Patience, my dear...

After two days of watching Cali closely, she finally had twin lambs this morning when I went to the barn. On Saturday Cali was starting to stare off and isolate herself from the other ewes. Her udder was HUGE and she looked like she had dropped some. I wasn't convinced she would lamb that day, but there were wind advisories and the temperature was threatening to drop to the low teens. I moved the white lambs to the lambing jug and gave Cali the delivery stall, and then I waited. No signs of active labor before bed made me question my decision to lock her up, but given the predicted wind chills I hated the thought of waking up to frozen lambs.

Sunday morning I checked her stall and there she was, staring up at me with big tired eyes. She looked like she hadn't slept all night, and the bedding looked untouched. I gave her some new hay and she nibbled a bit, then she went back to standing and watching me. I decided it would be awhile before lambs, and I really hated the thought of her penned up - although this stall is at least eight by eight - so I let her back in the pen with the other expecting ewes. She ran outside and stood there. The other ewes followed and then started harassing her. Head butt here, side shove there - no good. She just didn't seem to have the energy to say, "Hey, knock it off!" So I brought her back inside to the delivery stall. That's when the real waiting began.

For most of the day I checked on her every two hours. By 3 o'clock she had started digging holes. I saw her lay down once and grimace as her udder bulged from between her legs. She stood up. She didn't eat, except maybe a blade or two of hay. Her tail head was raised. She yawned. She arched her back. She looked like she was in early labor. She was uncomfortable. It was cold out - bitterly cold. The wind blew and snow squalls came through all afternoon. I was cold and went back inside.

For the next three hours I set my timer and checked on her every half hour. I wanted to see lambs, but I really wanted to make sure the lambs were dried off quickly due to the weather. I usually don't worry about the moms getting their lambs dry, but Cali had been so big that I wasn't sure if she would have two large lambs or three small ones. What if there were three and she couldn't dry them all in time? I was home and able to help, so I thought it made sense to keep a close eye on her. Every time I went out I saw more of the same: Cali standing in the stall looking up at me with big eyes. Then she started to lick herself obsessively. She cried to her lambs and licked her forelegs. She licked as if she were drying off a new wet lamb, but she was licking herself. The only way I could get her to stop was if I talked to her, and then she talked back. I kept getting the distinct feeling that she wanted me to leave, or she wanted me to stay, or she didn't know what she wanted except for the whole process to be over with.

By dinner I decided I needed to set my timer to one hour. I couldn't keep interrupting her. She wasn't progressing. After dinner there was progress: her stall was a complete disaster! She was in active labor, right? She had clearly dug holes in the bedding - usually a sign lambs are just an hour away. But there she was, standing in the back corner of the stall looking away from me. She just stood there. No more progress. At least she had stopped licking herself! She was quiet again and I starting thinking I'd have to wait til morning for lambs. I left again, promising I'd be back only once more before bed.

When I went out just after nine, the holes were more visible, but so was her exhaustion. Her back legs quivered periodically and I couldn't tell if it was from standing all day or because it was so cold. She looked like she had a massive hangover and had given up. She had been standing all day, not touched her water once and barely eaten a few handfuls of hay. I offered her grain, which she enthusiastically gobbled down. A few handfuls and I turned off the lights. "Good luck, good girl. I'll be back in the morning." She needed solitude. In an attempt to help, I had clearly made her day longer and unnecessarily stressful. It was time to give her the quiet time she needed to bring her babies into the world.

I woke up once in the middle of the night and contemplated venturing out to the barn. I quickly convinced myself that would be a horrible idea for both of us. So at six o'clock, I finally bundled up like it was February, and walked out to the barn. Thankful to be awake to see the brilliant orange sky over the newly illuminated Kilkenny mountains, I was optimistic I would find new lambs by Cali's side. As I crawled under the barn door to quietly sneak in, I heard the distinctive cry of a new lamb followed by the low grumbles of a very protective mama. I peaked into the stall and saw Cali standing there, just how I had left her the night before, this time with two new lambs by her side.

The ram lamb was HUGE! He was completely dry and was clearly the first born. It's no wonder she labored all day and through the night; he was nearly nine pounds! The ewe looked so petite next to him, but she was still a very sizeable seven pounds. Just as I had predicted in my last post, she had very large twins.

Meanwhile, I got to spend a lot of quality time with Ella's ewes. They are SO soft and have such beautiful fleeces. The taller one is also quite friendly and comes to the gate for scratches. She even stays still for my two-year-old!