I’ve christened our two strapping young rams Rambo and Rocky. A bit more macho than the typical moniker here at Circle M, but these boys have a long, cold winter to plough through on those skinny, wobbly, bowed legs. My hope is that they’ll live up to their names.

Both are so coal black I thought I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart. However, now that they’re all dried off I can see that Rambo, the firstborn, has a small white patch under his chin. And Rocky is, well, a bit rough around the edges. Having endured a long birthing squeeze, he’s definitely slower to get up and go and he’ll take some watching. I’m not entirely sure he’s nursing strongly and I’ll take a bottle down to the barn for the late-night check-in.

At the last look, past dark, I stuck my pinky into Rocky’s tiny mouth and found his tongue warm. So his temperature is good, and at this point he’d be cold if he wasn’t getting nourishment. His sucking reflex just isn’t that developed, as is the case with some newborn lambs, and the little underdog will simply have to start fighting a bit harder at the udder.

“Beethoven was deaf. Helen Keller was blind. I think Rocky’s got a good chance.” – Adrian