‘Hang on, wh—’ But it was pointless because the phone had gone dead. Darla huffed as she threw herself back onto her pillow. It was no good. However much she wanted to have a lie-in, there was no way she would be able to go back to sleep now, mainly because she was curious as to what on earth Elliott needed her help with. And after he’d coached her through helping Dusty the other night she could hardly let him down.
She had a quick wash, got dressed and headed off to the farm. She figured it must be urgent if he was asking her for help. She couldn’t imagine she was high on his list of people to rely on. An image of her trying to catch Dusty shot into her mind, closely followed by her chasing chickens in a soggy sarong. It seemed unlikely that it would be animal-related; she knew Elliott’s feelings on her failings in that department. Perhaps it was a cleaning emergency. Whilst she wouldn’t be impressed if he’d woken her up for that, she did know that was something she could handle. What she didn’t want was to be useless at whatever it was he needed help with. She wasn’t sure why it mattered but she cared what he thought of her and an opportunity to prove that she wasn’t a complete idiot would be good. It was cold and still quite dark as she walked the lane, making her zip her jacket right up and bury her hands in the pockets.
The farmhouse was in darkness but as she approached she could see a light from one of the barns. She walked across the now dry concrete and smiled to herself at the just visible chicken footprints. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting as she walked into the barn but she definitely wasn’t prepared for the sight that met her; rows and rows of pens all full of sheep and lambs, most of which were sleeping. At the far end she could see someone bending over, who looked like they were graffitiing a sheep with a paint aerosol.
‘Is this the farming equivalent of Banksy?’ she quipped.
‘Bloody hell!’ said Elliott, jumping in fright. ‘You shouldn’t creep up on people.’
‘Good morning to you too. No, please don’t thank me for coming to your aid at a moment’s notice in the middle of the night. It’s my absolute pleasure.’ She fixed him with a sarcastic smile.
‘Yeah, well. Thanks for coming and all that. I figured I helped you so it’s . . . tit for tat.’
‘And which one does that make me?’ asked Darla, putting her hands on her hips in mock disapproval.
‘I don’t know,’ said Elliott with a frown. It was clearly too early for frivolity. ‘I’m swamped here and Lee’s girlfriend has gone into labour as have three ewes. I can’t manage and that puts lambs’ lives at risk. And that’s where you come in.’ He pointed at her with the aerosol. ‘You, not a female sheep.’
‘I know I’m not a female sheep.’ Darla felt on edge. ‘I’m also no midwife. You know that right?’ Darla had quite a phobia when it came to blood and gore.
‘I thought as much, so I’ll handle the deliveries,’ said Elliott. ‘But what I really need is someone to feed the cade lambs.’
‘Whose lambs?’ asked Darla, scanning the many cute new arrivals; adorable fluffy lambs were skittering about, whilst others fed from their mothers. It was a lovely scene to witness and reminded her of the farming videos she’d binge-watched on her mobile when she’d first moved in at The Brambles.
‘Cade lambs are the orphans or like in my case where the ewe has given birth to three and can only really cope with two. They’re all next door under a heat lamp but they’re going to want feeding again in about half an hour and I’m already multitasking.’
Feeding lambs sounded like something she could do. ‘Okay, point me in the right direction.’
‘Great,’ said Elliott, who then proceeded to give her fast and lengthy instructions of how to make up milk from a powdered feed and how much to give them and how to make sure they all got enough.
‘Can I just recap?’ she asked. ‘Powder and bottles in the kitchen. Make up one litre of mixture and split into four bottles, one per lamb.’
Elliott looked surprised. ‘Spot on.’
She wasn’t sure if she was pleased or slightly insulted.
‘I need to get on. Shout if you need anything,’ he said, pointing to a very fat sheep lying on its side.
Darla went into the farmhouse and switched on the kitchen lights, which was when she was met by another surprise. What Elliott had failed to mention was that his kitchen looked like a dairy had exploded in there. The sink was full of used bottles – there must have been a couple of dozen, all with a dribble of milk in the bottom. The kitchen table looked like something very similar to a crack house in a crime drama she’d recently watched as there were two sets of scales, a few spoons and lots of white powder scattered all over it. Darla set about tidying up because that was something she was good at and she’d be able to work better if everything was clean and uncluttered.
Once the kitchen was sorted she realised she was missing one key piece of information: how many lambs she needed to feed. She left the bottles to drain and went to investigate. The barn creaked as she slipped inside. Under a glowing lamp was what she could only describe as a pile of lambs, like a sloping pyramid. As she came closer sleepy eyes opened and regarded her with interest. They were the cutest things she’d ever seen and it made her heart squeeze that these poor little mites couldn’t be cared for by their mums. She was suddenly very keen to do a good job.
A white one with a black head scrambled out of the pile and ran to the mesh bleating. Apparently this was like a battle cry as they all then woke up and joined in the noise, which was quite something as there were a lot of them. Darla tried to count them but they wouldn’t keep still. Clearly they were all very hungry so she made an estimate and went to make up some bottles.
Darla filled up all the available bottles and left the ones she couldn’t carry standing in a sink of warm water to keep them at temperature while she ferried the eight she could manage into the barn. As soon as she opened the door the bleating started up again and only got worse as she squeezed into their pen with a wiggle, keen not to let any of them escape. She made sure the gate was closed and sat herself down on a hay bale. Big mistake. All the lambs tried to join her as they desperately clamoured to get to the milk.
‘Whoa!’ she cried as they overpowered her and she toppled off the hay bale backwards still clutching the bottles, some of which leaked over her. There was a moment where the assembled lambs stared at her but it was only fleeting before they all jumped on top of her. ‘Oof!’ That was when she knew she needed some help. ‘Elliott!’ she yelled.
As she daren’t let go of the bottles, she couldn’t defend herself against the multitude of little lamb feet parading all over her in their frantic attempt to get fed. She didn’t hear Elliott appear until she heard his laugh. Not really the supportive response she’d been hoping for.
‘Did you get ambushed?’ he said through his laughter.
‘Something like that. They’re monsters.’
‘Yeah, the whole wolves in sheep’s clothing thing is true. You okay?’
‘Absolutely fantastic, thanks. I needed a lie-down, so where better?’ She glared at him.
‘Here, let me show you,’ he said, striding through the gate to join her. He took two bottles from her arms, popped them in his pockets and picked up two lambs; one under each arm. He nudged open a gate between where they were and the empty pen next door. Darla tilted herself up so she could see better. It was a bit like watching telly at The Brambles. She and the other lambs watched as Elliott sat down on another hay bale, put down the lambs, pulled the bottles from his pocket and they both immediately began to tug on the teats. Despite her uncomfortable position she couldn’t help but smile at the sight of their little tails whirling around as they downed the milk mixture in record time.
‘See. Easy,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘If you feed them in there you’ll know who’s had what.’
‘Okay,’ said Darla, still lying on her back.
Elliott came over and with strong arms he helped her to her feet. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right?’
‘Absolutely,’ she said with as much confidence as she could muster. But she soon discovered that was far easier said than done.
Darla tried her best, she really did, but all the lambs wanted the bottles regardless of whether they’d been fed or not. The lambs were all variations of black and white so it was difficult to tell them apart, a fact she discovered when she carried two into the end pen, put them down and then had to concentrate very hard on which were the two already fed and which were the ones she’d just brought in. It was like they’d been cloned.
They had no idea about manners and happily pushed each other out of the way. One grabbed a bottle by the teat and wrenched it from her hand and ran off with it, quickly becoming frustrated when they couldn’t get the milk to come out properly. And when she did manage to get the right lamb on the right end of a bottle she had to hang on tight with both hands because they had more suction than the best industrial vacuum cleaner on the market. It wasn’t long before she was exhausted, splattered with milk and getting grumpy.
‘How’s it going?’ asked Elliott, popping his surprisingly cheery face over the split barn door.
‘Rubbish. I’m rubbish at this. I can’t keep track of who’s who or who’s had what. I’m worried someone will not get fed and die. Could we swap jobs? Is there much blood involved with delivering lambs?’
Elliott didn’t bother to hide his glee and held up his bloodied palms, making Darla’s stomach churn. ‘I think birthing difficult lambs on your own is tough even for me,’ he said. ‘You’d probably be better off sticking with these guys.’ A little black lamb bleated his frustration at not having had his breakfast yet. ‘Let me get cleaned up and I’ll give you a hand.’
‘Thank you,’ said Darla and the little black lamb bleated as if in agreement.
