I swear, y’all. You cannot even make this stuff up. Farm life… home life… they continue to just leave me speechless. Ya, speechless. Or screaming. Either one.
So take a walk with me down the lane, while we sip on some (potentially spiked) iced chai teas and I’ll tell you a story…
While making our morning rounds yesterday, we noticed one of our lambs was laying down at feeding – never a good sign. We went into the pen to check on him, only to find that he was critically wounded from what appeared to be an attack from a predator.
Damn you, predator. These are MY ANIMALS to eat. Check ‘yo self.
Into the hubby’s arms he went before he landed, as all sick animals do around these parts, on my bathroom floor. Oh, hello guest! So glad to have you. If you need to use the restroom, please feel free to gently move the flea-ridden and/or bleeding and/or sickly and/or dying animal out of your way! Thanks!
I cleaned the lacerations on his inner leg and gave him water while we awaited the Veterinarian’s arrival. This, naturally, lead to three curious and angry children who couldn’t quite understand why Mommy couldn’t leave the lamb to get them their 84th cup of milk.
Sometimes it’s not about you, I explained.
Sometimes, there are bigger things to attend to than your instant desires.
Sometimes, you just need to hold the wounds of a bleeding animal and get over yourself.
The Vet arrived, shaved and cleaned the wounds, loved on the lamb a bit, and gave me follow up instructions and advice. I knew the lamb had been attacked – but by what? And how did he get out of the pen? Or did he? Did the predator come in?
Neither here nor there because try as we may, we can’t quite figure it out. Regardless, the lamb is currently quarantined in my rabbit pen where I can easily access him to give him antibiotics, pain medication, and cleaning the wound. I’m using Myrrh, Lavender, Melaleuca, and Frankincense twice per day, diluted in coconut oil. All of these oils are great for supporting the lamb in his healing process. Plus, I’d like to think they help promote relaxation for him too. Poor little guy. I hate seeing my animals like that. Here ya go, buddy. Sniff some Lavender.
Oh… and by the way… did you just hear me drop the antibiotic bomb? Because I did.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Antibiotics have a place.
Is it in the diet of every commercial meat animal because they’re grown in such horrible conditions they can’t maintain health? No.
Is it in the emergency, short-term situation when an animal is attacked by a predator and needs to fight off infection or die? Yes.
I’ll gladly give my animals antibiotics when necessary to maintain health and keep them alive – you betcha I will. I would never let an animal die a slow death from infection because I was too proud to let go of my ideals.
And so he’ll get three days worth of subcutaneous antibiotics that will, Lord willing, help him to fight off infection from the gashes down his leg. They’re pretty bad – like oozy, swollen, red, tissue-y. Ya know. Goop like that.
As we let the sheep rest in the pen and got him settled with a breakfast of hay, we realized we were already late for church and were covered in poop…and blood… and shaved sheep hair… and tissue and stuff. Yum. So naturally, we made breakfast before heading out to finish up the rest of the morning chores, like milking. Poor Sal had to hold in her two gallons for a wee bit longer. Sorry, Sal. Stuff happens.
… and then, while we were cleaning up debris in the shop, Georgia found a rotten egg in the hay stack and cracked it on Owen’s head, smearing the yolk into his hair before I smelt them, er, caught them.
… and then I wore Baby Will in the Ergo for roughly 4.5 hours and remembered what it felt like to be pregnant and swore I could never do that again. Until I started to sort through boxes of baby clothes in the barn and saw those teeny-tiny little onesies and told him we needed to make another one. Like immediately.
… and then, Georgia ran up to the house to use the bathroom, and walked all the way back down the steep, gravel driveway to the barn with her undies around her ankles so that I could check to make sure she’d “gotten it all wiped”.
… and then, as we were pulling out the stuck tractor, I gently pressed the gas petal in Bess and a weld broke on the back of the truck and a 2×2″ piece of metal shot back, barely missing Stuart’s head (who was sitting on the tractor).
… and then I curled up into fetal position and laughed, and cried, and then laughed, and then cried, and then ate some eggs and felt better.
(Is it just me or do scrambled eggs make things a lot better?)
I know these days aren’t all that unique, and that millions of Mama’s and farmers every where are experiencing moments just like this all over the world.
I love that – it brings me great comfort in the madness.
And make no mistake. This is madness.
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