Almost Losing the Lambs!

I didn’t notice it happening, but somewhere in the course of their little lives, I’ve grown very attached to our brood of lambs.  Yesterday they gave us quite the scare, and I was overcome by a terror I hadn't realized myself capable of.

The time had come to dock and neuter them, a process I'd been dreading since I'd found out the awful truth; we would be placing the tight rubber band around their tales, and worse still, around the poor little boys’ crown jewels, manually and without sedation.  What kind of barbaric world did we live in?  Wasn’t there another way?  Tom told me quietly that this would be the quickest method and the least stressful for the babies.  

I felt like a betrayer as I chased the first boy around, knowing that when he eventually surrendered, he would be calm in the knowledge that like every other time, the only fate that awaited him was a big, smoochy cuddle.  Not so.  I got him, panting, and led him over to the log, where Tom instructed me to sit with his tale accessible.  Tom nursed the tale and slid the band on like a pro, and I made myself look, determined not to close my eyes lest a mistake get made.  I had expected the little munchkin to be squealing, but he had adopted an eerie state of resignation, as if he knew that it would be easier that way.  Even as I lowered him awkwardly to the ground, his limbs dangling so Tom could get to the second job (cough cough), he simply lent back against me, pulse quick.  Tom had the worst job because he had to grab the poor little bugger’s balls and slide the band on... and then, thank God, it was done.  We cooed wildly over the lamb, told him how brave he was and dropped him back into the paddock.  

The girls were easier, lacking as they were in any private parts needing to be severed, but of course they made a huge fuss.  Drama queens.  With relief we grabbed the last boy, the first born, the big one.  He had gotten almost too fat for me to hold and I refrained from telling Tom as the frightened thing struggled and squealed that it was all I could to just to hang onto him.  My arms were burning, Tom couldn’t find the second ball... then, in an instant, we were finished.  I breathed a huge sigh as I lowered the lamb back to the ground... but the sigh caught in my throat.  He was limp, his legs flailing out at odd angles.  I took one look at him and screamed ‘He’s gone into shock!’  

My heart accelerated to an almost unbearable pace, and for what felt like a lifetime, the three of us, Val having heard the scream, were dumbstruck.  The lamb was opening and closing his eyes, groggy and semi conscious.   

‘Pick him up Tom!  He needs to be kept warm!’  It was my voice shouting.  I didn’t have a clue how I knew that, but some base instinct seemed to have taken over, and I wasn’t going to fight it.  Tom scooped the thing up, holding it tight as I massaged its legs.  Val ran for a blanket, and in no time the lamb was wrapped up and being carried at urgent pace back to his mother.  Skirting the edge of the front paddock, the Mum began bleating like crazy, and suddenly, the lamb had life.  He squirmed slightly, and then let out an almighty ‘Baaaaahhhhhh!’ 

We took that as our cue to return him to his mother, and he did manage to get himself under her.  We held our breath as he tried to extract some comfort-milk.  It was only when he fell clumsily onto his back that the terror took over.  He wasn’t better!  He stumbled around like a drunk, failing at the task of staying upright.  

‘Shit!’  I breathed.  ‘Maybe we shouldn’t have put him down!’  

An intense and anxious debate fired up, and for a brief moment we were all a mess, yelling our opinion without hearing the others’.  

Tom: ‘It will stress him out more to catch him now!  We’ll just have to leave the care to his Mum!'

Val:  ‘It’s too late now!  We’ve done all we can!’

Me, crying:  ‘But maybe it’s the band that’s causing the shock!  Maybe we should catch him and cut the band off!’  

We were getting nowhere, and eventually I accepted Tom’s point.  It would probably be worse for him now to be chased and caught again in that state.  I hated myself for letting him go too soon.  Tom and Val went back to their gardening as a method of distraction, but I couldn’t.  All I could do was pace up and down next to the flock, crying.  Every time I looked over fear would grip my chest once more; the lamb was still lying down, eyes semi-shut, unfocused.  Every few minutes I would pace over to Tom; ‘There must be something we can do!’  Tom would assert again that he believed we had done the right thing.  

Finally, I got the idea to call the vet, and her tone spoke a thousand words.  It was like when you’re on a plane and you look at the Flight Attendant to gauge whether you should be nervous.  The woman on the end was calm, saying, ‘Don’t worry just yet, I wouldn’t be surprised if he recovered.  Remember, it’s a stressful procedure.’ 

And as I sat watching him for the next hour, he did.  First his eyes focused, then he sat up normally, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet.  When he finally stood up and succeeded in getting a drink from Mum, relief and happiness welled up inside me so much that I was overcome.  I had been very, very frightened.