Morning all. Frost crunches underfoot and a chilly morning mist clings to the ground. It is barely light, as your intrepid correspondent trudges up a steep dark field. Grey sheep in a grey fog against grey rocks. Like TV pre-1960.
Eventually I spot my target, a canny old ewe with two eggy lambs snuggled close. Aaaaah. But you try getting the soggy wee buggers down to the shed, where they belong.
Patience is not a virtue with which I am over-endowed, especially before 6 a.m. I stamp my wellies and wave my arms, and eventually the matriarch saunters a few steps in the right direction. One lamb follows, but the other doesn't move.
She says 'baa'. He says 'maa'. I say 'shift, lamb' and nudge him with my boot. I really don't want to have to carry this cold, slimy, custard-coated little bundle of joy. Luckily, sheep are also short of patience at dawn. This ewe knows that hay and cake are waiting in the warm shed. She strops forward, horns down, and gives her tender infant a cracking wallop to the midriff. Pathetic lamb is galvanised into action, springs to his feet and capers down the hill like a good 'un.
Over bacon and eggs before the day job, I was musing. Sometimes, a nudge is not enough. When the climate is damp and miserable, you've got to increase the kick in kick-start. Put some welly into your communications. Stop bleating about how tough it all is, and get back on your feet.
And never get between a woman and her breakfast.
Carrie
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