This post is not for the squeamish. You are warned.
My oldest mama sheep, Karla, had her lambs last night. I’d been watching her all day, as she’d snuck off to the hedgerow and I knew she was ready to drop them. She’d been there since early morning, but apparently a watched ewe doesn’t birth. Finally, she came into the little calving barn and I was able to lock everyone else out in time for her to start discharging at 7 pm. I ran around the farm to gather the kids up from house and barn, and by the time we got back to her, there was a little black baby. Stuck. Half in and half out. All of the animals that have given birth in my presence have done so standing up. But Karla was laying down and that confused me. She seemed to be lying on the baby, too, which was very still. So I pulled it out, surrounded by a gasping host of children and friends. Karla, good mama that she is, began frantically licking it off, making the sweetest little humming/burping sounds. But I was afraid she was dead, the little girl, and so very very tiny. Like a kitten with ultra-long legs. To my surprise, the little wet thing finally jumped and twitched and opened it’s mouth soundlessly. I rubbed her rather roughly with a towel to help Karla stimulate breathing, and she did start breathing but remained limp and cold.

But now the second shiny bag was hanging from Karla’s back end. Already nearly 20 minutes after the first, this lamb was really taking too long. I’d washed and sanitized my hands, so I reached gently in to find out what was going on. This was my first time inside the uterus of a sheep, or any animal, so I wasn’t quite sure at first what I was feeling. I at last discerned a great big head and then what seemed like an impossibly hard and small ring of bone behind it. I prayed desperately to know what to do as Karla groaned and strained her neck straight. My teenager, Eli, beside me acting as gopher, told me to get the legs out. He was right, the legs were behind the pubic bone and that’s what was slowing things down. I worked my finger behind the knee joint and pulled a leg out. And then the other. ( I later learned I only need to have one forward.) Grasping the two little hooves, I pulled out the second baby, who seemed to go on forever! This curly ram lamb was nearly twice the size of his sister, and congested but very strong, trying to stand up. I put him up near Karla’s head next to the first, and she energetically licked him off, too.

But now I had some professional help. I’d sent my daughter Maggie to call a neighboring sheep farmer, Hilary, from whom I’d bought my sheep and obtained endless advice already. She recommended I get the first, tiny, weak ewe in a hot box; on top of a heating pad and under a heat lamp, wrapped in dry towels. She also was pretty sure Karla had another baby or so inside. (This type of sheep, a Finn crossbreed, is capable of carrying five lambs.) Unfortunately, the whole process was really taking too long and both mom and babies were tired. Hilary now reached inside the ewe and could feel no lamb, but could feel the bag of amniotic fluid that precedes the baby. That meant we certainly had another coming, and definitely too slow. Now thunder and lightening flashed all around the bowl of our valley, and a storm was blowing a gusty wind through the three-sided barn. The situation was beginning to feel desperate and menacing and I had an audience of guests with children keeping watch.