Day 22: They Want In

"Knock knock"

Yes, day 22. I'm not sure where 21 went, blogwise, but this post is for day 22, according to the Great Notebook of Chicken Scratch I write in every night/very early morning. Even I occasionally cannot understand what I wrote afterwards, but I am always careful to get the date and number of days here correct (and legible). It is the only way to combat the weird time distortions Iceland and/or the sheep apparently emit. Actually, my bet is on the sheep. They are something else.

It has been mentioned in previous blog posts, but the weather here continues to be a little unpleasant, to say the least. I didn't know any better, and assumed Iceland is always like this in the spring, but have been informed that no, it is a distinctly unpleasant year. On two separate occasions, Helgi has forlornly shown me pictures of the fields from this time last year, when the sun was shining and the grass was thick and green. Those hot springs Carly mentioned in her last post? We were hailed on briefly while we were soaking there (actually, can't complain about that one, the hailstones were small and it was kind of weirdly refreshing). Anyway, the weather is bad, and long story short, the sheep want in. I thought they were okay with using the house as a rain/windbreak, but yesterday, the kicking/knocking began. Usually there are a couple of ewes and their lambs who stay by the door, but very suddenly there were more. And it sounded like they were trying to bust in. Also, I think the little ram lambs on the steps pictured in my last post live there now.

Seen here with their little buddy that they invited over.

"Just open the door."

Amassing the horde.

I've been using the guest shower in the basement, where the windows are just below eye level for the ewes. When I got out of the shower last night, I noticed a ewe was staring at me through the window. We locked eyes, and she baaed. It was frankly a little unnerving, and I have no idea how long she had been watching me and I don't know, judging my shampooing technique or something.

Hopefully the weather improves soon.

Anyway! I wanted to talk about the strange little creature I call Gull, after the bird, because that is a bit what she sounds like.

Gull ended up in the orphan box in the most recent scramble to adopt out lambs from unwell mothers. The plan was to place the newborns from the next ewe that gave birth with two ewes who happened to have recently given birth and lost a lamb. It was a good plan, until neither ewe decided to cooperate (normally, most ewes soon to give birth and those that have recently given birth cannot pass up a newborn). We found a mother for Gull's brother, but she was out of luck. Even her own biological mother was too distracted by her new adopted babies to want her!

Not sure why; she is very cute.

I have never seen a lamb like Gull before. She is insatiable. She screams any time she is not sleeping or eating. As a day old lamb, she decided at one point that I had not fed her enough, so she jumped out of the orphan box and went looking for a snack. We have since placed Gull with a loving mother but she still lets out a majestic seagull cry whenever she sees me. In Icelandic, gull means gold, so it's a doubly appropriate, since she has reddish/gold pheomelanin marks on her head, legs, and tail.

What is that...?

Oh.

Size comparison of Gull and Lil' Bean (if you were wondering, Gull is rather large for a newborn).

Other than Gull's cries, it was a fairly quiet day. I went to milk a ewe for some extra colostrum and was very surprised to find milk the color of strawberry puree in the bottle. Normally, blood-tinged milk occurs in ewes with mastitis, particularly when they have had a teat unclogged with a hollow needle (sounds brutal, but sometimes it is the only way to unclog a teat). This ewe, however, had no firmness, redness, or swelling, and I had not felt any blood clots or other oddness when milking her. We will simply have to watch her to make sure her lambs are getting enough to eat and her udder does not get worse.

The assist.

This is her grain face.

The pressure washer was finally here and I was eager to begin cleaning (yes, really), until Helgi went to test it and found that it was broken! I'm told that when Snaedis, Grace, and Carly went to go pick it up, it was quite heavy and they almost dropped it at one point. Carly yelled "No! This is Melissa's dream!" and they managed to pull through, which makes the failure of the pressure washer all the more sad. Oh well, the poop on the floor gets to stick around another day. It is a dry, cement-like mixture that contains some shed wool, and is nigh impossible to remove without damaging the boards underneath. I almost wonder if it could be used as a building material.

Night shift was uneventful for me, just one old pro of a mom who squirted the babies out with ease. Shutting the feeders at night has helped keep the lambs at a reasonable delivery size, although it is a tough balance between making sure the ewes are getting the proper nutrition, and making sure the lambs are neither too large nor too small. Carly's shift was more eventful. She redid Lil' Bean's/Nano's split (still used to karate chop adoptive siblings) and then had to deal with a yearling whose unruly babies tried to exit at the same time.

Pregnant ewes wishing they could get at the hay.

Kruna's lambs and friends.

Triplet puddle.

Lil' Bean and her adoptive siblings.

This one knows I have the power to giver her hay but don't. Explaining it is for their own good does nothing.