Saturday, 2 April 2011

She Lived

Benbecula, the prettiest of the sheep with a wee sharp black face and black tail, staggered out of the field last night, foaming at the mouth and then jerking around, on her back, as I tried to calm her.
Pep the vet diagnosed Clostridial disease, and we treated her with a beer-bottle full of water with bicarbonate of soda (to reduce her stomach acidity) and a pack of dried yeast (to restore intestinal flora) as well as with Flunixin and penicillin.

Montseny beer - so good, even the sheep like it.

This morning she´s fully recovered.
I'm not.
Keeping sheep is an emotional business, a sort of low-level emotional catharsis, cleaning out your heart as you focus your feelings on an (apparently dying) animal. 'Low-level' because it is not, really not, the same as the feelings one has for a human but also because it's visceral, a feeling from deep in the guts (as it was, in this case, for Benbecula...)

1 comment:

Andrew Eames said...

I reckon you're in love! The shaggier the better! (oops, Jordan will kill me)