Look here’s the thing about the sheep
My first sheep, Maisy, my best friend and the love of my life, loses a lamb every year. I don’t know why. The first year both her babies died. The next year one twin of the two died, next year a twin, next year a triplet, this year a triplet died again.
I’m not sad about the triplet that died—one triplet often dies. Suffolk sheep only have two teats. They’re only meant to feed two lambs. The third triplet is often small and sickly and is either stillborn or dies soon after birth.
However, Maisy doesn’t exactly have the best batting average. Having at least one offspring die every year is a bad sign, and I know the people who are taking care of her have to be practical.
She turned 6 on the tenth of this month. That’s not young for a productive sheep. Older ewes require more feed and more attention and more medical care, all of which translates to they cost more money.
They have lots of other ewes Maisy’s age and younger who have never lost a lamb.
Think about all the extra feed they give any ewe during pregnancy to help her grow strong babies. With Maisy, that investment hasn’t paid off.
I know the only reason they’ve kept her this long is as a favor to me. I don’t expect them to keep doing me favors until she dies a natural death. I know they have a bottom line and I know she’s fucking with their bottom line.
I’m not sad about the dead lamb; I’m sad about what this means for the future of a being that has meant more to me than anyone else on Earth.
