This is hot off the press, literally springing out of the countryside. Because we usually walk most days, there is always something new to see and experience. Today, we walked up Slipperlow Lane. Looking back north, the Dark Peak filled the the horizon. However, going south, we gazed over the limestone plateau, the White Peak. At the end of the lane, in a drystone wall bounded field, a ewe was licking a yellow lamb. It was tiny and covered in meconium, a bowel motion at the time of birth; the lamb was really yellow. Suddenly, like a wet rag, another lamb dropped out of the ewe. This one was pure white, with no poo coating. For certain, it was lambing time in Taddington.

Birth matters

I had my birth expert, Ann, alongside and armed with binoculars. Consequently, she identified that the caul was still over the second lamb’s face. However, the ewe, though licking the lamb with some relish, was not removing it. Meanwhile, a car passed by driven by a woman. She carried on to the field gate, opened it and drove across to the lamb. She wiped the caul off, and drove back past us, smiling and excited by the births. After that, the lambs staggered about and weak knees saw them topple over repeatedly. In addition, they sought the nipple but could not stay upright long enough. The ewe, as if this was a daily occurrence, dumbly drifted back to grazing boring green grass.

Lambing time in Taddington

As exciting as this was, we felt for the lambs. They were in the warm fluid one minute, and wind chilled the next. As bright as the sun shone, it was a bleak blowy breeze. Consequently, the lambs shivered, whether from cold or from attempting to get the legs working. I know that feeling. They also needed to suckle colostrum from the ewe and that had not happened. Whatever, we experienced the joy of spring; new life. The danger, of course, is whether that new life is too weak to survive the chilly overnight of an exposed field. We will return, will walk that way again to see what happens. Life in the countryside, all excitement.