I have the graveyard shift.
It is my time.
At 3am my alarm goes off, however my inner clock wakes me up at 2.47am.
I get dressed,
check the outside temperature,
add another layer and then head out to the barn.
Our barn is north of our house,
while I walk out I stop to admire the display of northern lights.
The snow crunches under my boots.
Molly barks,
I tell her to hush.
I turn the barn lights on and listen carefully if I can hear the soft grunts the ewes make to their newborn lambs.
I check the ewes and newborns.
Decide who needs to go into the warming jugs first.
I quietly pick up the lamb, the ewe gets a bit concerned but soon follows me to the jugs.
The rest of the ewes stay sleeping or chewing their cud.
I step around them with the lamb and ewe follows.
The lamb bleats, the ewe responds.
At the jugs, I place the lamb in one, the ewe follows.
Then off for the next one and the next.
Once all are in,
I check all the other newly borns,
everything gets fresh water and some hay.
The pups get a pat on the head, and some water.
I turn off the lights, leave the barn.
Admire the night sky.
I go into the warm house,
its 4.15am.
I sit on the couch, find the news channel and watch the news.
After an hour the news repeats itself, I drift off to sleep,
in the background the whispers of Syria, dead civilians and a tragic bus accident in Europe...
A typical night in the lambing barn.
