Well yes, today was the day.
According to the calendar this group of ewes was supposed to start lambing, and over the years I’ve got it pretty dialed in, so I knew we were right there.
Ya, I know… I probably should have been up at the barn at 4 a.m., flashlight in hand, checking things over. An on-the-ball shepherd would have been, I suppose.
That wasn’t me.
When I checked them at supper last night they were all content, lined up at the feeder, chewing away like nothing exciting was about to happen. Nobody pawing, nobody looking uncomfortable. So I figured I’d allow myself a normal morning.
I woke up to the smell of coffee Anne sets the night before and puts on a timer. I grabbed my cup and settled into my chair like I do every morning. That quiet first cup before chores is kind of a sacred little window of peace around here.
And then it hit me.
Oh ya… today’s the day.
But my coffee wasn’t even done yet, so instead of jumping straight into my coveralls I figured I’d check the barn cam from my phone. Technology’s a funny thing — lets you feel responsible without actually leaving your chair.
I opened the app, and right away I could tell something wasn’t quite right.
Not a ewe in labour.
Not a lamb stuck.
I said to Anne, “Well that’s not good… Rita’s laying in there.”
Rita, our big white Livestock Guardian Dog, was right in the middle of the pen with the ewes.
Now the camera isn’t exactly high definition, but I didn’t need a clearer picture to know what she was up to. I’ve seen this before. First lamb hits the ground and Rita decides she’s in charge now.
She had adopted it. Cleaned it off. Curled herself around it like she’d personally brought it into this world.
And listen, if that lamb had been born out in a snowbank somewhere, I’d call that top-tier instinct. But in this case the ewe had probably just stepped away for a minute and Rita figured she’d step in and “handle it.”
The problem is once Rita claims one, she does not give it back willingly.
And I’ve learned the hard way — you don’t stroll in there politely asking for custody. If I’m too soft about it, she reminds me with a quick nip that she believes she’s running the operation.
So I went out there like I meant business and took the lamb back without issue. The little thing was already weak by then. Mom was easy to find — she was calling, pacing a bit, looking for her baby. I tucked them into a small pen together so they could bond properly, like we always do.
I went back to chores thinking maybe Rita had snapped out of it.
Fifteen minutes later I stepped back into the barn and there she was, inside the little 5x5 pen, her paw laid right over that lamb, keeping the ewe away.
I just stood there and shook my head. I’ve seen this before and it doesn’t end well. Warmth and cuddles feel nice, but they don’t replace milk, and without milk that lamb doesn’t stand much of a chance.
So Rita got evicted. Out of the barn for a few days anyhow. She’ll have to find accommodation in one of the other shelters until this lamb is properly bonded and on its feet.
She normally lives in the barn, so I imagine she’s not thrilled with the sudden change of address. But maybe she’ll treat it like a little holiday. A break from supervising.
And that’s how this group’s lambing has started.
One lamb on the ground. One over-enthusiastic Livestock Guardian Dog on temporary vacation.
And now that the first one’s arrived, I’ve got a feeling the next couple of days are going to get lively.
Here we go.
Farmer Rod
