Number 22

It rained yesterday afternoon and after a trip to town to buy groceries and veterinary supplies, I finally had time to catch the lamb with the bad leg. He’s eartag 22: Pixie’s son, of this year’s first-born pair of twins.

It is mysterious. He definitely cannot touch the leg to the ground, but he continues to eat eagerly — which is why I didn’t drop everything, despite my crazy schedule, to catch him earlier. However, I could find no break. I don’t have experienced hands but surely I would feel the bone grating against itself or the leg bending in places it shouldn’t. The knee is swollen and warm. My guess is that it is a severe sprain. I sat in the rain with the warm, damp lamb and wished I had x-ray vision.

The spring grass is so juicy and wet that all the sheep have loose stools. Their fleeces are stained with manure, and so, soon, was I.

Still, it was peaceful in the soft rain, with barn swallows and tree swallows swooping over the grass and the sheep surrounding me watchfully. I left the SAM splint and vet wrap in my pocket, and took a deep breath.


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