A Happy Conclusion
FINALLY.
Yes, friends, Lucy has ended her long-running drama and delivered her lamb.
He’s a big, strapping ram with fantastic eyebrows and what look like exceptionally fabulous wooly boots. Lucy is enamored with him, and all seems well with both of them.
That’s the short and clean version of the story. Just the facts, ma’am. You can stop right here and enjoy a satisfying and happy conclusion to her story.
But…
Do you for one moment believe that our little Lucy had a drama-free and uncomplicated lambing?
No.
No, she did not.
The morning started just like all the other last eleven million days of Lucy’s pregnancy. My morning check revealed a grumpy, ginormous sheep who looked about as ready to deliver as she did the night before. And the night before that. You get the picture.
I went home to work, setting a mental alarm. The next time I looked up, I realized I must have snoozed that mental alarm and hustled down to the barn.
Lucy was nowhere in sight when I drove by her maternity paddock. I found her in her lambing stall, practicing her statue act again. She’s really mastered it by now. I thought, “ah, well, it’s a gorgeous day, and the poor thing’s miserable…I’ll just sit with her a bit.”
About ten minutes later I texted Greg: “I think it’s time.”
It was absolutely time. There was no question. Looking back, I can’t believe I wrote “I think,” because without going into more detail that anyone wants with a cup of coffee, there should have been no doubt whatsoever. But by this point in time, Lucy’s psychological shenanigans had completely shaken my confidence.
So there we were, quietly watching what all the books and videos informed me looked like textbook lambing.
Until it wasn’t.
We had what is politely termed a malpresentation. It required what is politely termed an assist.
There is absolutely nothing polite about what happened to dear Lucy to get that lamb out of her.
Because not only did we first need to do a little internal rearranging, but then the lamb’s shoulders got stuck. Hard.
At this point, I feel like it’s important to share our agricultural resumes. As far as I know, Greg’s most intense farm experience before this year was being kicked by a cow as a kid. Mine is a toss-up between horse camp as a Girl Scout and being assigned a live chicken as a prop during a high school theater production.
I’m not even all that whippy with birth as a whole process. My kids were all born via c-section. I had zero context for being elbow-deep in a sheep assisting a live birth.
And yet. There we were, in our mid-fifties, four months into this hands-on shepherding adventure, covered in sheep stuff, buzzing on adrenaline and fear, watching Lucy clean her precious little lamb who was only slightly more stunned than we were at what had just happened.
We have now had a grand total of two lambings on this farm, and each were challenging in their own way. Jane’s was an effortless (for us!) delivery, but a big challenge for the lamb to start nursing. Lucy and her lamb only needed a little help getting nursing going, but the labor and delivery…
Here’s what I know. It’s a great privilege to see the things I’m getting to see, and I’m cherishing these days. Not all lambings will turn out well. Had the timing been different, this one would not have. In a few years, I won’t have the strength to pull a lamb. And who knows when circumstances may change and we won’t be able to enjoy things the way they are right now, with these animals.
But for now, I’m soaking up the experiences, because they are rare and precious.
And I’m putting Advil on the Walmart pickup list because my back muscles are still talking.
Greg’s Got Questions
(As a matter of procedure, the poll function takes you to another page to submit your vote, so if that happens to you, you’re on the right track!)
Question 1: Why do you think Martin’s wool looked like a hand-dyed Easter egg when he finally exited Lucy?
Question 2: What sort of purpose do you have in mind for young Master Martin on Pemberley Farm once he’s matured?
Question 3: And, of course, the question I have to ask every time a new name arrives in our Jane Austen-esque world, why “Martin?”
Question 4: Would you be willing to share more about the live chicken prop high school experience? Was there only one chicken involved? Did he or she have a backup? What play involved live animals? Were any eggs produced during rehearsals? Did the Kansas State chicken department provide this bird? So many questions…
Happy knitting,
Kiersten J
