The Longest Night
The first we knew something was amiss with sweet Periwinkle was when she was found cast on her side. Gone was her usual enthusiasm for snacks and pats, and beneath her dense wool we discovered a swollen belly. But it did not have the taut, drum-like feel we associate with bloat.
And then it became clear that swollen belly held another secret.
Periwinkle was pregnant.
But how could she be? She was not even one year old and would have been so much younger when that window of opportunity arose. A pregnancy test on her arrival four months earlier had been negative. Although we were told there had been a ram on the property from which she came, we had been assured he had been separated from Periwinkle and her friends. Given her tender age, we had little reason to believe otherwise.
But now, with an udder full of milk, a swollen vulva and the unmistakable signs of early labour, this young sheep was being asked to do something she should never have had to do.
And so began the longest night.
As daylight slipped into darkness, thoughts of dinner and sleep quietly gave way to the needs of the young animal before us. Periwinkle’s contractions grew stronger, yet still there was no sign of a water bag. With our vet only a phone call away, and concern steadily growing, it became clear we needed to try to help her along.
Gently, we began to assist, hoping nature might simply need quite literally a helping hand. But as the hours passed, Periwinkle’s cervix stubbornly refused to dilate as it should.
As one of us cradled Periwinkle’s head against her chest, the other gently examined her. Three females, two species, united by something requiring no common language other than trust.
And then came a moment we shall never forget.
As our hand withdrew, Periwinkle caught the scent of birth upon it. Although she had never known motherhood before, something ancient seemed to awaken within her.
She knew something.
And as she feverishly licked our arm and softly nickered, we felt the sucker-punch of who she was searching for.
Exactly what Periwinkle understood in that moment is hers alone to know because there will always be limits to our understanding of lives lived through senses, instincts and experiences different from our own. But not knowing does not give us permission to assume there was nothing.
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And perhaps that mystery should invite greater humility, not lesser regard. We need not understand another’s world completely to recognise that it matters to them.
Yet from the little life on the other side came only silence. By morning, our options had narrowed as an ultrasound could find no heartbeat and a caesarean became Periwinkle’s only chance.
And so we waited again and eventually, the news came.
Her baby had not drawn breath.
A beautiful 6.5-kilogram ram lamb, impossibly large for such a young and petite mumma, who had carried him for close to 145 days yet would never carry him into tomorrow.
We named him Cowrie Shell.
When Periwinkle was able, she was given the opportunity to meet the stillness of the little life. And we took one tiny hoofprint. A little purple blur from a hoof still wearing the soft slipper nature gives those who have not yet walked upon the earth.
There is much about that longest night that will stay with us. Not least the reminder that when animals are placed in our care, nothing concerning their safety can simply be left to chance.
Periwinkle was young and the ram was old and it would have been easy to believe that between the two, pregnancy was unlikely. But when another’s wellbeing rests upon our choices, unlikely is not the same as impossible, and separation cannot be left to assumption.
Because when we take responsibility for another life, assumptions can have consequences they alone must endure.
For we are responsible for those we have tamed.
Today, Periwinkle is surrounded by gentle hands and the sage wisdom of dear old Cecil, as her body recovers from all it has endured. What she makes of all that has happened, we will never fully know. So we will not presume to tell her story for her. We will simply listen, watch, comfort and allow her to show us what she needs.
And somewhere among the things we shall keep precious is a little purple hoofprint.
The mark of a life that never had the chance to leave any other.
Proof that you do not need to walk upon this earth to leave your mark upon it.
