Fingers crossed

It is raining and has been for much of the day.  I know we need it but I can't help thinking - why Sunday?  Why does it have to rain at the weekend when it could rain during the week and most people would be at work and hardly notice.
When it is so damp outside the temptation is to stay indoors.  But I was getting a bit stir crazy so I have just spent the last half an hour in the lambing tunnel, sitting amongst the lambs (it is one of the perks of the job). They are getting very naughty now.  As they get bigger, they get more confident and with confidence comes the desire to push the boundaries.  So whereas I used to be able to sit in the middle of the pen and only a few brave lambs would venture over to sniff me, chew my sleeve or try to nuzzle into my pocket - now they all try it.  And their antics begin almost as soon as I sit down.  Some lambs start to climb up my back, some to chew my hair (well, it does look a bit straw-like), while others jump across me, as if I am just a continuation of the straw bale.
So far these lambs have spent their whole life in the lambing tunnel - they don't know about the world outside, the cold winds, the rain and the grass.  But by the end of the week they will be out on the field, in a very different world. And for a few days they will be shell-shocked.  When we open the tunnel gates their mothers, who have been locked up for the last 6 weeks will make a dash for it.  Given the opportunity they will run as fast as they can.  Despite their colossal size and their huge udders, they will sprint along the track, towards the field.  Some will stop at the first sign of succulent-looking grass, others will just keep their eye on the horizon.  None of them will even think of their lambs until they reach the end of the track and the closed gate.  Meanwhile the lambs will remain, now traumatized, in the tunnel.  The stampede over, the door to the big wide world open, the lambs will be in a state of shock.  Their world has suddenly been turned upside down, their confidence vanished they try to hide in corners or stand their ground, bleating for their mum.  Then, little by little, one or two will go through the gate, a couple more will follow and before long a group of them will be on the track, trying out the grass and weeds.
Meanwhile, having munched their way through some of the tenderest shoots they could find and realizing they can't get to the field as the gate is closed, their mums will suddenly remember their babies. They will start bleating and retracing their steps, and before long, the whole lot will be bleating and looking around for their off-spring.  Then one will lead the stampede back down the track towards the tunnel and before long, mothers and lambs will meet, pair up and let themselves be led to the field.
It follows the same pattern each year but I never tire of watching it.  But as I sat in the tunnel this afternoon I found myself looking at these healthy young lambs and thinking how lucky we had been to have been spared the Schmallenberg virus, the latest disease to hit sheep and other farming livestock.  I crossed my fingers and hoped that the ewes that will be coming into the tunnel at the end of the week, ready for Easter lambing, will be as lucky.