The lambing season is over, the last ewe rounded up a shaky and eventful season with an unsupervised easy birth of twin lambs. The ewe was brought into the shed during the heavy snowfall a few weeks back and didn’t seem to be in a hurry and I almost started doubting myself and wondering if she was ever going to lamb.
This year we’ve had three twin births all in all, two went without a bother and one required very hands on intervention. On the day we noticed that one of the ewes was restless, bleating repeatedly, separating herself from the flock, alternating between laying down and squatting.
Lambing was rounded up with an easy birth of twins.
After a couple of hours, with the help of a good neighbour, we got the sheep into the shed. It was time check her and possibly pull out the lamb. The hours of waiting did not go to waste, I devoured articles on the internet reading up on lambing, birth positions, pulling lambs, sheep anatomy, birth hygiene and so forth.
When it was time to check on the lamb, I had my nails trimmed, arms washed and disinfected, latex gloves on and plenty of lubricant just in case. My experienced neighbour had the sheep pinned in the pen and asked me if I wanted to check on the lamb or if he would, and there was no doubt of my response
“Of course I’ll do it”, I said and kneeled at the back of the ewe and put my hand in to check on the lamb.
“Make sure that if you pull two legs it is the legs of the same lamb and not a leg of two separate lambs,”, says my neighbour and I feel myself blanching. How in the world would I be able to figure that one out?
It resulted in being a very unimportant point, the lamb had his head down and was trying to come out neck first. I pushed the lamb back in, pushed up his snout, got hold of his legs and started pulling. I don’t know why we think we need to pull straight out, with my neighbour’s guidance I learned that I needed to pull down towards the legs.
The ewe we lost and her orphan lamb.
My mind was incredibly focused during the birthing, I felt no worry or stress, instead images of lamb birth positions and anatomy passed through my head as I tried to visualise the whole process. I also kept thinking of my own experience giving birth naturally to my twins and it made me wince every time I lost hold of the little hooves and had to dig for them again.
The lamb came out, warm from the womb, but we quickly saw it wasn’t breathing. We tried rubbing it with a clean towel and clearing his airways, I even swung it by the legs in a half circle to make sure all the mucus was out. It was of no use; the lamb was dead.
At the time we had an orphan lamb (a story for another day), my neighbour asked me to rub the dead lamb onto the orphan, to see if the ewe would take it on. It was no good and the ewe kept pushing away the orphan. As we were contemplating a second, quite gruesome solution where you skin the dead lamb and cover the orphan with the skin to fool the mother, we realised something.
In the middle of this ER scene from revival tactics to possible organ transplant, we realised we should first check if the ewe had more lambs coming. The orphan was put back in his pen and I prepared for another vet experience.
On with new gloves and as I examined the ewe I felt two little hooves pointing towards the exit. I grabbed hold of them and pulled a beautiful live lamb out. To be sure to be sure, I checked for a third one but none was present.
I fretted for days that my hygiene precautions might not have been up to scratch or that my lack of experience would result in the ewe would getting an infection or some other horrific internal injury.
We may have lost a lamb, but I am delighted to report that the mother and her second lamb are strong and healthy.
This is the first time I had to pull lambs in such a fashion, and as I have been saying, the more I know the more complicated the farming seems to get.