Says Martin:
There are some lessons to be learned in this story, which I hope will become evident with a little explanation.
This dark tale begins, as many other dark tales do, with a phone ringing at three o'clock in the morning.
I had been up all the previous night helping ewes safely give birth. Five ewes, a third of our flock, had decided to lamb in less than 24 hours and only one ewe was left. Her name was Darling. She was one of my two black ewelings, carrying her first pregnancy. She seemed fairly settled when I went to bed, so I felt quite confident I would get a decent night's sleep.
I was thoroughly savouring my slumber when Simon, my faithful shepherding partner in Australia*, noticed on the International Lamb Alert Cam that my little Darling looked and sounded like she was in pain. Although reluctant to disturb me for the second night in a row, Simon knew he had to call.
*Since my night is his day, he watches my flock via webcam while I'm sleeping and only wakes me if there's trouble.
I thought the ringing was just my morning alarm. I tried to make it shut up, but it didn't work. I finally realized what was happening and picked up. Simon explained the situation, so I headed for the door in my pajamas.
My overalls had just been washed so they were still soaking wet. Consequently, I stumbled underdressed into the cold wind heading for the workshop to find some dry scrubs. After rummaging around in a stupor for a pair that barely let a 6'2" Dutchman stand up straight, I finally set off to help the ewe in distress.
By the time I arrived at the barn, Darling had beat me to it. She was already licking her newborn lamb. In case you haven't noticed yet, this isn't a tale of heroism or self-aggrandizement, which will soon be made abundantly clear.
I picked up the lamb and tried to slowly lure Darling out of the cold night and into the heated lambing barn, but the little Darling seemed to think her job was done. She ran away and left me holding the lamb. I gently laid her lamb on the other side of the fence with the week-old lambs and their moms, so I could forcefully persuade Darling to follow me. Eventually, I chased her down and dragged her through the gate. I was one step closer. One more gate to go.
I picked up the lamb again and moved it past the pen full of new moms into the maternity ward. I turned around and grabbed my little black mama and dragged her through the last gate.
It turned out that five of my six lambing stalls were full of newborns from the day before. The sixth stall in the far corner was used for storing a big stack of hay bales. Regretting my lack of readiness, I began to restack the bales into the narrow alleyway while the new lamb looked around confused and the new mama yelled at me.
I finally finished making room and squeezed the ewe and lamb past the bales into the stall. The barn was in an uproar by now. Most of the new moms thought they deserved more hay since I was moving bales anyway and the rest just seemed downright angry. All the lambs joined in chorus just for fun, it seemed.
That's when Darling started to become more aggressive with me and refused to pay attention to her new lamb. I had just recently dealt with a first-time mom who almost rejected her new lambs, so I thought it was happening again.
About to find a place to rest for a minute, I saw my new mama do the impossible. She leaned backwards and then sprung forwards jumping five feet in the air, over the stall's gate knocking me to the ground, with a stack of bales landing on both of us. All Simon witnessed on the International Barn Cam was a disappearing sheep and the sound of my cursing mixed with a mother's protest.
I was so tired it didn't even matter. I just wanted to squeeze some milk out of this ewe so I could make sure her lamb had a full stomach that would last until morning. So, I picked myself off the ground, pinned the flying sheep against the fallen bales and began trying to milk her. Her udder was empty and her outcry was deafening. She broke free and began stomping the ground, pacing back and forth, and snorting at me.
I couldn't believe my little Darling could be so dumb and belligerent.
Since the fallen bales were obstructing the gate she had just high jumped, I couldn't get her back into the stall with her lamb. I contemplated picking her up and throwing her back over the gate in a feat of superhuman strength, but all my heroic notions had already fled the scene. I was just an exhausted farmer in really tight overalls. Grudgingly, I began restacking the bales.
This is when the fog began to clear. I saw something in the dark on the other side of the barn. It was a very shiny, wet looking lamb. My head started spinning. All my ewes had already finished lambing. I thought I was hallucinating. Nothing was making sense anymore.
Then it hit me…….HARD.
Somewhere in all the commotion, I had grabbed the wrong black sheep. Darling's twin sister, Delilah was in the wrong place at the wrong time and I had wrongfully detained her. They had pulled the old switcheroo on me when I was passing through the pen of the week-old lambs and their moms.
That's why she rejected the new lamb - it wasn't hers! She had no milk because her own hungry lamb had emptied her before bed. That's why she was so "dumb and belligerent;" she was determined to be reunited with her crying lamb.
And there was my little Darling in the corner, quietly licking her second lamb. She had safely given birth to another little girl without any help - for the second time.
Feeling very stupid, I quickly righted the wrong. I reunited Delilah and her little boy, and guided a now willing Darling with her second lamb into the warm barn to rejoin the first lamb who was waiting patiently for both of them. While she contentedly cleaned her lambs, I quickly squeezed a little milk out of her and gave the lambs a drink.
Giving my head a shake, I explained the commotion to Simon, who could only hear most of the chaos taking place off camera. I went back home in a daze hoping it was all just a bad dream.
What a finale for the lambing season! I wanted to put the whole nightmare behind me and move on with my life, but somewhere deep down inside I knew that Marilyn would force me to relive the trauma that had just happened in Down On the Farm.
Three life lessons here.
1. Hell hath no fury like a mother separated from her child. There ain't no barn gate high enough… if you know what I mean. Seriously, don't get involved.
2. Write this one down! Don't ever assume you're smarter than a farm animal, or you'll end up feeling sheepish.
3. And lastly, what happens in the barn, stays in the barn. If you open your mouth, you'll regret it. Haven't learned that one, yet.
