A lamb is born.

  While feeding the sheep their daily ration of pelletized grass bits, which I assume is the ovine equivalent of Haribo Gold Bears, I heard a queer cry from just beyond a knoll in the next field over.  I thought to myself, that isn't the sound of a sheep following the herd to ruminant goodies, that's a sheep with something to tell me!  I sloshed through a soggy pasture to investigate and found to my surprise, an ewe and her very late lamb.  Yet barely able to walk, it must have been born that morning.  I of course had to pick it up and marvel at its soft wool, adorable baa, tiny body, and the unique beauty of creature so superbly new to this world.  After reuniting it with its concerned mother, Sarah and I went back to the farmhouse to inform Bonde and Maria who were equally surprised.  It seems the now departed ram had gotten a bit on-in-years and aside from developing an irritating habit of protecting his herd from well-meaning farmers, he also had found nineteen ewes a bit much to handle in one month, or even two.  As a result, what was originally thought to be an unfertilized ewe, was in fact to become the mother of the very last lamb our poor old ram would ever sire.  Despite being born near a fox's den, having to watch out for ravens large enough to carry him off, and now having two disproportionately large ear tags, the little lamb is growing up quickly and healthily.