It started with one class and ended up with 60 children coming up to the farm to watch our sheep being shorn. The event was much anticipated by Felix, who suggested the day before that not only should the kids be able to come to the farm but I should be making cakes for them all, something I somehow got out of. Hay bales were brought down as seats, the shed was swept and Mick, our neighbour who gamely volunteered to shear in front of such a large audience brought up his dogs to move our girls up to the shed. "Do you realise that your sheep are lambing", he asked on arriving up. "Impossible" I answered, "they haven't been in with a Ram and they are so old". "It must have been my orphan lambs you saw down there, I just put them in the big paddock". Off we drove to move the sheep and sure enough there was a tiny newborn lamb in the field. After picking my jaw up off the ground and doing some quick calculations we can only assume that some funny business must of gone on at the saleyards, and I became very happy with my bargain pregnant sheep. Driving them up it also seemed obvious they were all heavily pregnant - not a great time to shear, but the school was coming up so it had to go ahead. We settled them into a straw filled yard and left them for the evening.
By morning one of the others was down and lambing, James ended up pulling the lamb out and after moving mum and baby (and getting butted up the bum in thanks), we thought the others would be okay.
The children arrived en masse - the 2 buses they had booked couldn't get up the driveway so they all walked up in high excitement. Into the makeshift shearing shed and 2 of the sheep were shorn whilst they looked on. Mick taught them how to throw the fleece, I watched on with the same degree of attention as the children, amazed at how compliant the sheep are whilst being shorn and assuming it is a 'play dead' type behaviour that is similar to chickens and rabbits. Anyway, we went up to the pigs, which I have to say were the hit of the day. Leanne and her piglets, particularly a tiny runt called Pee Wee stole the show, and Lucy and Molly were also very charming and friendly. Mick brought his little calf up for the kids and my goats as always were up for a bit of petting and fuss. All was going well until a new horse put in the paddock by Scott (who rents one of our fields for his charges) ran through a fence and broke its leg. The kids were on their way out anyway (thank god) so after running back and forward to deal with the aftermath of that I walked back up to the house and was just about to try and convince Susie to take the little ram that had been born that morning. On the way back we noticed that one of the other sheep was down with a lamb head hanging out the other end and not much else happening. Coffee was thrown aside and Susie thanked god that she didn't wear her best clothes out (she knows better now anyway). Lamby had one leg out and one stuck back behind him. We ineffectively tried to free the leg, stuff it back in and re-birth it, swear, call James and demand he come back more quickly and generally flap around. I thought that lamb was turning blue and obviously dying until after the event when I realised it was joined by the umbilical cord and could have stayed there for quite a while longer. Anyway, a large amount of obstetric gel and a good push from Mum with my hand on the side of the lamb and he came out - huge and covered in shit...his Mum didn't clean him so well and I am sure it is because he was just too revolting for even her to contemplate.
She then lay there without responding for quite a long time - Susie and I contemplated blankets and hot water bottles, we told her a lot to get up. I think at some point we discussed getting her up but just assumed she was going to die. It appears to me sheep and I have some things in common - being overly dramatic when not well. She had convinced herself she too was dying (and I truly believe she would have if we had left her). Mick came back at this point and took one look and hoisted her to her feet. She then shook herself and realised that in fact she was very much alive and we all gave a sigh of relief. It reminded me of the midwives that wanted me up and on my feet as soon as I came back from the c-section while I wanted to wallow in my bed and eat chocolate. Anyway, no more mollycoddling - its all tough love for the animals on the farm from now on I tell myself - thank god James is a vet because I think the chances of that are slim to none.