The twin torpedos hit me before I had both feet through the gate. After feeding them, I made my way to one of Saturday's twins that we've been supplementing (the mama has mastitis). In due diligence, I glanced at Sunday's set of triplets in the jug next door. One of the babies was unnaturally stretched out under the heat lamp. After finishing with the twin, I straddled the three and a half foot wooden partition and scooped up the sick baby. Her head fell backward in an arc. There was some life; she wasn't stiff yet. Holding her close to my chest, I left with high steps over the jug door and quickly made my way back to the house through the wind and snow, juggling a baby and two empty bottles.
We tube fed the little one and set her on a heating pad in front of our kitchen space heater.
Before breakfast, she was tucked in with a heated rice pack weighing down either side of the heating pad. As we ate lunch she was already up on her feet, trying to make her way around the kitchen only to find that ceramic tile is slippery when you're wearing hooves. She splayed out like Bambi more than once. Now she's back in the barn with her mama. "That," tBG declared, "is the farthest from the edge we've ever brought a lamb....I wonder if she saw a bright light at the end of the tunnel?" Success!
On a side note, Toby, the housecat, came around the corner of the kitchen just before noon and saw the standing lamb. He went close enough to touch noses then turned, vomited, and rocketed out of the room. Later this afternoon we found another stress-induced deposit in the dining room. Toby's delicate disposition may keep him out of the barn, but it won't keep the barn from coming to Toby.
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