My parents are hand raising a little lamb. I would love to meet him. I have heard him bleating over the phone.

He is so cute.

I have called him Cutlet. My parents called him Ribs. Either way, I hope they don’t eat him given they’re hand raising him.

Their other sheep have lambs too – they are in the paddock, thriving with their mothers.

He was born a little more than a week ago, and is steadfast against the cold and foxes.

Lambs seem to be born on the coldest mornings or nights, when they are most prone to be snatched by a fox or perish in the frost.

This little baby was rejected by his mother. His mother butted him against the fence and left it to fend for himself soon after birth. My parents think it’s because her mother died when she was born. She didn’t know how to be a mother. Perhaps animals get post-natal depression too.

Nature is cruel.

I think my parents are enjoying having a baby to look after since the passing of Jazzy and Toby. It is hard work for them, though, and there have been a few times when they thought he wouldn’t make it.

He is living in the dogs’ run.

These pictures were taken when the lamb was a few days old.

He is very playful and runs through their legs.

He is also very loyal, staying by my parents’ side on walks. Easier to control than the dogs, apparently.

His coat is so silky.

They feed him four times day.

Note – this is animal formula, not a stubby full of beer.