We were out for hours doing chores on this bitterly cold afternoon, and it was 3 p.m. when we got home, just in time for the afternoon feeding of the animals. I

went into the house to rest my foot, as ordered.

She went out to feed the animals. A few minutes later, the day turned upside down.

As Maria tossed hay into the feeder, she saw a small black creature shivering and wobbling near the pole barn.

She ran over to it and saw it was a baby lamb. His mother, Laurie, was off with the other sheep; we saw the afterbirth hanging from her.

Once before, we came out and found a beautiful white lamb frozen to the ground. In neither case did we know any of the ewes were pregnant. Life on a farm with animals is anything but dull and predictable.

You can see the shock and worry on Maria’s face in this photo.

She grabbed the lamb, horrified he was standing on the same spot as the other lamb that died and came running to the house, calling my name.

I know the sound of trouble and ran to the door. We were both stunned, and looking at the lamb, I thought he was already close to being dead. Maria said the mother was nowhere around him, a very bad sign.

Fortunately, I’ve been there before, many times. We scrambled. Maria got towels and dried him off, we put him in a stall in the barn, and she went out and got Laurie and dragged her into the stall, which we closed off with big old hay bales.

Laurie was paying no attention to the lamb; he had obviously separated her, and he was very weak; his eyes were cold and shivering piteously.  He was covered in mud and ice.

We no longer keep lambing provisions around, as we have no plans to lamb. So I had to find some and very quickly.

It is essential to get colostrum into a lamb – the mother’s milk, and we didn’t have milk replacement and enough strong heat lamps.

We found one, lamp dusted it off.  I told Maria to hold him up to Laurie’s nipples and see if she recognized him as her baby.

I also suggested putting vanilla extra on his butt – we named him Robin – and on her nose. Often you can get a mother to re-connect with a lamb if she recognizes something she smells on him. I used steak sauce once, and it worked.

I called Tractor Supply, and they had everything I needed. I told them I would be right there. I forgot all about my foot until I got into the rental car. Then I realized I had a big black boot on my leg.

If I moved the big boot off to the left on the floorboard, I could drive safely, and I took off. The adrenalin was stronger than the pain. In a few minutes, I didn’t feel a thing.

I love living on a farm, and helping an animal give birth is a sacred thing for Maria and me. New life is powerful and beautiful; we so wanted to save this lamb.

A farm challenges us in so many ways to react humanely and move quickly. We accept the presence of death and disappointment as well.

I was 90 percent sure Robin was either going to die, or we would have to bottle-feed him, something even Maria didn’t want to do.

Bottle-fed lambs often become freaks, bonding with the people who feed them, not their mothers. They can be pests.

Store-bought colostrum is not nearly as good for lambs as their mother’s milk. The best thing for Robin would be to nurse off of his mother’s nipples.

(Colostrum is a milk-like fluid released from the breasts of sheep and other mammals after they have given birth and before breast milk production begins. It’s high in nutrients which promote growth and fights off disease.)

When I got home, I cut his umbilical cord and put some anti-biotic on it.

Maria and I make a wonderful team, and we trade ideas and suggestions over the phone and don’t panic. We both wanted very much to save this poor creature, brought into the world in a cruel way.

I raced back home with the lambing supplies.  Once, she called to say Laurie had suddenly laid down, and I wondered if there might be another lamb in there.

But that hasn’t happened.

I got home ten minutes after Laurie lay down, and Maria called again as I pulled into the driveway to say the vanilla extract had worked; she thought Robin was drinking from one of Laurie’s nipples.

Laurie was cleaning him off a bit.

Laurie was licking him and letting him nurse, it seemed she now accepted him as her lamb, and hopefully, we wouldn’t need to bottle feed, although I came home with two huge bags of sheep milk replacement.

We re-arranged the old cow stall, making it smaller but putting up hay  bale barricades. With the new ones I bought, we had three heat lamps, and Maria found the cords and connections to hook them all up. She also hung them at the right angles with a hammer, nails, and baling wire.

We put down a hay and straw bed for them to sleep on and a second cut hay for Laurie to eat. The light from the three heat lamps is warm, and Laurie has evolved into a good and patient mother.

We also brought fresh water and some grain for Laurie, and I saw that Robin had tremendously.

He was dry, his eyes were open, he wasn’t shivering,  and he was searching for milk and nourishment.

He looked like a lamb who might survive, although we are prepared for the worst.

He is in good hands with Maria. I can think of no one better on the planet to nurse a struggling lamb back to health. We’ll check on him through the night.

She hopped off and on the hay bales, hammered nails into walls, rubbed a lamb’s belly, guided him to his mother’s milk. I called people I knew with sheep to make sure I was on the right track with abandoned newborn lambs.

I was.

We are both freezing and hungry. It was quite a scramble.

My foot is up and resting and we both think it was a miracle that we got home when we did. A few minutes later, and we would have found a newborn lamb, frozen to death, I am certain of it.

We have two very cold days ahead of us, hopefully, the lamps will keep these two warm.

A caution: Robin was a very sick animal when we found him, we are hopeful he will pull through and get stronger, but there are no guarantees. Everything that can be done for him is being done.