You remember the sad little orphan texel-cross lamb who came to be adopted.
He put on the mantle of a much loved but non-functional welsh lamb and confirmed our friend David’s reputation (at least with one ewe) as a miracle worker.
Three days later (and considerably less smelly) his magic overcoat has been removed.
Yippee!
And his Maa is very proud.
Yesterday our first lamb arrived — not under the hedge where all self-respecting Welsh Mountain lambs are supposed to disembark but in the back of our nice dry barn into which her mum had sneaked before dawn and where I nearly fell over them when, just as the first birds were waking, I went in to fill the hay cratch. You see — the God of the incompetent-elderly over-reacted to our recent pyro maniacal episode by damping everything down with unnecessary thoroughness so that we are now back in our quagmire.
Undaunted (sheep hate being on their own) and as soon as I had re-organised everything to provide a lamb-friendly, hazard-free environment with fresh Lenor straw, buckets of water and concentrate in her own private accommodation, this young mother took her lamb out into the rain and tentatively tippy-toed through the mud that surrounds the barn to show her off to the other ewes, now shut for safety’s sake on the other side of the fence. As it was several ran up to the fence baaing ‘Is that my lamb?’
Now we wait for a play-mate.
dianaashworth 