I’m back from checking on the girls and their babies, wondering what the hell to do with my time now that I’m not full-time committed to The Career.
It’s been raining all day, my pants are soaked up to the knee. I’ve filled the grain trough for the lambs, and seek out friendly faces. And of course that means Jewel. Jewel, our first born lamb. And at two years of age, a first time mom.
Her mom, Martha, is a great mom. And Jewel is a great mom. And for me, she is a great, consistent friend. More times than not, If I approach her, slowly with chatter, she comes to me and looks for company. More than company. Once Jewel knows I’m there to stay and to stroke her, rub her, wrap my arms around her neck to squeeze her, Jewel stays, follows, and nudges me for more affection. And I’m so grateful. Maybe we have switched roles. Perhaps Jewel knows that I need her more than she needs me. She has responsibilities. Her boy bangs her udder, chugs on her teat and she stands still for her baby, bends around to nudge his tail, a signal to keep nursing despite the fact that he is now nearly 60 pounds and can more than survive without her teat. And yet, like her mother, she is there. For her boy and for me. Once her son finishes, Jewel comes to me and presses her nose close again. “Thank you,” I whisper.