Well, it’s started.  I went down to the boiler room to retrieve some clothes for tomorrow and found a bucket with straw, stuck in under the laundry rack. It was shaking a little.  Inside was a tiny black lamb, born this evening, and brought in to warm up before we stomach-tube it with the beestings Colin will strip from its mother.  “Jo, any interest in nursing?” I called, thinking of the long night ahead of coaxing an under-weight neonate to survive.  And as I write, my fashion-designing, Londoner, step-daughter is making up a hot water bottle for the little lad, a zealous glint in her eye.

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