Tag Archives: Spring Lambs

Lambs And Calves. Again.

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I was going to be so strong.  Honest, I was.  I was going to resist, you see.  Resist posting yet more photos of cutesy calves and lovely lambs.  After all I’ve posted lots of photos of both before.  But when Margaret (the neighbouring farmer) told me that she was expecting (so to speak), it gnawed at my mind and made my shutter finger itch.  And when I heard that the new arrivals were plopping out left, right and centre, I couldn’t stop myself from grabbing my camera and rushing up to the farm.  Here’s what I saw.  Resolve be damned.

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I’m a sucker for a calf adept at licking its own nostril.

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Really adept and with such gusto.

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There’s  a whole clutch of young calves; about half of the thirty pregnant cows have given birth.

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Normally, Margaret only has about twenty in calf but she obviously thinks she has spare time on her hands.  Thankfully, unlike last year, there have been no …

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… still births, no deaths, no difficult, protracted deliveries.  Indeed she hasn’t even had to lend a hand – yet.

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The newest arrival was born to Buttercup (we’ll call her) less than twelve hours ago; a sturdy, if still groggy, bull calf.

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Despite Buttercup’s distrustful, watchful gaze, Margaret had to disinfect the calf’s umbilical scar.   Buttercup had already mooed angrily when the farmyard cat had sauntered a little too close – so Margaret warily asked that I stay close-by in case protective mooing became angry barging.  Though, I’m unclear how my screaming and impotent, panicky flapping would have helped.

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That disinfectant stings and the calf was up on his feet and away but Buttercup didn’t seem so very concerned after all …

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… and Buttercup Jr. was soon back where he belonged …

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… wreathed in Mum’s warm breath.  (Incidentally, I was constantly licked and nibbled by one particular cow whilst taking these shots.  Imagine that: constantly licked and nibbled).*

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Next door, in pens smelling of warm, sweet hay, Margaret’s Christmas lambs are arriving (the main lambing season won’t start for another few weeks).  Margaret had planned the first births for the day after Boxing Day.  But the ewes hadn’t read the plan – they started on Christmas morning.

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This is the fourth or fifth year that I’ve visited the farm during lambing but it’s not a sight I ever tire of.

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This is the youngest – about five hours old.

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And here is the smallest lamb that Margaret has ever seen.  I’ll let her tell you about it:

“I’ve been doing this job for the last 23 years, so I’m still really a novice – well, it feels that way sometimes!  The mini lamb is a ewe lamb which probably means she is here for life!  I think she will always be too small to go to the ram – so she will just be a pet!  Still, what is the point of it all if you can’t occasionally be a bit sentimental.  I am not alone in this.  If you dig deep, you will find a lot of farmers are the same.”

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The little she-lamb is far smaller than its twin (all of Margaret’s ewes have had twins so far).

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The mother wasn’t keen on the cut of my jib.

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But was perfectly happy for Margaret to pick up the tiny one and pass her to a friend.  (Hi Rita).

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So no -  lambing (and calving) is not a sight I shall ever tire of.  And it would seem Margaret won’t either.

So I suspect I’ll be posting more photos of lambs and calves.  Again.

* I now intend to hang about the cow sheds regularly.

Spring Lambs

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I went up to see Margaret the other day.  (In case you don’t know, Margaret farms the land on three sides of the Priory estate).  I hadn’t seen her for a while and, as well as having a natter and cadging a cup of tea, I had some bulbs to collect.  We  do joint orders for autumn and spring bulbs and it is generally easier to have deliveries made up to the farm rather than down to the Priory.  So, with the prospect of dahlia tubers, snowdrops-in-the-green, lily bulbs and some other stuff I couldn’t quite remember,  I bundled Solo (my terrier) into the car and pootled up the drive, through the Priory gate and along the road to Margaret’s farm.

I like going up to the farm anyway but it’s particularly nice at this time of year, as the ewes are lambing.  I always go over and have a look (wouldn’t you?).  Next to the cow-shed and beneath a wide roof, the ewes are corralled behind metal hurdles amongst bales of straw.  However many times I see new-born lambs, it’s always a delight.

Lambing, this year, has been fraught for Margaret.  The Schmallenberg virus, a new livestock disease, has arrived in England, carried in by midges from across the channel.  In sheep, it causes miscarriage and very nasty birth defects; no wonder Margaret was worried.  Thankfully it hasn’t affected her small flock, at least not this year.  Normally she really enjoys lambing season despite all the disrupted nights when (having checked her CCTV), she sees a ewe in labour and rushes outside in case a helping hand is required.  Sometimes she has to tug a bent-back leg into its correct position or use the small lambing rope to pull out a stuck newcomer.

But despite her best efforts, and for various reasons,  she has lost seven lambs this year (she didn’t lose any last year), and she told me that this has left a pall over what is usually a happy and exciting time.

A nap in warm sunshine. It might be classical music that is relaxing them. Margaret leaves a radio tuned in to Classic FM by the lambing pens.

Still, at least the  lambs that have been born are very healthy.  And certainly very pretty.

Sussex sheep learn to smile at a young age.

I have just ordered one of their one year old siblings for my freezer.  But I didn’t tell them that.

Last year I did a quick post of M’s spring lambs (see ‘ Gratuitous Lamb Photos’), only it was earlier in the year.  This was because a visiting workman noticed that one of M’s sheep had got separated from a nearby small group.  Obligingly he opened a gate to re-unite them.  The lone sheep though was, of course, a ram and purposefully kept apart (much to his displeasure and frustration) from the eye-lash batting, coquettish ewes.  The result?  Some lambs born a month earlier than Margaret had planned.  And a very self-satisfied, smug ram.

But this year there are no happy accidents, and the new arrivals will soon be scampering around the pasture between the farm and the Priory; making me smile.

Margaret could never be described as the shy, retiring, blushing type (unlike me) – so why she’s wearing this rather attractive and charming lamb veil is bemusing.  But it is fetching (and fashion-wise) very, very of the moment.  Might get one myself.