It was around 8 p.m. last night when I was headed back to the house, ready to wrap up the day. As usual, I heard the familiar baa from the bottle lamb pen. But this time, what I found when I went to investigate made me laugh out loud.
Let’s backtrack to earlier this week. I had just sat down to supper after spending the day at the other farms, and Anne was filling me in on her day. “The milk dispenser for the orphan lambs had a kink in the tube again,” she said. “All the lambs were crying for milk.” I nodded, knowing exactly what she was talking about. “Yeah, I’ve been dealing with that all week. It seems there’s a certain little barn kitten causing all the trouble.”
Every day since, I’d hear the lambs calling out—Hey, dummy, fix the line, we’re hungry! So, I’d head out, fix the milk line, and watch as the lambs crowded around the dispenser. The biggest ones always pushed their way in first, while the others waited, less than patiently, for their turn. It wasn’t exactly a smooth process, but it worked.
By Thursday, with bean harvest almost done, I finally had a bit of time during lunch. I thought, You best fix this for good. So, I grabbed some scrap wood and three screws and whipped up a little box to cover the milk line. Quick and easy—problem solved, or so I thought.
Later in the day, I asked Anne to meet me at the main barn to check on another lamb that wasn’t doing too well with its mom. “See here, Anne,” I pointed. “Her udder isn’t good, and she’s not feeding her second lamb.” Without missing a beat, we agreed to bring the lamb up to the bottle pen.
I handed the (now pretty skinny) lamb over to Anne, and off we went. “Here you go, buddy,” I said as we placed him with the rest of the bottle lambs. He had a cozy heat lamp and all the milk he’d need, but convincing him of the benefits of that milk machine was another story. He was older, and clearly still attached to his mom, so instead of appreciating the milk setup, he busied himself chomping on hay. Either way, he seemed content.
Back to work I went, finishing up the bean harvest. But once I was done, I heard it again—baa, baa, baa—coming from the orphan lamb pen. “What now?” I thought. How could that cat possibly have messed with the milk line again?
I headed over to investigate, fully expecting another tube kink, but what I saw made me burst out laughing. There, lying comfortably in front of the milk dispenser, was our newest lamb resident. Oblivious to the chaos he was causing, he had plopped himself down right in front of the milk machine, completely blocking the dispenser. Six other lambs stood around him, clearly frustrated, waiting for their turn and baaing in protest.
I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. I explained the situation to him as I gently moved him over to the heat lamp, hoping he’d settle in and figure out how things worked soon enough. Meanwhile, the rest of the lambs finally got their much-anticipated milk. Crisis averted—at least for the night!
Farmer Rod