A tale of an orphan lamb.

Lambing season has started. We've yet to have one of our own but today in my home there was a new arrival. Just appeared out of thin air in a dog crate beside the fridge - along with milk bottles, a big sack of powdered milk, and the sleeve of a jumper (yes, one of mine) cut up to make a lamb size onsie.

Yes, our first orphan lamb has arrived.

Orphan lambs are a pain in the posterior at this time of year. For lambing you are up and out looking at the ewes every 4 hours, regardless of whether its night or day. Its 4 hours because thats an average labour and if one has started but not finished in that time its time to do something. Pockets are full of bailing twine, the fridge next to the egg tray is full of the antibiotics and the syringes, for eyelids that turn under. There is a prolaspe retainer (must I explain?) hanging on a wall , tubes of lube, rubber gloves and you make sure there are long johns to hand along with thick socks and a flask of tea.

Sleep is little and often. As you are so tired the miracle of a successful birth is all the more special.

So along then comes the magically appearing orphan lamb. All legs and cute eyes and a heart felt plea for milk - every 2 hours. This one is a Poll Dorset ewe lamb. She was (even though no one knows where she came from or how she got here, despite a strange smell only lamb poo can produce radiating from the boot of the volvo) one of triplets. She is 3 days old. She has tags and those tags arent from this farm - still the other occupants look blank.

So as Im sat at my table writing this I am watching a lamb run about in front of the fire enjoying the feel of cold tiles and then warm sizel. She is following the terrier about like she is the new best friend and I see it and I know whats coming.

"We'll need another to keep her company you know ......"