That working for about a millisecond, until we walked past the pens of newborn calves. I resisted petting the livestock but couldn't help making girly comments about how cute they were, all fluffy and clean. More eye rolling from Mike, joined by the farmer. Then we entered the lambing barn. Oh. My. God. I think I said something like "How freakin' CUTE are THEY?!?! And proceeded to manhandle as many lambs as I could reach.
I'm pretty sure my serious stockman credibility is blown.
If that didn't do it, this probably did:
The farmer looked amused when I said they could ride home in my lap (I didn't want them to get cold and lonely riding in the back). On the way home I named them Pearl and Ivy.
They needed a feed when we got home. Especially Ivy who had been rejected by her foster mother and hadn't been allowed to feed properly. I put them on the kitchen floor while I mixed their milk.
They are so tiny. And they have a sort of 'new baby smell' which, combined with the sweet smell of the lamb milk powder, is intoxicating and primitive.
Ivy is the eater, and hit her bottle with reckless abandon. Pearl was resistant to the bottle and probably preferred her milk direct from the source. But she'll learn.
Close-up of Pearl. Seriously, how cute is that face?
The sun's not quite up yet, but the fire's going and the dogs have had their breakfast and I've got my first cup of coffee. I might go have a read though the guide for new moms, Practical Sheep Keeping and dream of first place ribbons at the county show.