Life on the farm can be tough. And
sometimes, it can be downright cruel. I experienced one of those moments a few
weeks ago. Less than twelve hours later, a second tragedy occurred. But just
when I thought things couldn't get any worse, something wonderful happened. The
result of which couldn't have been better had it been written by a Hollywood screenwriter.
The drama began in the morning of
the second Friday in March, right in the heart of- you guessed it- lambing
season. One of my oldest ewes, "1114", gave birth to triplets- two
girls and a boy. Everything seemed to be fine. The mom was very attentive to
the lambs, and they were all nursing. In spite of their full bellies, I was a
little concerned she might not have enough milk for three, but I would worry
about that when I got home from work.
Upon my return, I quickly glanced
into their pen on my way to check the pregnant ewes for any new births. What I
saw was the ewe resting peacefully in a back corner with her lambs nestled
around her. When I passed by again, closer observation revealed she wasn't
resting. She was dead!
Raising orphan lambs is not high on
my list of favorite things to do. Though feeding them the first few times is
kind of fun, I guess, and the lambs always seem so grateful. "Nobody ever
likes you as much as a bottle lamb," I often say.
But to take on that task is a huge
commitment in time, and milk replacer is not cheap by any means. Nevertheless,
I had no other option, so I mixed up some replacer, and did what had to be done.
At least they were vigorous suckers.
The next morning I checked the
pregnant ewes before feeding them, as I always do, and didn't notice any new
lambs. But when all the ewes were eating with their heads forward and rear ends
toward me, one ewe about halfway down the line had afterbirth hanging from her
"lady parts." Two big, dead lambs were found, hidden behind a round
bale feeder.
I must have been somewhat shaken
from the loss, because a few minutes passed before the obvious dawned on me.
"Catch that ewe!" Fortunately, "1368" was still eating the
last remnants of corn, and had enough other ewes around her, that I was able to
get her caught and haltered.
As I half led and half wrestled the
ewe back to the pen of orphans, I truly didn't know what I was going to do
next. My track record of grafting orphan or rejected lambs onto foster ewes
isn't great. A successful graft requires time and patience, neither of which I
had this busy Saturday morning. So I decided my goal would be to provide a good
meal for the triplets, and like the day before, worry about the rest later.
I tied the ewe in the pen expecting
her to jump, and maybe even kick at the lambs, like many ewes do when strange babies
try to nurse on them. But she didn't move, not even a little. And the lambs
were really going to town on her udder, so to speak.
After a couple of minutes, I untied
the halter and all she did was munch on some hay. A moment later, I removed the
halter entirely. That's when I saw the first hint of trouble- a nudge. She
pushed one of the lambs away from her udder.
"That's it," I thought to
myself. "The rejection process has begun." Then she nudged him again.
Only this time it was back toward the udder. It appeared the first nudge was
merely misdirected, not malicious. Apparently, I caught "1368" at
just the right time, a hormonal window of opportunity where she felt compelled
to be a mom, and those lambs were more than willing to oblige.
Although "1368" ultimately
didn't have enough milk to support all the lambs, and they required some
supplementation, that was okay with me. What she did to help ease the burden of
caring for three orphan lambs was much appreciated. But what she did to provide
those lambs a real family experience was a godsend.
After all, they make a replacer for milk. They
don't make a replacer for moms. And to have a mom is really the most important
thing.
By Dr. John H. Jones
