What I've been thinking about:
- FOMO
- Niche Googling
Lambing is in the fullest swing at The Spittal. The ewes seem to want to get on with it and enjoy the start of Spring with their lambs dawdling along behind on unsteady legs.
Ivie is on the nightshift, which is made easier this year with the addition of a camera in the lambing sheds. It's great. He can keep an eye on things from the comfort of the sofa, only having to get all his gear on when he's actually needed.
Pre-camera, there were times when it took longer to get his wellies and waterproofs on and off than to glance into the shed and see there was nothing happening. This makes for a happy Ivie. And a happier me, knowing that he can doze a bit more and be better rested when he gets up and drives big machines near heavy beasts in the morning.
That's the theory anyway. You know how they say that dogs and their owners end up looking alike? Well, in Ivie and Rudi's case they share a personality trait instead: Fear of Missing Out. I've watched the dog fight sleep on many an occasion, worried that she'll miss the party of the century if she gives in. It turns out that Ivie is exactly the same.
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| Definitely not tired. |
I've always known that Ivie is a screaming extrovert (remember this blog?) but I didn't realise that would get in the way of him getting as much sleep as possible during lambing. Last night it was the World Athletics Indoor Championships on telly he didn't want to miss. He couldn't possibly snooze through the women's 3000m or the men's 60m hurdles. And the women's pole vault? Front row seats for Fisher!
I have resigned myself to the fact that Ivie would rather drag himself around like a zombie during the day than miss out on anything. All I can do is be supportive and not expect too riveting a conversation (no change there, I hear you say 😉).
I am constantly torn between wanting to be more helpful during lambing and not wanting to get in the way. As a result, I've only had one night-time visit to the lambing shed so far this year. I moved newborn lambs into a pen and sprayed iodine on their navels. And I watched as Ivie lambed two other ewes in quick succession, healthy twins and triplets the end result.
I'd forgotten my gloves so the next day woke up to a mahogany right hand and tarnished looking rings. Thankfully, I found a tin of Brasso under the sink before I had to Google 'removing iodine from silver'.
[My curiosity has just got the better of me and I've Googled it now. There are all sorts of complicated instructions from American websites involving silver foil, salt water and ammonia. It makes me slightly worried / in awe about what's in Brasso that it took it off no bother.]
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| 🕱🕱🕱🕱🕱🕱🕱🕱 |
My hand still looks a bit like it belongs to Pinocchio, which could be an interesting talking point at the training course I'm going on this week. Which reminds me, I'll have to change my usual March topics of conversation. I'm not sure they'll be that interested in how many pets there are or receptive to me encouraging them to have a little nap.
