The Soay Sheep Chronicles

Neither traditional dictionaries nor any of the numerous websites that trace the history of “Break A Leg” have seen fit to include lambing in their list of definitions, or Soay lambing as a possible source for the expression.  They obviously haven’t been reading this blog.

Breaking a leg sure brought Venus good luck.  Last year, with her leg intact, she delivered a pair of mouflon boys.  While they were very cute and grew up to be very handsome, they were still not the black Soay we were hoping for from Venus, who in Steve’s genetics jargon is an obligate carrier for self-coloration.  Translation:  her mother was black.

But give this ewe a broken leg to contend with and boy does she ever rise to the occasion.  She not only produced a black lamb last week, but a huge healthy one at that, the biggest lamb we’ve ever had at a stunning 7 pounds 9 ounces (more than 3 times the size of Otley, for example).  I don’t know how many of you out there have had a broken leg, much less given birth with a splint on one leg, but I find it downright impressive that Venus managed her delivery, cleaned and completely dried off the lamb and fed him, all without our even knowing it had happened.   Here’s the happy pair, Venus and Tolleson, shortly after Steve jugged them [Side note:  I'm sorry I missed the jugging dance, with Steve stumbling backwards and Venus lurching forward].

By the next day, young Tolleson was wandering around the jug and Venus was behaving as though lambing with an immobile leg is the most natural thing in the world for any half-capable Soay ewe.  Look at the size of this lamb.  Most one-day-olds have to strain just to reach the ewe’s udder, for heaven’s sake.

It’s a good thing Tolleson is so big and robust, because we realized we needed to get Venus out and walking around as soon as possible after more than two months in spaces no bigger than 5 feet by 5 feet.  For the last week she and Tolleson have had the run of a corridor about 25 feet long and 5 feet wide adjacent to the jugs.  In this picture, Venus is doing laps at a most respectable clip, with Tolleson jogging along beside her.

We have no notion what we will do if we ever have another animal with a broken leg.  At this point, we are simply relieved Venus came through all of this alive and healthy and her lamb is alive and thriving.  Maybe when we get the lambs vaccinated and weaned and turned out to pasture, I will contact Wikipedia and suggest they modify their interminable lists of definitions and sources for “break a leg” to include “may ewe have a successful lambing.” 

But for now … 

When last we met here, Otley was a 3-day old, unusually small lamb who already had seen the world and was none too pleased with it.  As you will recall, Otley not only arrived at less than two and a half pounds after her mother struggled mightily to deliver her, she also ran away from home at the age of 3 hours, changed her mind when she encountered giants and ghosts in the outside world, and announced in a loud voice to all who would listen that she was sorry and would never do it again.  So much for the peace and tranquility of sheep-raising.

Fast forward two weeks.  I was out photographing the latest arrivals, nearly all rams to my dismay, when off to the side I spied a little bitty lamb scrambling up the edge of the “high” platform in the feeding area of the Maternity Ward.

Guess who was out exploring again?  Mind you, Otley and her mom, Tolcarne, long since were kicked out of their jug to make room for new arrivals, so this time Otley’s wanderings were at least sanctioned.  On the other hand, making her way to the hay feeders was a futile gesture, since she will not be ready to eat solid food for awhile yet.  Did that stop her?  Not our little Otley.  Soon she stood behind the row of ravenous ewes who were refueling before the next round of nursing started up. 

In the good old days, any self-respecting drug store featured a variety of dairy products at the soda fountain, but I suspect none provided the array of options Otley thought were hers for the picking.  I was not able to capture in still photography her several efforts at poaching off someone else’s mother, but suffice to say she soon figured out she was not invited to anyone’s “house” (except Tolcarne, of course) for lunch and she resigned herself to a mid-day snooze.  Otley is the little lamb to the right of her larger and more experienced cousins, none of whom, it appears, had succeeded in pilfering someone else’s sack lunch either. 

And last but not least, for those of you who thought I was making it up when I said the miniature Otley could make a lot of racket from the first minute she hit the ground, put away your skepticism.  Here she is letting the world know – again – that she is a force to be reckoned with.  Move over, Nora, Madonna, Dolly, Eartha, and all the other great throaty chanteuses.  Otley intends to claim her rightful place in the singers’ pantheon, thank you very much.

For now …