Until Barack Orama was born, I had never raised anything other than white Southdown lambs. He changed that, if you haven’t already guessed. As for his name, I hope it doesn’t offend anyone because I know at least a few readers are fans of his namesake. I also know that a good deal more are not. But with a brother named Joe, and being a ram, what else was I going to call him?
I was present for Barack’s birth. As
the seemingly lifeless lamb emerged from his mother, all slimy and black, my
first reaction was, “Uh-oh, this can’t be good.” I had seen dark lambs like
this before, and it usually meant they had been dead for quite awhile. A brief
pause and vigorous shake later, however, little Barack was very much alive.
My next concern was the ewe.
Although this was her fourth lambing, she didn’t exactly earn “mother of the
year” honors on her first go-round, and probably would have been on my infamous
“list”, had my wife’s husband not paid way too much money for her own mother.
The last two years she’s done a great job with her lambs; my anxiety this time
stemmed from wondering how she would bond to the uniquely shaded baby. Happily,
she never missed a lick, for Barack, or his older brother, Joe, and seemed to love
both equally.
Two
days later, the family was moved to a larger pen containing three other ewes
and their lambs, and I witnessed a behavior I hadn’t seen before. Instantly and
in unison, the heads and ears of all three ewes went up, and their front legs
went rigid into “stomp-mode.” I imagine they saw in Barack a dog or coyote.
Fortunately, this passed within a few seconds when they realized he was not,
and there were no more incidents.
That’s
not to say Barack’s early days were all “kumbaya.” After Barack and his family
were released into what I call the “general population” of ewes and lambs, he kept
to himself, and didn’t interact and form friendships with non-sibling lambs
like so many of them do. At night, most of the lambs would lounge in the
corners of the pen, often two or three deep, making skin contact to stay warm.
Barack never did that. I found this odd, and as it was early March and still dreadfully
cold, also sad.
Those
feelings evaporated a few mornings later. While rounding a gate-post during
chore-time, I was nearly run over by a romping band of lambs led by young Mr.
Orama. Apparently, with familiarity came acceptance, and Barack was now just
one of the pack, except I always knew who he was, no eartags required.
So where did Barack get the black wool? From
his parents, of course, and the intricacies of genetics. Wool genetics, with many
natural colors, plus patterns such as spots and facial stripes, is a
complicated and mind-boggling science. Yet, a solid black lamb like Barack is
the result of a simple recessive gene, one inherited from each parent.
If
you recall from biology class, a gene is the basic unit of heredity passed from
parent to offspring. Located on a chromosome, a gene is actually a distinct
sequence of building blocks called nucleotides. It is thought that 3.2 billion
of these nucleotides make up the human genome. I’m not sure how many make up
the sheep genome, but since sheep have 54 chromosomes compared to the human 46,
there’s likely to be as many, if not more. It is the specific order of these
nucleotides that make every living thing what it is. A change in\the sequence
of even one can produce dramatic effects, such as making what should have been
a white lamb have black wool.
When
studied at the molecular level, the genetic differences which made Barack look
like Barack, and Joe look like all the other lambs, are infinitesimally small.
The traits they share as brothers and sheep vastly exceed those which set them apart.
People are a lot like that, too. It
has been estimated that we humans share 99.9% of our genetic material. What this
means is that in spite of all our various shapes and sizes, skin colors, hair
colors, eye colors, and, perhaps, even choice of partner, the things we have in
common far, far outweigh any differences between us.
By Dr. John H. Jones
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