Spring is Birds

Linda and I are walking in the fields we see a suburban over by the coulee. Just then 15 swans fly over us. At the pasture gate we meet Neal Campbell,whose family have banded raptors here for 30 years. He says my brother John taught him hunter conservation. He tells us he saw a golden eagle on her nest and that his bro John will be back mid June to band the chick(s) He also informs us of a nearby lek with grouse dancing by the road. We plan to be out there tomorrow am at sunrise.
Spring is birds!

LAMBS MAKE ME A MOTHER AGAIN

I wonder why I thrive on this recurring crisis. Yesterday, Margaret Thatcher, the oldest of my 4 surviving ewes (the cougars always kill the younger ones) was standing alone with her 2 gaunt lambs. I brought all animals into the barn as I do each night and checked Thatcher to find her bag as hard as a rock. I took the halter off Rowdy, the llama (I have to catch him each night and lead him into the barn as cougars eat them too) and used it to tie Thatcher to the corner of the pen. I milked her getting milk from one side but only blood from the udder (sic) side. Mastitis, Dirk, the vet (and a sheep breeder) confirmed by phone. Dirk recommended a different antibiotic than the one I had in my fridge. Since Linda was in town, I called the grocer, PO, bank and liquor store but I was always one step behind her. I dialed the cell phone we just acquired and Linda, hearing a strange musical sound coming from her purse, called home to ask if it was me ( I am very impressed she managed this technical advance). I asked her to pick up meds at the vet's office. Next I mixed up some milk replacer filled a bottle and capped it with a nipple. Linda came home with a vial of antibiotic.. I gave the ewe a shot and forced the nipple of my bottle into each lamb's mouth.. In past they have not always sucked but these guys did , especially Mutt the little one. (Jeff, the larger, has been getting most of his mother's milk). Then the lambs went after Thatcher's bag with vigour, hopefully stripping it out..
Before going to bed I went to the barn with rifle in one hand and milk bottle in the other to give Mut and Jeff a night cap.
This morning I was happy to see Thatcher still standing with her head bowed. She had drunk some water from the bucket but eaten nothing. I tied her up, milked her a bit and the lambs intermittently sucked her and the bottle. I slid some oats to her and noted her tongue licking at them. She too seemed to have the will to live, a zest not all sick animals possess.
After I let the other animals out and fed them hay, I trudged back to the house to get my own breakfast. Suddenly I recalled a late night in a Uganda hospital as I gave my very sick month old son a bottle of milk that his mother had expressed from her breast. I heard myself exclaim "You have to live!" His glazed eyes met mine as though he understood.