Hi, my name is 117. I’m getting on in years, so thanks for not photographing my udder.
I’m 704. I’m young. I’m a little skittish. In fact, when my babies are born, I plan to freak out.
I’m 703, and I’m hoping for a spinal blocker. Maybe some Valium or oxycontin. Or put me under and do a C section. Just get these blasted things out of me.
I call myself “Missing Ear Tag” because I refuse to be reduced to a number. I manage to rip out every tag those dang farmers put in my ear.
I’m 707, and sweet as can be.
I’m Orange 1. Orange? Everyone else has blue or green tags. I don’t know what happened that year. The farmers switched numbering systems and I was first in line. If you’ve read Sheepish, you know me as Black Girl. These farmers don’t name their sheep, so they don’t have much practice, but really–Black Girl? Just because I was all black as a lamb? Why not Monique, or Laura, or Jessica?
And I’m Helen. Back off. These blasted eggs can’t hatch soon enough. I’m tired of hanging out in this stupid box in the darkest corner of the barn, but it’s where I laid the eggs, so I’m stuck here.
Spring on Rising Moon Farm….everyone’s a little anxious about the impending babies, including me. Melissa has a full time, off-farm job now, which is making our checkbook very happy. But this means she won’t be around to help with lambing. If this strikes terror in your heart, it means you’ve been paying attention to who I am—I’ve made no secret of it in my memoirs.
So I have the sheep locked in the three-sided barn (with plenty of food and air and sunshine.) At the first sign of trouble, I’m calling the vet. I may not be able to deliver a lamb, but I can dial a phone!
12 Responses
I just finished reading your book, Catherine, so it’s nice to see “the family pics”!
I really enjoyed Sheepish. Good work!
I agree, call the vet, and remember to breathe and trust!
Golly, Catherine – so brave! So stoic! So crazy! So sorry you’re tending the birth mom’s on your own (during the day, anyway). I will send good thoughts your way. And the way of the Ladies! ;-D
The above message from “Haute” (part the name of Metro State University’s Literary and Arts Journal, “Haute Dish” – I’m the Managing Editor starting this summer) should have said it was from me – Serena. (Can’t figure out how to delete or edit the message – have truly lost my geek status… how embarrassing…)
Clare—thanks. Breathing is good.
Serena, technical snafus are welcome here. I make them all the time. But me—stoic? That’s gonna give Melissa a chuckle when she gets home tonight… 🙂
Yeah, maybe stoic isn’t entirely accurate. The fact that you’re willing to do it at all in the face of known anxiety-button-pushing-activity counts for something, though.
Omigosh. Okay, the most important thing is do you have enough wine on hand? If you can maintain a state of blissful mellowness throughout the lambing season, you’ll do just fine. And if you think all the wine will put too many calories into your body, just don’t eat. That should even things out. Keep your camera with you every time you go out to do chores or check on the maternity ward. I’m betting we’ll get to see some great pictures.
P.S. Love that you’re blogging regularly. Keep it up, ‘kay?
I love this post. Your great sense of humor comes right through. And – yes – call the vet – don’t be a hero.
As a lover of your first book, this post cracks me up. Having raised sheep the last 8 years…lambing season is fraught with good and bad. I hope it goes well.
Good luck with the lambing! “Orange 1″…. LMAO!
Have no fear, pasture goddess is near….
And the farmer sinks to her knees in gratitude. I forgot to mention that one of our pasture goddesses, Mary, will be spending a week with us.
Mary, the ewes have agreed to hold off until you arrive. And I’ve talked with the vet about calling for help when needed. I wonder if they heard the note of desperation in my voice… 🙂
Good luck to all these lovely farmyard ladies! Especially “missing ear tag”! 🙂