Holey-Moley.....Sharp stuff...

I'm almost a farmer!

I feel like I need another Blue Peter Badge [smug smile.... Yes, I've already got one.] This new one would be for overcoming my fear of injecting my animals with necessary medicines.... Not entirely sure there is such a badge, but there jolly well should be.

Though he is up to his armpits in sheep, lambs and trees, our local friend and farmer came by with his brilliant sons to give me a lesson the other day (again!) in injecting creatures.  The three soon-to-be ewes needed injections to protect them against pasteurella and clostridial yuckiness and an injection prior to lambing helps protect the lambs too. The alpaca also needed injections, as sanctioned by the vet, these to also protect against clostridial (bacteria in soil) infection.

Eventually we caught two of the sheep; Pink and Moon and Moon was chosen as the demo girl. Next it was my turn to inject Pink. I was useless. These injections are subcutaneous and so I needed to pull the skin taught in order to get under the skin. The first attempt and I managed to inject into thin air, my needle resting too far above the skin. My second attempt was equally flawed as I went through the skin and out the other side and the injection fluid was lost again. Moon wasn't bothered by my pants technique but at last (third time) I finally I got it.

Feeling confident (not) but conscious that our farming friend was so, so busy, I bravely smiled and assured him that I was fully competent: I could go it alone..... Well, alone with the Hubby that is.

The result:

• 1 errant sheep caught and injected. Yay!
• 7 alpaca injected (plus hooves clipped, fleece samples taken and A,D and E vitamin paste administered) yay!
• 1 husband injected -oops! and
• self administration x 3, .....sigh.

Just the sproglets to do then........ ! 

Batteries low and being head-butted....

We've almost made it to spring....

I feel as if I'm crawling toward spring, I'm tired and feel sure my wellingtons have rubber fatigue too. It has been a funny week, warm temperatures, low wind, a definite promise of better, more consistent weather. However, last night we had more monsoon rain, yay! and this morning the fields that were beginning to dry out were sodden again.

Stuff is appearing in the greenhouse, on windowsills and, more gratifyingly, in the beds and borders planted over the past four years. Herbaceous perennials like astrantia, lupins and hydrangea are now able to compete with the grass thanks to hubby and I battling. We should have some wonderful flowers this year. I constantly check in with The Flower Farmer at Common Farm for hints and tips on growing British flowers, she is a goddess, check her out if you can.

Hope you're not eating while reading this: One of our alpaca mums has an enormous pus-filled spot on her face that I'm cleaning daily. [Did I mention I'm from St John's Wood!!] According to the vet who came out on Saturday, it's likely she was spiked by a blackthorn in the hedge which then turned nasty. The 11yo, who has expressed an interest in being a veterinarian, (I'm light-headed with the thought of the cost-savings,) was an excellent nurse and handed swabs, as the vet disgorged a tablespoon or more of goo from a held, but nonetheless compliant, alpaca. The 9yo meanwhile, was no-where near this carnage.

Yesterday I was head-butted by a giddy baby alpaca. All fun here at The Larches. I've been gently stroking the younger members of the pack in order to get them used to us. Next month I plan to start halter training..... should be hilarious... anyhoo, Fudge, Caramel and Shadow think the 'touching game' is great fun and delight in kicking their legs, tossing heads and running about each time I manage even the slightest caress. I was just reaching for Fudge yesterday when she anticipated my move and with one great giddy bounce, she managed to butt my nose with the top of her head. Lordy did my eyes stream. Hope I don't get black eyes, I'm supposed to be at a black tie do this weekend, though I guess the colour would be in keeping!

I've made pork cassoulet for tea with pinto beans and smoked bacon, plus home-made crusty bread. I very roughly followed this Hairy Biker's recipe. Fancy popping over?... xx

What a difference a day makes....

I awoke last night and for a split second I was in that dream land where all is well with the world; there was sure to be a sunny, warm day ahead with no sign or rain and Queenie, the baby lamb was still alive.

Yesterday was not a good day.

It started well enough, as soon as hubby left for work I got up and let out the chickens, I moved the three hefty lambs, Snowy, Moon and Pink to the bottom field to graze and went to collect the baby, Queenie, from the stables.

Queenie was delighted to see me or maybe she was just delighted to see her bottle of milk! I fed her before she and I strolled down to the bottom paddock together, her padding along beside me like a dog. She was to join the big girls for the day.

I closed the gate to the field and gave Queenie and Pink a last scratch of the nose through the fence before heading back toward the house. Queenie and Pink see me as their mum and as Queenie is still quite tiny in comparison to her tubby adopted sisters, she managed to squeeze herself through the gap in the gate and, bleating with joy, followed me back up Home Field!

If I had been gardening for the day I would have happily let her follow me for an hour or so but lambs are notoriously bad at painting and decorating and this was my imposed chosen activity for the day, so instead I lifted her up and over the nearest fence, trapping her in the little paddock that is Queenie proof.

Unusually the weather was mild and back indoors, armed with coffee, I began to prep the walls and ceiling of daughter's empty bedroom.

Within an hour the 9yo, (temporarily housed in the attic room,) and the 7yo awoke and daughter and I mused over the colour she wanted for the chimney breast and opposite wall, (a vivid purple is high on her agenda which is why I've deemed that the rest of the room is white.) Boy, relishing the lack of my attention, was soon lost to Wii-World.

With the childen dispatched to breakfast and play, I began to paint the room. Periodically I gazed at the view across our fields, ocasionally I waved to a child as they ran by on the track below, on their way to the den, the swing or to pick some flowers. While they played, I used a compass and pencil to draw perfect, protective circles on the walls. These circles encompassing bees, bugs, birds and butterflies, exquisitely painted, are part of an inherited mural in the room. Although I will paint out the foliage, I couldn't bear to eradicate these creatures from the new scheme.

I heard the screams first then the 7yo came hurtling into the house yelling.

'Mum! Queenie can't stand up, Queenie can't stand up!'

I reached the 9yo in the tiny paddock in record time and there was my Queenie, this sweet six week old baby, thrashing about on the grass, her head twisted back at a hideous angle her legs cycling wildly. As her eyes flickered back in her head all I could think of was epilepsy or meningitis.

We tried our local farmer first to see if he knew what ailed her but he couldn't be sure, so we got back into the Discovery and raced to the vet, the children supporting the lamb on the floor of the truck. All told, from the start of her fit, which the 9yo witnessed, to our arrival at the vet, just 30 or 40 minutes had elapsed.

I made the children sit in the waiting room, concerned that they wouldn't cope with what might happen, as I went through to an examining room with the vet. I held her legs as he injected this and that into her tiny shaved neck but there came a point where her body was so hot, her panting so wild and her eyes so black, that I knew she wasn't Queenie any more.

The vet ran her out to a shed and I held her while he gently hosed her with cool water, desperately trying to cool her temperature, but I knew it was futile.

I cried when she left me.

The vet couldn't give a difinitive cause for her death but he thought it was cerebral, maybe bacterial meningitis or possibly grass tetany due to the levels of magnesium in the pasture, although he said he'd be suprised at this with such a young lamb.

The children were devastated.

We took her little body, towelled dry by the vet, and drove home. The children's chests heaved silently, boy was turned away from me in the passenger seat, his forehead resting on the cool glass window. The girl was sat the back, closest to the lamb's body.

They chose a peaceful spot in the garden under a magnificent Acer, a secret spot along a grassy trail hidden by six foot high shrubs. They dug with me and then we placed her, wrapped in a soft shroud, deep in her resting place and said our goodbyes.

While I planted Feverfew and Penstemon they found an unused wooden garden bench and placed it facing the grave.

Unprompted they said a prayer, the 'Our Father' and, for once, I joined in.

Being a Mummy Sheep

My three adopted daughters are growing well. Snowy is huge and fast becoming the most beautiful sheep with white eye patches and a gentle nature. Moon is the naughtiest of the three and insists on jumping up, bruising me with her sharp hooves. Little Pink is still the baby and behaves more like a dog than a lamb; she adores being fussed and is happy to toddle about with us without needing a harness.

Though the four feeds a day have been slightly trying, especially the 11pm one and washing bottles and teats four times a day has been a strain on my hands, I've thoroughly enjoyed raising the girls and the children have loved seeing their new pets grow.

Last week was challenging, the 9yo was home sick and I still had the builders in. At the usual time I set off to collect the 7yo from school, the 9yo wrapped up in her seat. I took our usual route over the Clee Hills. Up high on these hills and across Catherton Common, is Common Land. Residents graze their animals here; sheep, cows and horses wandering freely. There's plenty of signage to warn motorists but very few stick to the 40mph limit and even that feels fast when a creature bolts into the road. 

Towards Clee Hill Village we passed a lamb on the side of the road. She was sat like a dog; on her bottom her two front legs bracing her body above the gravel layby. She was in a bad way. Clearly she'd been hit by a motorist. 

I turned the car around and parked a little way away explaining the situation to the 9yo.

The lamb didn't flinch as I approached, a bad sign in itself. Blood streamed from her nose and mouth.


Thank goodness we always carry blankets. I wrapped her up and, though she was heavy I lifted her and carefully laid her in the boot of my car.



With the 7yo speedily collected from school, we three lashed to the vet's practice closest to where I'd found the lamb. The children watched the still creature as I drove and at one point the 9yo motioned that she thought it had died. I confess I felt relief that it was out of pain but the 7yo gently stroked a leg and the lamb struggled: She was fighting her injuries.

The vet surgery was fantastic and gave the lamb a 50/50 chance. They promised to call me to let me know the outcome.


The worse part of the experience wasn't the blood on my blankets or the aroma of the car, no, it was noticing a white van driver eating his sandwiches and drinking his tea. He was parked fifty yards from where the lamb's life was ebbing away and he continued to watch as I struggled to lift the hefty animal into the back of my car. Humans worry me sometimes.

***

The vet called not long after we got home. The lamb had been put to sleep.

We all need to slow down in our cars. In rural areas you could hit a lamb, in town it could be a child.