That's Still My Baby: A Story of a Momma Sheep and Her Lamb
It’s lambing season back home, and per usual, I get regular updates on what new lambs there are and how they’re doing. On this particular morning, I got a video featuring a little white ewe lamb. Five minutes later, I received another video featuring another momma who had had a little black ewe lamb. Mom hadn’t seen her at first, as her dark coat let her blend into the shadows.
It was exciting! Two healthy girls and two attentive mommas.
In the evening, I received yet another video. “Look what we’re having to do, Risa.” There was my mom with a bottle and a little black ewe lamb.
During evening chores, Isaac noticed that the new little black lamb looked sunken. Something wasn’t right. It was good that Isaac had been so astute, because upon closer inspection, they discovered that Sybil, the momma, had double mastitis and no milk.
This was more than a simple inconvenience (bottle babies are time-consuming). It was really heart-breaking. Sybil was being the best of mommas. She had birthed her, cleaned her, protected her. She had even let her nurse, despite the pain. Yet, she had nothing to sustain the lamb. And the lamb, well she would much prefer her mother’s teat to the rubber one of a bottle.
At 2 am, Mom sent me a picture of her and the lamb along with a note of worry and frustration. The little lamb was only drinking an ounce at a time, and Sybil was fit to be tied. That was HER baby!
The next morning, I called home and hesitantly asked if the lamb was still alive. She was. Every 4 hours, my mom would head out to the barn to coax the little lamb to drink. Finally, she began to drink more and fight less. Sybil, though, was still heart broken.
Mom called to tell me that every time Sybil saw her coming, she’d rush to her baby and nudge her up. Perhaps it was just to nervously be prepared to run, but perhaps it was because Sybil knew in her momma heart that she needed help. So, while she let my mom feed and hold her baby, she still paced and pawed. She came to her baby and licked her all over as if to say, “it’s okay. I’m here. I’m still your momma.” Meanwhile, my momma’s own heart was breaking for poor Sybil, because as a fellow momma, she knew.
One evening, my momma sat on a bucket in the sheep pen, feeding the little lamb, now called Dahlia. She held her on her lap, Sybil still fretting. Dahlia finished her bottle, and Mom just sat. After all, as a momma, you take advantage of stillness and quiet whenever you can. My mom’s stillness was broken by a forceful head butt from Sybil, almost knocking her off the bucket.
“Hello! That’s MY baby! I might not have milk, but that’s still MY baby!” was what she seemed to say.
No doubt, Sybil, that is your baby. You are still her momma, because being a momma isn’t about the tangible things you can give your baby. It’s about the love you give. The fight, concern, and love Sybil gives her lamb is what makes Dahlia hers.
