This must have been the best gift ever.
Today I helped new life into being.
When I had jumped on the ferry that bleak day in March, all excited about a month of work experience that lay ahead, I had no idea that three days later I’d be stuck on a Scottish island for the unforeseeable, as the UK went into lockdown and I, the designer and sheepy newbie, headlong into the lambing shed.
Soon I was learning the ropes and rules on the farm, and after a few weeks into the-great-lambing-lockdown I happened to be up in the shed all by myself, suddenly the person in charge of all the wooly ladies. Just when I was about to finish my shift, I noticed one ewe being due to lamb soon. Some slime on her behind was a first sign, but as she was still circling looking for her ‘nest’ I decided the first measures taken would be to go and have coffee (rule no 1: time’s working for you). As I don’t smoke pipes (as some experienced shepherds might've done now), it seemed appropriate to munch some chocolate instead. Whilst sipping my coffee in the late afternoon sun, nature indeed did its thing, and when I checked back on the ewe the tip of a tiny hoof was just about showing. What you're looking for though is the 'holy trinity': two feet and a head – so on I watched a little longer, to see how things would progress…which they didn’t, as they should have. By now, I understood, it was time to act. And therefore: catch that sheep.
Away with the coffee, sneaking closer to the ewe…steady, steady, lady…she eyeing me suspiciously. Ready for the big leap! – got to grab her fleece! Just. Two hands firmly dug into her wool, she’s having none of it and frantically tries to bounce me off. But I had learned rule no 2: once you got it, NEVER. LET. GO. So on I clung, through the shed we went, wrestling up some sweat, I recalled I must catch her back leg, pull it away from underneath her – that’s it, down she went, me on top, gasping. Not sure, who of us, by that time, was panting harder.
Catching our breath, eyeing each other, the silent agreement was made that this needs to be teamwork. So on we went, she pushing, me pulling, both panting. I fingered my way around the tiny hoof, into the birth canal, trying to find the other front foot, whilst gently widening up the skin of her vulva that sits all too tightly around that big lamb’s head urging to get out but yet still stuck.
Kneeing over her, working away, trying to remember everything I had learned recently, and knowing that I’d better cope now, as there was no one else around, I felt weirdly calm. Concentrated, nudging my way along limbs, through her pelvis, patiently, then pulling, with all my strength, more panting, then wait, pulling again. Then, there’s that bloody 2nd hoof. Wohooo! Two legs, one head: superman pose! – onto the home stretch now. Slowly, slowly, it’s coming. The grip is hard to maintain, slimly legs glide away, but you keep pulling. There plops the head out, shoulders follow – a second of pure beautiful smooth satisfaction: out it glides, a new life, a big boy, all in one piece, and seemingly alive! His little wet ears all flappy, he’s shaking his head, the chord’s broke off, so now he wants air – I quickly clear the juices from its nose, the mucus out of his mouth – and watch him filling his lungs for the first time, taking his first breath.
I grab his legs and swing it around to its mum’s head. Exhausted from the strenuous birth, she lies limb now, breathing flat – but once she smells her lamb, she perks up, lifts her head, tongue flicking out, caressing and cleaning, muttering attentively. I iodine its navel, check her milk, and pen the pair. Then I clamber inside, and sit in a corner, quietly.
Her warm breath hits my cheeks when she turns around, still licking her lamb, occasionally my hand. I sit, and watch, on this glorious day, as a little lamb staggers to its legs, sways and sorts its limbs, instinctively looking for his one big goal in its early life – his mom’s teat.
I sit, and watch, and listen to his suckling noise, his mum grunting in approval.
Around us, all the other pregnant ladies chill and chew their cud, eyes half closed in the early evening light pouring golden into the lambing shed.
I get up and leave them to themselves, walk to the front yard and watch the sun, now lower on the horizon, the sea still a glittering blue towards the Mull of Kintyre.
To see a new life into being, to see nature evolve, feel spring in full force – this is the source of my energy, my hope, the lifting spirit in a locked down land – and the greatest gift I got.