‘Madam had us worried but we should really have known better!’
THE good news is – I have recovered. What happened?
Last week, the regular Sunday job of selecting lambs to go to Bakewell Market was nearly complete.
By this time of year the lambs have been weaned from their mums for some time... with one exception; Madam.
These lambs, in common with all our sheep, have access at all times to a mineral supplement, made to our own specification based on the results of blood sampling the ewes and analysing the hay to ascertain which minerals are deficient on our land.
The pasture they graze is - arguably - the best available.
It is a blend of modern high sugar perrenial ryegrasses, festulolium, which is a hybrid derived from perrenial ryegrass and meadow fescue, deep rooted and has the ability to continue growing in dry conditions.
Added to this is lots of white clover - the scent is like honey when the field is covered in a carpet of white flowers, and the bees love it.
A further addition is chicory - beautifully delicate blue flowers - which also is deep rooted, drawing trace elements from deeper in the ground and New Zealand Plantain.
The lambs love it and grow really well.
Anyway, as usual the mob of lambs was brought in; Madam had long since decided that she belonged with this group, always leading the way in to the sheds. Last week, there was an almighty clang as the penny dropped.
No Madam.
Panic; desolation. I really am attached to that sheep. She is so full of character.
We always start at 5am on market day; by the time we return the day is half gone, so it was early afternoon before we started looking.
We checked every field with sheep in. No Madam.
Had the inevitable consequence of advanced years occurred? Would she be lying, lifeless, in some obscure corner?
We checked all the fields again, carefully. No Madam.
Mmmm, huge field where the wheat had been harvested, visible from the opposite side of the valley, showed no signs of life... it had been her favourite escape destination... was she there?
Fearing the worst, as dusk settled in, I drove in to the field. There, at the bottom of the field, about 200 metres away, were two sheep, vague in the half light.
I drove down there, and as I drove close to the sheep, it was madam with her one remaining lamb – the other has been sold.
As I steered the Land Rover behind her, she raced up the field like an exocet missile on steroids. Twelveand-a-half years old. Really?
The lamb with her has tiny stub horns, and she is a female. This afternoon I separated them.
The lamb has joined the ewe lambs we have selected as flock replacements, to breed next year, and
Madam has joined the Lleyns which are on a lush pasture to grow into perfect condition for breeding.
They will go to the Bleu de Maine ram, a beautiful and productive sheep is the result.
Knowing Murphy’s Law, Madam will have twin ram lambs, but at least we have one daughter.
I’ll bring you up to date with the farming scene in general next time.