Little Stumpy

The newborn lamb curled into itself on the ridge of the sheep corral as the wind whipped dust into my eyes. Several yards away, her mother huddled with a twin.

I scooped up both lambs, tucked the coldest one under my down vest and headed for the heat lamp.

The young ewe would have to wait for her babies.

The white lamb shivered and felt stiff to the touch. The mottled lamb didn’t really need the heat lamp, but if I took one twin and left one, the mother was unlikely to accept the cold lamb after it warmed up.

Then I raced to relocate other new families from the sheep corral to their temporary studio apartments.

I had an appointment in town in 45 minutes.

I should know better by now.

Appointments are directly correlated to wrecks.

By the time I returned from town, my apprentice, Hannah, had given both warm lambs to their mother.

The ewe was elated.

The mottled lamb nursed, but the white lamb didn’t stand.

We pulled the white lamb out of the jug.

One hind leg dangled, spinning in the breeze.

The lamb whimpered.

The bone was severed high on the femur.

Past efforts have taught me that femurs can not be splinted on a lamb.

Past efforts also have taught me that traumatic pain and shock can kill a mammal faster than most causes.

We had to work fast.

We carried the lamb to my kitchen and I gathered supplies while Hannah held the lamb in her lap.

Scissors? No, a scalpel.

Needle and floss for sutures.

Neosporin for germs and some Banamine for the pain.

Vet wrap and cotton balls would have to bandage the stump.

The Banamine dose for horses is 1 ml per 100 pounds. This lamb weighed approximately three pounds. I did some quick math, moved a couple of decimals and filled the syringe.

Hannah suggested a tourniquet to reduce bleeding.

I tightened a twist tie above Little Stumpy’s dangling leg.

The lamb never flinched when the scalpel sliced through her skin. The muscle was already torn and the bone was broken so my surgery lasted just a minute.

By the time we placed Little Stumpy in a cardboard box with soft towels, Hannah planned to soak her bloody pants in cold water, but Little Stumpy had survived.

I offered some colostrum to celebrate her seventh hour of life.

She chugged her first meal.

Apparently, the Banamine was working.

We lifted Little Stumpy to admire our work.

Her other hind leg would not flex.

I could feel the bones in place, but absolutely no muscle connected her hip to her hock.

This was not good.

I don’t know how to grow muscle for a lamb.

But I knew who would offer the best post-surgery care.

Ms. Compassion and Mr. Heartless cooed via text, then admired Stumpy’s will to live and pain tolerance.

They even half-way offered to take care of Stumpy.

I doubted Stumpy would make it through the night.

My coffeepot woke up Stumpy the next morning.

Her insistence on breakfast woke me up.

Stumpy enjoyed the lamb’s version of a three-egg omelet, hashbrowns, sourdough toast and orange juice while I wondered what to do with her.

Fortunately, unbeknownst to Ms. Soft-Heart, I hatched an adoption plan with Mr. Heartless.

Little Stumpy would visit her adoptive aunt and uncle for a couple of days.

Ms. Soft-Heart no longer believes Mr. Heartless’s feigned callousness.

Unfortunately, Little Stumpy’s wheels kept deteriorating. Her remaining hind leg would not support her and then a front leg began to collapse.

We all agreed that some fates are worse than death.

Stumpy’s brother is now an only child.