Foxy had it (them) in her after all! She waited until the sun was shining, the grass was lushly green and the cow parsley, may and horse chestnut flowers were at their zenith, and finally got down to it. When I saw what was going on and came back up the lane at warp speed, she was busily giving birth against a backdrop of verdant rural loveliness. It was all very artistic, and she milked it for all it was worth (pretty black sheep produces gorgeous black twins in preferred medium of extreme Cotswold rural beauty).
I fussed around, once I realised what was happening, but quite honestly she didn’t need me at any stage. Once she was finished I picked up the lambs (soggy but sweet) and she trundled after me into the lambing shed and is now comfortably back where she was before, lounging in extreme comfort and calling for dainty meals to tempt her appetite at regular intervals. And ivy, lots of ivy. She’s running me ragged, and I’ll let her out very soon if the weather keeps fine.
Her twins are both completely black, one boy and one girl. Very friendly and sweet, and I’ve already wasted far too much time playing with them.
And now I can turn my attention back on matters outside the lambing shed. Many of my neighbours have turned bright pink in the recent fine weather, quite a startling effect when you see them en masse in the village shop, like a particularly virulent sunset. Julia is still running, and still going (not to put too fine a point on it) extremely slowly. She’s started taking her dog with her on a lead when she runs, and quite often he walks as she runs, which tells you something.
Frank’s one man battle against cow parsley is reaching a crescendo, and he seems to spend every daylight hour whacking furiously at billowing banks of flowers – sometimes the lane is completely carpeted with the bodies of the fallen. But no matter how many he cuts down, there are always more. Thank goodness, I love cow parsley.
Chick is definitely a girl, which is great. I’ll ask Mikey to put a photo of her on the blog. Her feathers are completely curly, and I have got a dreadful feeling that I’m going to call her Frillz. She should be called something pretty like Annabel but every time I look at her I think Frillz. With a Z. You’ll see what I mean when you see her photo.