On Saturday the weather worsened. I went outside in full winter apparel and saw that the weak lamb wasn't following his mother well. He tended to stay under the holly tree while she led the strong lamb out (into showery rain and cold, gusty wind). You couldn't blame him.Ruby, the ewe, would wander somewhat anxiously between where she wanted to get some breakfast, and back to the weak lamb sitting damply under the tree.
I had my doubts.
At lunchtime the nasty north British climate put in a special effort for really heavy cold rain, delivered with oomph from the north east.
I went out, and found the ewe was no longer bothering to check the small lamb. He, poor soul, was sitting in a muddy puddle looking exactly as if someone had thrown several buckets of icy water over him. Which effectively fate had.
We took him inside to warm by the Rayburn, and rushed up to borrow some lamb milk substitute from our friends Carol and Richard, who have a holding higher up our hill.
