Lambing time

A ewe with twin lambs is standing statue-like under a tree, disguised by stillness. The rest of the mob is moving away, the lambs among them tight at their mothers’ sides. I am on foot, trudging through the blackened perennial grasses. A hard frost a week ago burnt the warm-season grasses off and now there is little feed left in this sheltered lambing paddock. The grasses will grow back next spring, but the sheep’s needs are more urgent than that. Our friend who owns the property wants to move them to a better paddock, where there is plenty of feed and shelter for the ewes and their lambs. But he thinks the paddock he wants to move them to is too far for the lambs to walk, so we are doing this a little differently to normal.