Our homebound second stay at the B&B Hotel at Orléans was much smoother our first in that the access code for our room actually worked this time. Not only that but, having connected to B&B’s free Wi-Fi about 18 months ago near Blois, Carol’s laptop and B&B were still acquainted and connected immediately once again. (Seems like we have a back-up to McWiFi.) We’d also managed to survive last night’s moules, frîtes and French karaoke without too much mental damage. Great stuff!

Driving in France on a Sunday is usually pretty easy. Calais should have been about 5 hours away and our ferry was booked for 3:00 PM. Nonetheless, we’d finished our B&B breakfast by 7:45 AM so we hit the road just after 8:00 AM. The journey was a breeze and we pulled into the ferry port at Calais just before 1:00 PM, hopefully in time for the earlier ferry at 1:30 PM. Surprise, surprise! Having been disrupted by bad weather delays on our outbound journey, Dover had been disrupted earlier this morning by bad weather delays once again. Ain’t winter wonderful? We were eventually booked onto a ferry running late but leaving at 2:40 PM.

The crossing was a little rougher than our outbound trip. The ship’s stabilizers do a great job but after almost 90 minutes Carol was feeling a little queasy. Then on came the captain to tell us that there was no berth ready for his vessel and we’d have to wait outside port being tossed around for another 30 minutes. Blast (or words to that effect)! Actually the delay was shorter than anticipated (how many times is that the case?) and we docked at 4:30 PM, the time we should have docked had we been on our originally planned ferry sans disruption.

The traffic in England is always a shock compared to France. Even having suffered a couple of French rush hours this time, the jaM25 always amazes me. At 4:30 PM on a winter Sunday afternoon we get stuck in four lanes of stationary traffic. Just where the hell are all those people coming from and going to at that time of day on a naff winter weather Sunday? Nonetheless, we fought our way through it and were home by 6:30PM. Not a bad journey, really.

In the blog for this trip I’ve been concentrating on the ewes and lambs and have overlooked the place we were actually staying. I’ve covered it during our summer trips but seeing this part of the French countryside in winter was also new to us so scattered around in this entry are a few photos of it at this time of year.

Luc and Nadine were wonderful hosts and they both have lovely families. Everyone we met was very friendly and welcoming. Helping with the ewes and lambs was a terrific experience and we had a great time. We didn’t really want to come back home though the rest will do us good. 🙂

We were up at the usual 6:15 AM to help Luc and Nadine with the brebis (ewes) and agneaux (lambs) on the early morning shift. Last night, on the just-before-bed patrol, Luc had put a new mother and her twins into a crèche. This morning, her twins had become triplets overnight, and a very fine family they made, too.

Good time to leave – on a high note. We had finished our duties, had had breakfast and were looking forward to a 6-7 hour drive north to Orléans. We bad our fond farewells to Luc and Nadine and hit the road, not really wanting to leave. This is a location in France that I could live.

Mercifully our journey was uneventful and we checked into our B&B Hotels reservation at Orléans just before 6:00 PM. There’s free wi-fi at B&B Hotels and we had half a BIB (bag-in-box) of wine to finish so I settled down to drink and write (yesterday’s blog posting). Over the road, quite literally, there’s a restaurant we’d seen on the way down offering moules et frîtes (mussels and chips/fries) every Friday and Saturday. After blogging, at about 7:45 PM, over we popped.

The place was lit but relatively quiet. We were shown to a table and both ordered mussels. What I thought was a DJ appeared on the stage and played some French (c)rap music. He began to sing over it. ‘T was OK but just OK. Somebody handed this “DJ” a piece of paper which I took to be a request. It was, just that, a request. The requester took the stage, grabbed a mike and began to sing. We’d stumbled into a karaoke restaurant serving the best moules et frîtes this side of Calais. Christ!!

Yesterday I put up with children to get my fix of lambs. Today, in order to get my fix of moules et frîtes, I had to put up with karaoke. I have never been into any form of karaoke anywhere at any time before in my life. I just do not understand it. I cannot see why Joe Public would want to make a complete and utter arse of himself in public on stage with a microphone. I most certainly cannot understand why Joe A. N. Other-Public would want to listen to Joe Public making a complete and utter arse of himself in public on stage with a microphone. Christ, some “professional” acts are bad enough but you only have to listen to local radio phone-ins to realize what a complete plonker Joe Public is. Why do they do it? What is the fascination? It’s utterly and completely beyond my ken.

Having said that, the food was good (not great but good). We are, after all, in an industrial estate just off the motorway on the outskirts of Orléans, and one karaoke girl, I have to confess, had the breathy voice of an angel. Very Interesting. What more can I say?

I’ve had a lot of firsts this trip: tending lambs, feeding sheep, eating genuine cassoulet, fricassée and raclette … now I wind up in a karaoke restaurant for the first time in my life. Pretty damn good for a single week.

Ain’t travel wonderful?

For those who know me well, Friday would have sounded like my idea of Hell. Yes, I love animals (with the one exception of dogs) and we were certainly surrounded by animals: 320 brebis (ewes), 6 belliers (rams) and about 300 agneaux (lambs). However, a cloud on the horizon was rapidly approaching. At 10:00 AM today Luc and Nadine were playing host to a pre-school visit of 21 children aged between 2½ and 5 years. We would, of course, enjoy helping Luc and Nadine make ready for the visit on our normal early-morning shift. However, Luc and Nadine tend to appreciate our photographs and wondered if we would document the event.  Gulp! 21 young children!!? “OK, certainly – we’d be delighted.”

[Aside: We were a little concerned about taking photos of kids but permission was readily granted by their teachers and we were happy to agree not to publish any on the Internet … so you aren’t getting those.]

The 7:00 AM – 9:00 AM preparation went well. The older group of lambs even seemed to be behaving themselves more by not hiding under the ewes and suckling while we were trying to round them up into their pen.  The ewes are distracted with their food on the conveyor belt and held in place while the lambs are rounded up. This is essential to clear the ground for the floor-covering straw to be refreshed. Some lambs take advantage of the trapped ewes, grab teats and start suckling. We play baddy and drag the lambs unceremoniously from mother’s milk, carrying them to their corral. Occasionally, we may pause to cuddle one. After all, cuddling a lamb is one of life’s great treats. Why else did we drive 800+ miles?

After breakfast the bus load of junior terrorists arrived. Carol and I joined Luc, Nadine and the kids, in my case with a little trepidation. I shouldn’t have worried; the children were wonderful and much better behaved than I would have imagined watching English kids. There were only six boys in the group; 15 were girls. Some of them were completely captivating. (Yes, I really said that.) The day was completely awful weather-wise but the children never complained, did as they were told and didn’t run riot. Spirits were high with the lambs but, after all, that’s why they were there. One ewe even dutifully gave birth in their presence. The unfortunate youngster was regrettably “unviable” but, like a true professional, Luc hid this uncomfortable fact from the kids very well.

Everyone had a great time, including me. The kids and teachers came equipped with a picnic, despite the weather, and Luc provided Roquefort cheese for them to taste which completed the cycle nicely. Nadine had spent the previous day making countless crepes for an afternoon treat. Ya gotta love French; the crepe mixture contained rum, for 2½ and 5 year-olds. Brilliant! I love them!! [Aside: It’s not a problem, the alcohol cooks out when the crepes are fried leaving just the rum flavour.]

Slightly less well behaved than the kids on occasion were the lambs. They have a strange habit of sneaking through the access points for the ewes and clambering onto the conveyor belt containing the food. It’s like walking on the adults’ table. They also tend to clamber on the table top covering the food they should be eating, which is a strange mixture of clay and pellets.

Working with this loveable collection for a week has been a pleasure and a privilege. We’ll do tomorrow’s morning shift before we leave but, just to finish off, here’s one of our favourite lambs. Totally irresistible!

Luc and Nadine have been waiting all week for us to experience a naissance (a birth). Up to now, apart from a completely manual delivery, all the births have been happening either over night or during the day in our absence. At last, today, our luck changed and births happened in our presence, albeit with a little assistance. With just a little explanation, here are a couple of picture series that hopefully speak for themselves and show the sequence of events. For the woefully uninitiated and as a feeble excuse to introduce more players, first, of course, the ram (first right) must be introduced to the ewe (far right).

When we arrived for our morning shift one ewe was ready to produce but her progress was slow so Luc supplied a helping hand to get her started. All was well as the head and front feet appeared, eventually followed by the rest of the bundle of cuteness, complete with a strange black mark on its neck.

During our afternoon shift, as we were engaged in our usual feeding of the herd, Luc spotted a ewe in the first stages of giving birth and called us over. A ewe was in the first stage of birth with her water sacks showing. Eventually she lay on the floor and began pushing but seemed to get tired of it all and stopped, got up and walked around with the infant’s head protruding, still in a sack. We fetched Luc who took control and pulled the youngster out. He put the two together to get them acquainted. The new mother wandered off and eventually dropped a second youngster, again with help. Unfortunately, though not rejecting her twins, this first timer she seemed not to know what to do and neglected her lambs; Luc had to make her suckle them. [Ed: No, we don’t know why this lamb is orange. Luc said it happens sometimes. Her second lamb was white.]

By contrast, other mothers are very attentive. Here’s a couple of shots, afterbirth and all, showing how things should be in a perfect ovine world.

‘T was thrashing with rain this morning. There were another few lambs born overnight which we moved into crèches with their mothers. The technique for this is worth a word or two. One grabs the less-than-steady new infant by the front legs and half carries it, dragging its back legs along the ground. The dragging action leaves a scent trail which the mother ewe follows. The cute one is then unceremoniously tossed into the back of a crèche and mother goes in after it. We climb in behind the mother and unblock the teats by squeezing and pulling.

That, I’m told, is the theory. I seem to be successful about 50% of the time, mother dutifully following her lamb as intended. I must say that grabbing a freshly delivered, still damp lamb is an odd sensation. The other 50% of the time, mother obstinately remains stationary, staring me in the eye as if to say, “if you think I’m following you, a rank amateur, just because you are manhandling my child, you’ve got another think coming”. “Luc, help!” Of course, when the professional takes over, the ewe behaves impeccably. Luc even seems to be able to make the ewes follow with the lamb walking – some of the time, at least.

At the end of our pre-breakfast session, the dark side reared its ugly head. The unfortunate ewe that had suffered a prolapsed uterus was still alive but Luc’s experienced eye told him she was not going to recover. I helped him to pull her out of her crèche and she could hardly stand. He despatched her later in the morning. Her lamb, though, is doing well and will be suckled by another ewe.

This herd of 320 (Luc’s quota set by the EU) is a dairy herd, the ewes’ milk being collected to make Roquefort cheese. 80 or 90 female lambs from this year’s crop will be kept to refresh the herd by replacing older ewes keeping the head count the same. The replaced ewes are sold and end up in some product or other. All the male lambs and the remaining female lambs will be sold and it won’t be too long before they are on our plates. The Spanish like them at about 12kgs, the Italians at about 14kgs. They’ll be gone around 15th December. Happy Christmas! When the lambs have gone, milking for cheese production begins in earnest (twice a day). For now, though, only a few ewes, those with excess milk, are milked. This small amount of milk is just discarded.

We’ve been initiated into the gentle art of milking. Did I say gentle? It isn’t. 40 ewes at a time, 20 on each of two sides, are marched into the milking parlour. Luc checks the udders to see which need milking and we get to try to attach the suction cups of the milking machine. Some of the ewe’s take exception to having their udders messed with and repeatedly kick the suction cups back off. The solution is as many firm thumps on the rump as are required to make the ewe accept the cups. Luc can do all this by feel. For us it is necessary to have a damn good look and find out exactly where the teats are. It’s amazing how varied the anatomical details of ewes can be. If one is really lucky, a ewe will either defecate or urinate all over one’s hand while one is up close and personal attempting to attach said suction cups.

Great fun, particularly the shower at the end of the day. ❗

Before being given free range (in the barn, at least), the lambs go through a couple of procedures that seem more labour intensive than others. This is basically because the same thing has to be done to 300+ lambs. The first of these procedures is injecting them with antibiotics. The lambs are corralled in a very confined space, in this case by Nadine and myself, while doctor/farmer Luc grabs each lamb in turn and sticks a needle in its neck. The needle is fed via a plastic tube from a bottle of antibiotic in Luc’s pocket. Every now and then, Luc changes the needle.

The second procedure involves giving each lamb a splendid set of yellow earrings. The earrings act as identification bearing the number of the lamb’s mother and a number for the lamb itself. Nadine prepares the ear tags with the numbers and antiseptic cream before loading them on plier-like devices and handing them to Luc. Luc deftly pierces their ears and all is well. The lambs are now inoculated and identified and can be mixed together.

Various other medical practices are employed on an as-required basis. Today, doctor/farmer/pedicurist Luc gave one lame ewe some foot treatment. We’d seen her hobbling for a day or two and it was time to take corrective action. Using something resembling tin-snips, Luc first clipped the ewe’s hoofs before discovering an infected area on one foot and cleaning it out. We wait to see what the result will be.

Rather more disturbing was the appearance of a small angle-grinder in the bergerie (sheep-fold). It looked as if less-than-subtle butchery was about to commence. Fortunately first impressions were wrong. Some time ago a ewe had sustained a broken leg which Luc had set with a wooden splint and plaster of Paris. Now it was time to remove the plaster and see if the ewe’s leg had mended. While Nadine and I took a firm hold of the poor ewe, Luc proceeded to cut through the plaster using the angle-grinder. After a few minutes of industrial surgery, doctor/farmer/pedicurist/surgeon Luc succeeded both in filling the bergerie with fine dust and removing said plaster. The indignant ewe hobbled away, mended and getting stronger with every step.

I never imagined the variety of tasks that sheep farmers would be called upon to do would be so great or so apparently far removed from farming. All this medical effort is so that we end up with healthy, cute little characters like this, though it is best not to think of what will become of them or when.

Oh, and if that weren’t enough, the poor ewe that suffered from a prolapsed uterus and that Luc treated is still with us, today, at least.

Respect for farmers.

This morning began well enough with the discovery of four new lambs. However, things rapidly descended as we were building a new crèche or two. Luc told us that we would shortly see a “big problem” and sent Carol back to fetch her camera.

The big problem turned out to be a ewe with a prolapsed uterus. One of the new mother’s had evidently pushed and pushed and delivered more than just her lamb, poor thing. Luc upended the hapless ewe and pressed Nadine and myself into service supporting her inverted while he struggled gamely to put the ewe’s uterus back where it should be. As fast as he tried to push the uterus back in, the ewe seemed to be resisting and was straining to push it back out. After about 10 minutes of slow progress Luc succeeded in replacing the uterus. We stood the ewe back on her feet and Luc now proceeded to secure the uterus with a bizarre plastic device and some cord.

Given the existence of the plastic device designed specifically for the task, I suspect that a prolapsed uterus is not an especially rare occurrence. According to doctor/farmer Luc, if it can be pushed back in relatively easily, the prognosis is good. In this case, however, since it was clearly not easy to push back in, he was not hopeful that this ewe would survive the day.

Following the excitement of the operating theatre, we all cleaned up and went to visit Mirepoix market. The Pyrenees were covered in cloud today and we had some early rain assisted by a quite biting wind dropping the temperature to 6-7°C. However, we were under a small hole in the clouds and the sun shone more than not for our midday trip to Mirepoix.

Our afternoon session began well with a further three new additions to the flock. Furthermore, the poor repaired ewe was still with us hanging in there. She was even holding her head a little higher. I won’t get my hopes up though because it is very apparent that Luc extremely experienced and knows a thing or two about sheep. We’ll wait to see.

After the feeding process, when the ewes are distracted by their yummy luzerne, straw and barley, extra straw is added to a good covering on the floor. Amongst other things which I’ll leave to your imagination, the straw-covering is intended to keep the ewe’s teats clean and help prevent infection. There are often a few ewes that appear to be more interested in our activity that in their rations.

During our “bedding” replenishment process this afternoon, Luc discovered a sickly lamb which he separated and gave an antibiotic injection. After a while time the lamb seemed to perk up but it was a false dawn; Carol and I returned to shower and when Luc came back to the house he told us that the lamb had subsequently died.

Just one of those days, I guess.