As my second term at vet school drew to a close, I began to pack boilers suits, wellies, a torch, numerous warm jumpers and flasks into a suitcase with a mixture of nerves, excitement and anticipation. I was off to live with a family of shepherds in the remarkably picturesque South Downs, get my first proper experience lambing and learn more about exactly how much work goes into producing meat for our tables!
On arrival I was warmly welcomed by some of the friendliest people I've ever met and taken on a tour of a simply gorgeous rustic style farm that had been used as a sheep farm for countless generations in the past. As the sun set behind the hills it felt so indescribably magical to know that over the next few weeks I would play a role in bringing new life to this farm as many others had over the years and that idea of being incorporated into something so special made me even more determined to work as hard as I could to improve my knowledge of shepherding.
The first few days were physically and mentally tough. Unfortunately animals do not understand the concept of a 9-5 working day, therefore it was up and out onto the yard for 7am most mornings and performing checks on the sheep out in the fields until around 12pm (with breaks for lunch and dinner of course!) It was one of these night checks that I remember so poignantly.
It was about half past ten at night and myself and a fellow vet student had driven the quad bike and trailer out to the field where the ewes to lamb were being kept. I sat on the side of the quad and scanned my torch light around, the reflection of the beam catching in the ewes eyes and being reflected back at me (Sheep have a part of their eye known as the tapetum lucidium which refracts light onto their retina and helps them to see in the dark, this is what causes the reflection of the torch light). Finally we saw two tiny shapes limp and almost lifeless in the centre of the strip- these were small hyperthermic lambs, their mother a shearling (a first time mother). Both myself and my partner groaned and admittedly cursed a few times as we tried to get close enough to put the mother in the trailer with her lambs. Finally with the help of the crook (seriously indispensable when catching sheep) we had her! Once we had the lambs back at the farm we knew we had to act quickly to provide them with warmth and colostrum (the first milk produced by the ewe.) While my friend hooked up the electric heat lamp, I collected an empty measuring jug and cornered the ewe to milk her- after a few moments of darting about she obliged and allowed me to extract enough milk to feed her lambs. As I watched the colostrum slowly trickle down the stomach tube I remember praying that this would be enough to save them as there is nothing more down heartening at lambing time than a ewe losing her lambs. Eventually we knew that there was nothing more we could do and giving the lambs navel a dip of iodine to prevent infection turned out the lights to the barn. When I returned the next morning to the pen I was amazed and delighted to see both lambs stood up and attempting to suckle from their mother who with a quick stamp of her hooves assured me that I had done my job and she would take it from there.Sheep have a sadistic sense of humour too, of that I am sure! Every evening before supper one of the main jobs was to help herd the sheep in from the daytime hilly fields into a straight flat field further on. While most of the flock would happily trot down the hills to the bottom to the rustling of a bag of feed, there was always a straggler - this particular straggler I named Yorkie after the nursery rhyme "The Grand Old Duke of York". Yorkie's favourite activity it seemed was to wait at the top of the highest hill she could find and cause vet students the agony of walking all the way up to escort her down every evening without fail as the shepherd couldn't use his sheepdog on the pregnant ewes. As soon as you would reach the top, considerably out of breath, Yorkie would sprint down to the rest of the flock with what I am convinced was a skip of laughter as I plodded behind praying for the day she would lamb so she could be brought indoors!
A lamb named Trouble also touched my heart during my stay on the South Downs. The first day I arrived at the farm, the shepherd had taken me to see the ewes that had lambed in the sheds and there he was - except he wasn't in a good way at all. Lambs are naturally born to stand as soon as possible and Trouble had been born a few days before yet was still on his side, surviving on milk fed to him by a stomach tube. Nevertheless we decided to give him a chance and I helped with his care over the next few days until miraculously one day he walked- even if his sense of direction was appalling. Soon after his discovery of his legs, Trouble decided his occupation was to be an explorer and countless times we found him wandering off into the pens of other ewes. His own mother showed little interest in him (and had another lamb to attend to) and he little interest in her so we decided for the benefit of both animals to make Trouble our first "orphan lamb." For those of you who may not know, just because a lamb is called an orphan lamb does not mean its mother is dead - in fact often they are from a ewe that had triplets and cannot rear 3 lambs herself, or like Trouble, the lambs are weaker and smaller so may need more care and attention. Bottle feeding the orphans became one of my favourite jobs as it meant I got to know the characters of the various orphan lambs - especially Trouble who then took on the persona as the "anti-social lamb" preferring his own company to that of the more boisterous of the group. To further increase his reputation, several times we attempted to adopt Trouble to another ewe and each time rather than the ewe rejecting him, he would reject the ewe refusing to suckle from her even with our encouragement and trying to hold him to the teat. Eventually the farmer turned to me and asked me to mark him with stock spray paint so I drew a T on his side so the world would know that Trouble was an independent spirit. I am happy to report that Trouble is still well and as cheeky as ever back at the farm and is secretly a favourite of every person who meets him for his cheekiness!
Then there was the indescribable feeling of helping bring a lamb into the world. Before arriving at the farm, the closest I had been to assisting with a birth were the simulators at vet school which consisted of a plastic box, some warm water, a fake lamb and a sheep pelvis- it didn't even compare to what it is like in reality. In reality you are completely reliant on your sense of touch to determine what position the lamb is in and to differentiate between a forelimb and a hindlimb, a head or a tail. In addition you know that a life depends on your actions, not enough care and the hoof of the lamb could damage the inside of the ewe, not getting a breached lamb (coming out backwards) out as fast as possible and it could die. My favourite sound soon became the flap of wet ears as the newborn lamb shook it's head for the first time and the soft nickering of the ewe, my favourite sight that of the lamb wobbling to its feet for the very first time. I am yet to see many things more wonderful than that.I think what makes me so grateful for the time I spent lambing was because it taught me that the most beautiful moments in life can be the simplest, and sometimes it is so easy to forget that. No other experience has ever made me feel as whole as those 4 weeks did. Despite the long hours, moments of heartbreak and pure exhaustion I would do it all again in a heartbeat. I never could find the words to express all these feelings to the farmers while I was with them but I hope that if they perchance across this blog they will know that they gave me the most incredible opportunity and memories I know I shall treasure for the rest of my life, for that I cannot thank them enough.
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