandic let everyone in the three-state region know that she was ready to deliver. (I thought sheep were supposed to be stoic!)

Thanks in part to our Saturday experience, we were a bit more patient this time. At 7:15 p.m., it was clear the lamb was on the way, but there were no contractions and the Icelandic was showing no signs of pushing. We returned to the house for a nice dinner (featuring some of the romaine from the garden). At 8 p.m. Frances went back to the run-in shed and found the ewe dutifully cleaning off her new lamb. That makes five lambs from the first four ewes, with six ewes yet to go.

—

10 p.m.

This just in. Sunrise actually had twins! We thought the fireworks show was done at 8 p.m. when she had her first lamb. Frances decided to take “one last look” before we hit the sack for the night. But instead of finding Mom and Lamb in the lambing jug, she found Mom and two Lambs.  Everyone looked healthy and hungry. And Mom looked ready for a good long night’s rest.

When we returned to the shed, Sunrise surprised us with a second lamb

How Lucky got her name

Lucky, a young lamb with a great story

April 7, 2012

With an amazing degree of dependability, the first lambs of spring arrived this week, just as Frances’ book of breeding notes predicted they would months ago. Griffin gave birth to twin Shetland girls – one jet black (as is characteristic for the breed) — on Tuesday, and Notchie followed up with a black Shetland ewe of her own on Wednesday. From her physical symptoms, we could tell that Willow, one of the Icelandics, would be up next. Her udder was full, she was grinding her teeth and she was starting to separate herself from the others. The Icelandics are an independent group, easily the flightiest of our flock. We did not look forward to managing this part of the lambing process.

This morning Frances awoke to overcast skies and went right out to check on the sheep. Willow was lying down by herself near the stock pond. This would be the day. Frances was startled to see the tips of two hooves and a little nose already emerging from the birth canal. All the parts were aligned correctly and yet there did not seem to be progress. Every now and then Willow would push, almost half-heartedly, unlike the Shetlands whose contractions earlier in the week were accompanied by energetic pushes. Frances watched for 15 minutes and Willow pushed a bit more, but still no progress. Time for more active intervention. Frances reached her hand inside to see if she could detect an obstruction. Everything seemed smooth, but tight. But Frances could feel the lamb’s mouth and teeth, so she knew the amniotic sac had been breached. Time was now of the essence. Willow stood up and started walking. Frances telephoned me back at the house; I grabbed the emergency basket and my camera and drove out to the pasture. Willow’s two attendants – the equally flighty Shetland-Barbados cross Tilly and a second Icelandic, Sunrise – were nearby but vanished when the car arrived.

Together we followed Willow as she wandered further back. Her independent streak, in the best of times a hindrance to orderly herd management, now was downright infuriating. Clearly she was laboring. Possibly she needed help. But under no circumstances would she lie still and let us help. Onward she walked and we followed, faced with the sight of an emerging lamb just showing from her uterus. She turned east toward the dried-up stream bed, and then north along the bed to an area of rocks and stream bank erosion, where we believe snakes lie in waiting for us. I dropped down into the bed of the stream and inched closer to Willow. I waited for a labor contraction to distract her and then moved forward to drape a halter around her head. Contraction or no contraction, Willow evaded the halter and moved up onto the tall grass next to the stream. Now she was heading in the “right” direction, as far as we were concerned, toward the run-in shed where we could keep ewe and lamb controlled and under surveillance. Willow stopped in her tracks and Frances approached from behind, whispering softly, then reassuringly stroking the sheep’s backbone. She was able to reach up and inside the uterus again, lifting the lamb even as she pulled gently on it. Still there was no progress. Willow stretched out on the ground and Frances tried again. This time the head and front legs emerged. The lamb was taking breaths, but its eyes were still closed and it did not appear to be moving with any vigor.

Then, it seemed, the lamb stopped breathing. “She’s dead,” Frances told me, about 10 yards away. With that immense disappointment, Frances decided she had been just too gentle in trying to ease the lamb out. With nothing now to lose, she decided “to hell with it, I’ve got to get this body out.” Willow was not pushing in any appreciable way. Frances reached in again with one hand, simultaneously pulling down and out. The time for gentle, tentative tugs was past. She reached in more aggressively and pulled harder. The lamb now came out quickly, just as the lambs had done earlier in the week when two of the Shetlands gave birth. We now could see this was another black lamb, and a large one at that. Such a shame.

And then, lying on the ground, the lamb gasped for breath. It was 8:50 a.m. “Well I’ll be go to hell,” Frances said under her breath. The lamb was still alive. We looked expectantly at Willow to start cleaning her lamb as the other mothers had. But she did not even look back. Frances started brushing amniotic fluid from the lamb’s wool. Again she breathed, then again. We tried once more to get Willow’s attention but the ewe would not even acknowledge the lamb. Finally, we lifted the still-weak lamb and placed her in front of her mother. Willow stood and raced off, making the rejection complete.

We studied the lamb once more to gauge its chances for survival. It was much larger than the Shetland lambs from earlier in the week. It was not actively moving, deprived as it was of the strengthening massage of its mother’s tongue during the usual clean-up phase. We wrapped her in a towel and carried her to the run-in shed. Frances ran to the house to warm up a formula of colostrum and rich milk that she had prepared earlier in the week just in case. I sat with the baby in my arms, the towel wrapped snugly around it. I pressed my body against it to keep it as warm as possible. This lamb was all legs. Try though I might to cradle it, fore legs and hind legs kept springing out of the cocoon. I had the very real sensation that the lamb was growing even as I held it.

Frances returned, armed with a potent elixir of whole milk, cream, butter milk and colostrum powder. The lamb gnawed on the teat, although she seemed to be teething on it more than drinking from it. A few drops tickled her tongue and she begun sucking harder. After an ounce or two, Frances set her upon the ground and the lamb stretched her muscles again. She was on her way. Her name would be Lucky.

Lucky, enjoying a colostrum cocktail

A time for the rains

The stream across the pasture returned with this week's rains.

If 2011 was the driest year in decades, at least 2012 is showing welcome signs of improvement. Night before last, the rains fell for hours. They were our constant calming companions throughout the night, though in truth we could have done with just a little bit less thunder. At daybreak it was clear that at least three or four inches had fallen. In just that short a time, parched pond beds were renewed and the stream that once flowed cleanly across the pasture returned.

March is the busiest month here. The ewes are due to lamb soon, so we (and by we I mean Frances) have devoted important hours to reading and re-reading lambing texts to prepare for the worst. The shopping lists now include items like “colostrum powder,” “CMPK Drench” and “OB lube” (don’t ask).

Meanwhile, the ground has warmed nicely and is now ready to receive seedlings. The natural soil in this part of North Texas is composed of a thick clay that resists tilling. We planted herbs and cool-weather lettuces in a plot near the house that  had previously been gardened. Then, as a learning exercise, we put together a 4×8-foot raised bed and planted tomatoes and a variety of pepper plants. The earth in the raised bed came from bags of peat, composted garden soil and vermiculite. If our high hopes are met, we’ll build out many more raised beds for next year.

Downy: calm and amiable

Sadly, one of our wethers dropped dead in his tracks on Tuesday. Downy was 3 years old and a stalwart in the pasture. I resist calling the livestock by name so as to avoid the traps of anthropomorphism. But it was hard not to compare Downy’s natural markings with those of his sheeply compatriots. Most of them are poker-faced but Downy always had a sunny look. He was not flighty like the others, and lent a stable, amiable vibe to the pasture. He had been battling a chronic respiratory ailment, and it finally got the best of him.

In the country, you can’t really sweep problems under the rug the way you can in the city. We need to deal with the reality of Downy’s carcass. We’ve arranged for someone to bring a mini excavator over tomorrow to dig a grave deep enough to deter predators. The rains this week are not helpful in this regard, as the water table is high, and machinery driven across the pasture will leave ruts. While we wait for the mini excavator, we have wrapped Downy up and lifted him off the ground in the tractor front end bucket. It will be a relief to lay him to rest tomorrow, for new sheep and new vegetables are right around the corner.

Now is the winter of our content

Daisy catches some rays on a cool February afternoon

February 11, 2012

We’re two-thirds of the way through winter at Sun and Wind Farm but cold weather only found its way here for the first time this morning. The mild weather we’ve been enjoying has been a welcome respite from the hellfire of last summer, when Texas had the hottest three-month streak of temperatures in recorded U.S. history.

Along came January with some blessed relief. We recorded 19 days above 60 degrees in the month, including six days higher than 70. February started off on the right foot with three more days over the 70-degree mark. But this morning the temps snuck down just below 30 at dawn, with a wind-chill factor of 12 degrees. Diego, the larger of our two Great Pyr livestock guardian dogs, pre-emptively voted not to get out of bed, instead burrowing under a recently opened bale of straw after he wolfed down his breakfast.

Lambing jug at the ready

Most of our focus is on getting ready for the new lambs. Zorro and the four Shetland ewes arrived the first week of November. The ewes never came into heat on our farm, so we believe he had already had his way with them by then. Zorro then efficiently worked his way through the rest of the ewes on the farm — two more Shetlands, two Islandics and two Suffolks. What a guy! In any case, we have a circle drawn around the first week of April as a likely arrival time for the first of the lambs. Given the inclination of many sheep breeds to bear twins (or more), we are expecting as many as 20 new lambs come spring.

Our run-in shed is already organized in a way conducive to segregating moms and lambs for their all-important first 48 hours, so they can get a chance to bond without other ewes swooping in to claim the lambs as their own. Just to be sure, we picked up a lambing jug (ok, it’s a dog kennel, but we’re not planning to tell the sheep) to make it easier should any of the lambs need extra protection or attention.

Meanwhile in the house, Frances has started planting herb seeds to sit on the sill under the mid-day sun. They will be heading to an open nook of garden just outside the kitchen door and, from there, to their final destination as savory additions to our meals over the next year.

Chickens suspicious about their new coop

December 6, 2011

New at the farm and just in time for the cold weather: a beautiful chicken coop we purchased from http://www.greenchickencoop.com/. The coop arrived mostly built. All we had to do was attach the legs and wheels, which of course — given the severely challenged state of our handyman skills — took days.

But it’s up and out in the shed area. The intended residents, our five hearty Rhode Island Red hens, are a little suspicious about their big new home. As these photos attest, they are taking their good sweet time investigating first before jumping in.

STEP ONE: We set the trap for the unsuspecting chickens.

STEP TWO: The marks approach, feigning indifference and yet compelled to investigate.

STEP THREE: Unable to contain their curiosity any longer, the marks approach the trap coop.

Regrettably, that’s as close as they dared to get on first pass. Having survived their first scouting pass, the chickens retired to their camp to plan a final assault on the coop. Stay tuned.

New Shetland sheep in the pasture

Shetlands relax after their journey from Tucson. That's Zorro bleating and facing the left.

November 10, 2011

“A man has to get a fox, a chicken, and a sack of corn across a river. He has a rowboat, and it can only carry him and one other thing…” Remember that old brain twister? We lived it the other night! But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Our spinners’ flock of 10 sheep — six ewes and four wethers (look it up) — has provided us with a nice diversity of breeds, fleeces and dispositions. After last month’s shearing, it became obvious that the Shetland ewes were producing especially gorgeous wool. This was wool that Frances preferred to use in her projects and that could be sold to eager buyers via our eBay store. So the idea took root: Must get more of the Shetland fleeces’ rich earth tones. There are only two ways to get more: bring in a ram to do what comes naturally, or buy some Shetland sheep from outside. We did both and now five Shetlands — a ram named Zorro and four ewes — were on their way.

Al Ziegler, livestock transporter extraordinaire, had left Tucson a day earlier with the sheep and a 12-year-old horse who was hitching a ride to Missouri. He called at 7 p.m. with the news that he was just 10 miles away. We cheered as Al slowed to make the turn into the driveway. We frowned as he stopped short because his long trailer just could not make the tight turn. Our house is set back about a quarter-mile from the road, so we jumped into our faithful Honda SUV to investigate. One thought loomed in our mind as we navigated the long driveway: Let’s hope Buddy, the over-zealous escape artist of a Great Pyrenees dog who lives next door, doesn’t get loose again and come visit.

At the end of the driveway, we were greeted by Al and, of course, Buddy. After sizing up the situation for a few minutes, we realized that we would have to shuttle back and forth to get the sheep from the street to the pasture out back. In our Honda SUV. With Buddy dancing around us. In the dark.

Given the size of the car, we could carry no more than two sheep at a time. On the theory that Zorro would be the friskiest, we opted for two trips of two girls each and then one last trip fror Zorro. We (and by we, I mean I) would physically carry each sheep from the livestock trailer into the car, on the theory that no good could come from allowing any of the flighty Shetlands on the ground, particularly with Buddy on hand to scare the bejesus out of them.

Improbably, our little plan worked just fine. Buddy was neutralized when his horrified owner rushed over to escort him away. The sheep were light and easily carried through mid-air. Zorro was a bit miffed, which he let us know by indignantly snorting as he was lifted. But after 20 minutes all five were safely in a segregated section of the run-in shed. The 10 original sheep watched the operation with great interest and attempted to establish communication through the fence that separated them. Not sure exactly what was being said, but it sounded something like “Bah-ram-ewe!”

The next morning, we let the five newbies out to meet the oldtimers. Clearly, we had not completely thought through just how a new, smaller ram would be greeted. Each of the wethers took turns making a run at him, no doubt taking out their deep feelings of inadequacy on their fully functioning new friend. Quickly, we rounded up the new sheep and deposited them inside the run-in shed, where they are now enjoying rest after their long journey.

So what was originally six ewes and four boys shooting blanks now becomes 10 ewes, four wethers and a ram. We anticipate a party in the days and weeks to come as the ewes go into heat, followed by as many as 20 lambs in the spring, depending on how inventive and energetic young Zorro turns out to be.