Cold Feet and Afterbirth

"The love for all living creatures is the most noble attribute of man" Charles Darwin

Standing in a barn on their land, dappled by the cold winter sunshine, we chatted with our neighbours about the rising cost of living and the worrying price that petrol might reach. Surrounded by their flock of pregnant ewes, our conversation was brought to an abrupt pause when Ros* launched herself through the air in the manner of Dwyane “The Rock” Johnson, in the opposite direction, away from the conversation and onto a sheep. Already by her side was a tiny lamb, hobbling on newborn legs, freshly born and navigating its way blindly in random directions. With one hand, Ros moved the new arrival to the safety of outside the pen, right in front of my feet. I bent down and picked it up, completely stunned by the suddenness of the scenario I found myself in. Moments ago I had been engrossed in conversation, I was now standing, holding a lamb only seconds old, watching my neighbour wrestling its breech sibling out of a birthing ewe. “Come in! Come in! She called to the children, who climbed over the pen and crawled up towards the action…

As quickly as two tiny hooves appeared, Ros dragged a tiny body from its mother, and as she did, the afterbirth flung through the air like snot from a sneezing toddler, and covered my unsuspecting teenager; the boy who gags when I put my contact lenses in, or heaves and runs when he finds himself in the same vicinity as someone brushing their teeth. “Sorry about that!” Ros wailed with laughter, kneeling with the tiny wriggling dot of jelly hanging upside down in one hand. My son turned around and looked at me, with the biggest smile on his face I have ever seen. “Look at me!” he proudly said and showed me his right side, dowsed in afterbirth. We had nothing more than a split second of post-birth delirium to enjoy the moment wherein my little boy matured into a young countryman, before Ros picked up a lamb in each hand, carrying them by the hind legs, and marched them off towards the nursing pen. Calling the children to accompany her, she instructed them to "baa" like lambs so the mum would follow. As the three humans walked off towards the nursery bleeting, a lamb swinging from either side, the new mother trotted along dutifully behind. Husband and I stood there watching and grinning like first time Grandparents, my coat covered in yellow slime from holding the first new-born twin whilst its sibling had made its arrival into the world. It had all happened in a matter of minutes, from our conversation about current affairs to poring over two perfect, tiny little creatures fumbling to take their first steps and first feed.

As we stood watching the mother and her new babies, I glanced over to the far side of the barn. A pregnant ewe lie still on the ground. I couldn’t take my eyes off her. Everyone was huddled around the babies, the children were excited and willing the “big one” to let the “little one” have some milk. I walked over to the sheep on the ground and gestured to our farmer friend. He excused himself from the group and explained to me that she was gravely ill, they suspected the unborn baby had punctured her womb and caused severe infection which she had been treated for by the vet for some days. As we stood chatting, it became apparent that the sheep that had been desperately sick when we went over to her, had in fact at that very moment, died. He went into the pen, picked up her motionless head, and laid it back down. Ros noticed and came over, followed by the children. “Where there’s livestock, there is also dead-stock. We did absolutely everything we possibly could for her.”

In the course of a few minutes, we had witnessed the birth of two lambs, and the death of an unborn lamb and its mother. We stood, there and then, in the same sacred territory as birth and death.

Next door, Ros told us, was a new-born calf who had just arrived on their farm. That morning, their own cow had miscarried and a neighbouring farmer had too many calves for his herd to feed, so they had brought in a calf for their bereaved mother to adopt and feed her excess milk to. We were invited into the barn and the calf literally skipped over to us, limbs flying in the air, and as I reached out my hand, immediately latched onto my fingers and suckled them hard. Its rough tongue and rubbery lips pulled my fingers deep into its baby mouth. As my hand got wetter and more numb from the enthusiastic suckle and saliva ran up my wrist, I looked to the mother standing at the back of the barn. She had not long given birth, but not to this baby. She looked lost and confused, the two of them would have to be shown how to connect, Ros explained to us. The baby’s head would be manually latched onto the mother whose baby had been born dead, but somehow, reappeared. The matter-of-fact manner in which our friends explained this to us, stood in direct contrast to my entirely human instincts and internal responses. Ros wrestled with a labouring sheep and adopted calf, I wrestled with empathy and deep sadness for dead sheep and bereaved cows. But I so admired the work on the farm, the conditions in which the animals lived and thrived and understood so completely why people dedicate their lives to this gruelling, thankless and undervalued life and work. Never have I felt more connected to the earth, more real, or more alive.

As soon as we left our friends and walked the short distance along the lane home, I realised how utterly freezing I was. I could not, in fact, feel my feet. I limped along on two blocks of ice, dreaming of the open log fire we would return home to, our characters changed by the experiences we had been exposed to that afternoon. The euphoria faded as the dropping temperature dawned on me - but in the hours we had spent on the farm I hadn't felt it at all. As we walked into the house, I had not even removed my boots and looked up to see a trail of clothes leading from the front door, through the house to the utility room. I followed it to find a boy in his boxers, standing by the washing machine. “I’ve put my clothes in the washing machine – I’m going to have a shower!”

There’s a first time for everything.

*Not her real name