The lambs weren't quite sure what to think this morning as they ventured out into the yard for the first time. It was all noise and confusion as they got their bearings. Perhaps they'll be less tentative tomorrow. Here's a few moments from morning chores with Holly and the gang.

Sometimes bottle lambs are the result of a ewe who, for whatever reason, just isn't cut out for motherhood. Take Helena, my polka-dotted ewe who's been shirking her maternal duties since the day her twins were born last week. No longer confined to a stanchion or a lambing pen, Helena and her twins are out and about in the common space. The black ram can nurse whenever he chooses. But poor Blaze, the little white ewe-ling, has to be watchful and jump in whenever her mom isn't looking. She's quite cunning and is getting good at nursing from behind. And I am seeing that she is never hungry, offering a bottle to top her off several times a day. I'm feeding two other bottle lambs, so one more is really not a problem at this point.

(Sorry folks, I can't get this image to remain rotated in Typepad; this is actually the way I shot it while the lambs sucked on my fingers.Tilt your head to the right.)

Through no fault of her own, Mystic is unable to supply enough milk to feed her twins born last week. And I'm to blame for this situation. On shearing day back in March we noticed there was something funky about her udder. It was lopsided, one half semi-inflated with milk the the other flaccid with some hardened tissue inside. We're guessing she had somehow injured her udder while out in the pasture last season. I really should have picked up on it last fall when I changed her coat and trimmed her hooves before placing her in the breeding group.

Bum udder aside, Mystic is a sweet, attentive mom. She encourages them to nurse, with little success. You should see their eyes light up when I approach their pen. Wouldn't it be slick if I could combine Mystic's maternal instincts with Helena's productive bag? Or if I could get the two ewes to parent cooperatively, Helena serving as wet nurse and Mystic the loving nanny?

In the meantime, Zuni is still holding out on me. Perhaps she's had a change of mind and has decided motherhood isn't her gig. I don't see how she can possibly hang on another day. I'm watching for the sign of the first contraction.

This morning had its own wonderful surprise. Not the hoped for Zuni-lambs, but something equally wonderful. Yarn whisperer and champion for indie fiber producers everywhere, Clara Parkes' review of my yarn, Upland Wool & Alpaca was my first email read of the day. Clara's comments are especially meaningful. Not only does she know her yarn, but this gal knows more than a thing or two about wool, as we'll all see in her new book – The Knitters Book of Wool coming out this fall. Thank you Clara! Your review brightened my week, making up for the bad luck of a bum udder.

On other fronts:

My brain is toast. I'll gladly take suggestions for naming Mystic's twins. The ram lamb has
droopy puppy-dog-style ears and the ewe has Yoda-style ears that stand
out to the side. Such an adorable pair. Remember, this year's theme is
"colors".

Speaking of colors – I just received an email from Amazon that my pre-ordered copy of my very own book, Teach Yourself Visually Hand-Dyeing has
been shipped. I should have it in my hands by tomorrow. It will be my
first glimpse of the book in print and trust me, I'll be stalking the
mailman until it arrives. Maybe Zuni's lambs will time arrive at the
same time as my book. That would be a truly exciting day.

Stay tuned.

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copyright 2009. Barbara Parry. All rights reserved.

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Yesterday morning Mystic's twins arrived after breakfast. Healthy lambs, but alas, her milk supply is pitifully inadequate. I borrowed from Helena to feed both lambs at birth and have been sneaking them bottle snacks to keep them going until Mystic's milk is established.

We're in the homestretch here, with just two ewes, Mystic and Zuni, left to deliver. I'm so happy, completely exhausted, but drawing new energy now that there's an end in sight. 

As many of you know, I rely on the baby monitor on my bedside stand which serves as my ear in the barn. I fall asleep to the banter of 23 new lambs conversing with their mothers. Each morning I wake to soft rustle of lambs scampering at first light. It's getting harder to tell the sound of a playful lamb dancing in the straw from the sound of a ewe pawing the bedding in labor. At night I'm relying more and more heavily on the lambcam to check out the action in the darkened barn.

Here's more of Helena's story, as I promised earlier this week:

At dark o'clock on Tuesday morning, I got my wake up call to help Helena as she delivered a pretty pair, a white ewe and a black ram lamb. Both were strong and healthy, and mother quickly cleaned them up, and claimed them. Which is why it is so mysterious that in the light of the following day, Helena was clearly favoring her black ram lamb, giving her white ewe-ling the cold shoulder, though I suspect the light of day had something to do with it.

My good friend, shearer, and trusted resource for all things sheep, Andy Rice, came by to help troubleshoot. First order of business – was she was differentiating by sight or smell? We rubbed menthol on her nose and on the butts of the lambs. For about ten minutes, she went back and forth, sniffing both lamb bottoms, trying to sort out who was who. You could tell she was using her other senses to process, and, smart mother that she is, it didn't take long for her to sort it out. Once again, she began shoving the white ewe aside.

In past years we've had good results in training reticent ewes to accept their lambs by using a stanchion, a panel that keeps the mother stationary and allows the lambs to nurse without the mother able to see exactly who's feeding. Andy felt it was certainly worth a try. So we confined Helena in a stanchion, much to her chagrin. But those lambs eagerly jumped in to nurse, especially the little white ewe. 

I thought we were on the right path until later that evening I discovered that once again, Helena had gone on strike. She was lying down, udder tucked away, firmly sandwiched between her legs. I massaged her neck and cajoled and coaxed her to stand. As soon as she felt two lambs jump in to nurse, down she went. This battle of wills went on for hours. I checked her bag. It was fine. I inspected the lamb's mouths, no sharp teeth (in fact no teeth at all). 

Near midnight, at wits end, after much cussing and several hours of getting her to stand only to have her refuse both lambs,  I lost my resolve and released her from the stanchion. And darn it, she turned right around and shoved that white lamb!

I gave up and gathered the little ewe from the pen. Within minutes, Helena settled and eased into nursing the black ram. There was clearly no point in forcing the matter, at least not that night.

A hungry twenty-one hour old lamb wakes its mother every three to four hours by gently pawing with its hoof. I know this because I spent the rest of Tuesday night and the early hours of Wednesday playing surrogate mom for Helena's ewe. 

Yes, I broke the cardinal rule. Desperate for sleep, I succumbed to the last resort and brought the lamb to the house, making a pact with that little ewe. I would feed her and keep her safe, if she would allow me a few hours of sleep. We both kept our ends of the bargain. Starved for warmth and nurturing , she settled right in beside me, tucked under my chin, in my sleeping bag on the bedroom floor. She politely kicked me twice during the for bottle feeding. That aside, we both woke somewhat rested the next day.

Wednesday morning, she followed me about the kitchen as I made coffee, checking out the recycling bin, playing with the empty milk jugs. She investigated the shower curtain in the bathroom, chatted with the other sheep she could here on the baby monitor, and piddled on the linoleum floor. And she never let me out of her sight. I couldn't tell if she was becoming imprinted to me or to the pattern on my flannel LL Bean pajamas, but, darling as she was, I knew she needed to get back to the barn. Sheep are not house pets and it's a mistake keep a lamb apart from the flock for any length of time. Back she went.

Where do things now stand? We're making progress, taking each day as it comes. Helena is still iffy about this white lamb. She's accepted it to nurse, is almost fine about its scent, but the moment she sees it, swat. Bizarre. 

Sometimes ewes reject lambs for good reasons, detecting defects or weakness not obvious right away to their keepers. That is not the case here. My white ewe-ling, who I've named Blaze, is sturdy and smart. She's figured out how to avoid her mother's evil eye, hanging out at the back of pen, feeding whenever her brother gets up to nurse. I'm firm but patient with Helena. She doesn't have to like this lamb, but she does need to do her job. I do believe she'll come around.

Since I'm in the barn almost continually throughout the day watching for more lambs to drop, endlessly cleaning, filling feeders, topping off water buckets, I can keep on eye on Helena's pen and intervene if needed. At midnight barn check, Helena goes into the stanchion, for safe keeping.

It's a compromise, much healthier than rearing a bottle lamb, the best I can do for now. My black and white lambs, thoroughly bonded to each other, sleep nestled together in the straw beside their mom, a wooly symbol of the yin & yang of lambing.

Another set of twins, ewe and ram, arrived just before dinner last night to Aberdeen, a first time ewe. The x/y count is evening up, but the ewes are still ahead. Wish me luck, and we'll see what the weekend brings.

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copyright 2009. Barbara Parry. All rights reserved.

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As you can see, the oldest lambs are exploring all dining options.

Today I am reminded that sometimes the work of sheep midwifery is nothing compared to the work that follows the arrival of lambs. I'm multitasking at the moment, typing this post from the barn as I keep watch over three sets of mothers with their youngsters.

In pen #1 is Helena who birthed twins at 2 a.m. today. Uncomplicated delivery, healthy lambs (one white ewe, one black ram), agile and hungry. All seemed fine when I headed back to the house at 3 a.m.

Pen #2 holds Cassandra and her brand new twins. She went into labor at about 3:15 am, delivering at 6:30 am. One sturdy ram and a half-pint ewe who was a bit slow to suckle. I worked with half-pint until about 7 a.m. – time to feed everyone else. As I divvied up the hay, I noticed Helena rather nastily shoving her little white ewe, sending her toppling sideways into the wooden panel. So discouraging, especially since it didn't look accidental.

 I continued to work with Cassandra's lamb in pen 2, supporting "half-pint" by the chest, holding her up to momma's udder, placing the teat inside her mouth, while keeping an eye on Helena. Sure enough, she was kicking that white ewe off her udder and forcefully shoving her away with her head.

So I left one little ewe to help another,  and spent the next hour jumping back and forth between pens.

Meanwhile, I've been assisting poor Thalia. It appears her triplets have been using her udder as a teething ring.  On Easter Sunday I noticed her running from her own lambs. Never a good sign, I grabbed Saffron, the smallest and checked it out. New teeth, sharp as razors. Her brother and sister, same thing. Out came my emery board and I've been filing down the  points of their little daggers for two days, testing the sharpness on the tip of my pinky. For Thalia, twice daily massages with bag balm have eased her sore udder. I've monitored her pen all morning and so far so good. The triplets seem to be back in business, without stressing mom.

Here are few moments from earlier today:

Sleepy lambs at first light.

Helena gives her white lamb the evil eye. Good grief.

Pausing to admire daybreak.

The silver lining here – only 3 ewes are left to deliver: Aberdeen, Mystic and Zuni. Kodiak delivered over the weekend on the heels of Pansy and Calypso  I may be able to put away my birthing kit by the week's end. Wish me smooth sailing!

I promise to share more later when I'm a bit rested. You are still welcome to make some final predictions as we come down to the wire. Who will be next? Who will be last?

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copyright 2009. Barbara Parry All rights reserved. 

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This weekend we've gone from the tip of the iceberg to the tipping point with half the ewes having delivered.

Here's the latest:

Verbena (the only 3 year old in the group) delivered a set of triplets right after breakfast this morning. No wonder she was as big as a school bus. Her delivery presented me with my first malpresentation (otherwise known as dystocia). Lambie number one, a large ewe, presented nose first, front legs back, which is only really dangerous if no one is around to help. I rolled up my sleeves and sent lambie back to the womb so I could fish for her two front legs and gently draw them forward. Then she had a proper "toes first" arrival. She was quickly followed by two brothers.

In case you're wondering, the triplets did not arrive wearing pretty cable sweaters  (and no, I did not knit them myself). The new sweaters were a gift from their Auntie Marcia in CT,  arriving in my mailbox yesterday, just in time for another chilly April morning. (Marcia, big hugs from me and Verbena).

Evidently inspired by the triplets' arrival, Pansy went into labor presenting me with a single very large ewe-ling. Pansy, my 9 year old veteran, is lavishing attention on her lamb, licking every square inch of her fuzzy body. She was licking her lamb so hard, the lamb kept falling over!

The lambs all seem to be larger now, more developed and faster on their feet. Which is great, because I'm pretty wiped out from too many nights of broken sleep and midnight barn checks. I'm grateful for a barn full of ewes who are all doing their jobs – and for having reached the half-way mark. Also encouraging is the ewe:ram lamb ratio of 2:1 at this point!

Crackerjack is as exhausted as I am. Ordinarily not a napper when there's action in the barn, he totally crashed while I was busy with Pansy and her lamb this morning. Poor guy! I think he realizes his work as lamb nanny is just beginning. At least he looks dapper with his new haircut.

I just peeked at all the comments from last week. Many of you (Emily, Ikkinlala, Madeline, Mikell, Kristy, Margene, Anna Marie, Rebecca, Sue and Valerie) had a hunch that either Verbena or Pansy would be next. I don't think anyone (including me) imagined that Galveston and Corona were ready. And so much for my theory about the full moon.

Here's who's left:

Kodiak~!

Calypso, Cassandra

Zuni, Helena, Aberdeen, Mystic

At this point your guess is as good as mine. Kodiak is huge; I suspect she's carrying a three-pack, a VW beetle, or the world's largest single. Mystic looks furthest away to my eye, with an udder the size of a grapefruit. Everyone else is right in the middle, looking pretty darn ripe.

You're welcome to give it another shot this week. We'll compare notes again next Friday (or Saturday if I'm tied up in the barn or too exhausted to type on Friday). Everyone gets entered in the drawing for "the Goods" at the end of the season – 2 skeins of Foxfire wool & alpaca twist and a copy of Lisa Lloyd's Thistle and Fox Socks book.

What d'ya think?

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copyright 2009. Barbara Parry. All rights reserved.

Please do not take images or content from this site without explicit permission. Please feel free to share a link to this site.

The triplets have outgrown their sweaters. Today we let them out with mother to explore the world outside their little pen. They were tentative at first, but it didn't take them long to start bouncing all over the place while Thalia finished her breakfast.

I stepped into the barn this morning in time to watch Galveston deliver her very first lamb, a large ewe. Single lambs are often large – and I had to stop filming toward the end to give Galveston a hand with the delivery. Momma and lamb are doing fine, resting in their pen. The lamb is strong and smart. I'll have to think of a good name for her!