The tiniest of bleets greeted me this morning as I went out onto the field to feed the hens. Over the rise and at the top of the dingle, standing small and all alone, was this little scrap. His mother was tucked into a thicket of blackthorn a few metres away with two more lambs. Triplets then, obviously born in the early hours and all a good size too.
My shepherding - though largely vicarious - I take very seriously. I picked him up and reunited him with his mother who didn't seem over concerned that a third of her new family had gone missing. (But then she wasn't overwhelmed at his return either - a quick sniff and a grunt was all the welcome he got.)
What a good omen it seems, new life for the new year.