LAMBING

David Corbin

Lambing season is an amazing time of year. It may be helped by the fact that, for us at least, it comes in the early spring. While lambing arrives along with crocus and tulips and other signs that the cold and grey of our winters is about over, lambing is too full of wonder to be treated like spring’s icing.

You can tell when a ewe is ready to start lambing by the way she acts. To begin, she moves off to separate herself from the other sheep. When this occurs, the other sheep respect the distance. Even with sheep that have a high flocking instinct (like ours do), this is a time when you get a little extra space.

During the rest of the year, a ewe prefers to be in the middle of the flock and always works to keep a good distance between herself and my wife and me. Now, however, she’s open to a little pressure and can be moved into a barn stall or "lambing jug" even though there aren’t any other sheep around.

When contractions start, the ewe will lie down, stand, turn around, sit down again, stand again, and continue to look for a comfortable position until the first lamb starts to show. At this point, the ewe is usually standing. She’s also oblivious to her surroundings.

She’s working very hard, particularly if she’s never lambed before. Teeth clenched, breathing heavily, and staring right at me, she doesn’t know I’m there. When the first lamb "drops," the fall breaks the umbilical cord. It lies on the ground covered with mucus and not breathing. The ewe turns around quickly and starts licking it.

This has several effects. The lamb starts breathing and attempts to get up. Its mother is now nudging it and encouraging it to stand. If there is to be a twin (and with our breed there usually is), the second lamb arrives about now. When it drops, the ewe turns quickly back around to begin licking this lamb and starting its life.

Meanwhile, the first lamb is now standing and, low and behold, right in front of its face there is a nipple dripping with colostrum and all ready for it. When the second lamb is cleaned up, the ewe turns back to the first lamb and, in the process, presents the second lamb with its first meal.

This process never loses its wonder for me. The intricacy of this sequence of events is a joy to behold. However, it doesn’t always work right. Last year, one of our oldest ewes began lambing late one evening. She’s a small ewe and was 11 years old at the time. That’s pretty old for a working ewe. She’d long since lost her teeth, qualifying her for the old ladies’ "gummer" club. Since it’s harder to get enough nourishment in a pasture when you don’t have teeth, sheep are generally culled at that point.

But this was "007," our lead ewe. I don’t need a sheep dog. When I want to move the flock, I can point to the gate I want them to move through, and 007 will lead them through. It’s not that she particularly likes me. It’s just that she knows that I don’t move them whimsically and that when I point them in a new direction, it’s usually because there’s something better to eat on the other side.

Anyway, 007 was having her lambs for the ninth time and didn’t need any help, so I went to bed. In the morning, I came out to discover that she was not done. The first lamb had evidently been born breach and had taken a great deal of effort. The lamb had been cleaned and was lying down but probably hadn’t had any nourishment yet. 007 was lying beside her lamb completely exhausted. She couldn’t even lift her head.

The front hooves of her second lamb were just protruding but 007 didn’t have the strength to push the lamb out. I pulled this little lamb out and lay it on some hay. Then I picked up 007 and lay her back down with her head resting on the new sticky lamb. That was all she needed. While I got the first lamb nursing, 007 started licking the second lamb on which her head rested. When it started kicking, I moved it back to start it nursing too. Then I gave 007 some electrolyte to give her some energy and left them alone for a while.

When I returned about an hour later, all three were standing in the lambing jug. They were ready for the next exciting moment life would offer.

This evening when I went out to feed the flock, there was 007 standing at the gate, wondering why I was taking so long. Right behind her was her second lamb, now almost a year old. We didn’t breed 007 again, so she’s going to be very peeved in several weeks when everybody else starts dropping their lambs and she has none. But her last little lamb is sticking with her now and will be ready to breed in the fall with the other yearlings we’ve kept.

There are hundreds of examples of the wonder of God’s creation. But for me, lambing is right up close to the top.

—David W. Corbin and his wife live on an island off the Washington coast. There they raise sheep, work at the post office, run a preschool, and sell homemade jams.