Lambing Records: Life In My Livestock Files
“Go grab the livestock files!” is commonly heard around this time of the year.
I have a raggedy, black three-ring binder that is so old I can’t remember which college course it used to be used for. It’s stuffed to the brim with different papers, slips, receipts, notes, and ultimately, memories of all of the different animals that we’ve had here on the farm.
Out-of-state transfer papers for Brown Swiss heifers trailered from the Iowa line.
Receipts for an absolute stud-of-a-ram that we drove over to Vermont to get, various breed Association fees and butcher bills paid.
Filled out cut sheets on whole and half hogs and beef, specifying Italian Sausage or Breakfast. Grind the hams, smoke the hocks.
Canadian Livestock Registry paperwork, membership cards from years passed, and bloodwork and milk testing results from labs as far as California.
USDA Scrapie Program paperwork.
Scribbled notes.
“Bernice is TB-Free”
“June 12th, 2019: Noticed signs of selenium deficiency in Fjalla’s ewe lamb from last year. Bowed legs. Hit her with 10c.c. Sel/E gel and watching a dry cough.”
“#314 has cloudy eye, doesn’t look like it’s coming back, will check for blindness.”
Pedigrees from dogs, sheep, and cows, tracing their lineage back to remote places as far as Iceland and the North England/Scotland border.
This ewe was bred to him, who was married to her, who was a twin of that guy.
Okay, not exactly like that, but, proof of who these animals are, who their great grandparents were, and who their offspring will be.
Copies of invoices for my precious, imported UK Herdwick semen that came on a non-stop flight from London to Detroit and is lovingly being taken good care of by the folk at Great Lake Sire Service downstate.
And, of course, the lambing records and notes.
Chicken scratch that would make many a doctor feel better, I can re-read over:
“Lydia had a single, moorit ram lamb this morning under the birthing tree. 9:30 am. Up and nursing well. Terrific mother.”
“Sarah had a difficult birth. Lambed day 150. Single black solid ewe lamb, face swollen from pushing, but nursing well.”
“Larka had sad, black mouflon ewe lab, isn’t loved but does nurse when she can. Larka is going to butcher.”
And so on.
Even sticky notes attached to registrations from breeders and sellers that I never removed.
Hoof trimming days. Shearing Days (“sheared September 30th, 2022”). Pasture moving days when I can remember to write them down.
Lambing days, and, even death days.
The Bible likens us to sheep, and there’s no question in my mind as to why.
We’re not so different than the woolies out in my pasture right now.
We both have times to look forward to, celebrate, mourn, and struggle through.
I now keep a spreadsheet on my laptop, and it’s even organized alphabetically and in order of estimated due dates.
But, I also keep my hard copies, just in case, and those are what I refer to over and over.
The old binder was getting pretty burdensome.
I could no longer “flip” through the pages, and the inside pockets are torn by the weight of memos shoved here and there.
Papers in disarray and constantly falling out on the floor only to get shoved haphazardly back in again.
So, I went through Her and binned the not needed.
Part of my life in that pile.
My memories, accomplishments, and unfriendly reminders of my failures.
A history of stock that is no longer here, but once was, and is now only a folded up slip in an envelope.
And not only my life, or their life, but that of my children and husband. They’ve been here for It All.
Hauling hay, bucketing water, crammed in the truck, riding down the freeway with stock in the back.
Watching for new lambs out the dining room window, and capturing wild sheep.
Going to festivals and milking cows by the light of the moon.
Constantly hearing my “wacky” ideas and sales pitches.
I am so grateful for them.
So, this pile is more than a pile, and the oldest was reluctant to toss it.
The binder, the “livestock files” are slimmer than ever.
But, I reassured her, Lord willing, we’ll fill it again.