25 Basil Faulty

Poddying a lamb sounded like a fun thing to do so we drove into Queanbeyan to get the appropriate feeding devices and the two types of milk substitute. One was to be given initially to replace the natural high-powered stuff lambs get as their first feed, the other was the run of the mill stuff that the lamb would get on demand. On demand, surely not, this was starting to be a bad idea.

Basil was hungry. He seemed to think the bottle was great and he especially liked being held close while he was performing. The compound went through quickly coming out the other end as a bright yellow dribble, perfect for sunshine colours on a painting. After a few days of feeding the yellow turned dark and harder and he and we were in business. The problem was we had to return to Canberra as work hadn’t gone away. Basil was totally dependent on us. We squeezed him in a cardboard box, closed the lid and put it on the back seat of the car.

This was ridiculous. He couldn’t be outside on our back lawn in Canberra because he would run away or be eaten by marauding cats or dogs, so we had to have him inside. The sun room with its tiled floor was the only place that could be easily washed free of lamb poo. However, his hooves weren’t designed for slippery tiles and he couldn’t stay upright, doing 4-legged splits acts when he tried to move. He asked for a carpet. An old Indian one seemed to do the trick. The feeding nearly on demand continued and he grew and the magic carpet changed colour. He also became more adept at balancing, clicking around on the floor at a fair rate and distributing his little raisins more widely. The room looked more and more like a paddock. After 3 months it would have been knee deep in organic grass.

He really had to go outside. He wasn’t impressed with that move and the enclosure I built setting up a big baaing din which the neighbours thought was lovely, a reminder of spring. After a couple of weeks he was nibbling grass and really growing. Children came from around the area to see this sight and have a hold and a stroke. Briefly we were famous.

The 28 lambs back on the farm were far less demanding than Basil and were growing better. They had a different shape. Basil was getting bigger but his body wasn’t getting higher off the ground, much like an obese child. He had lumps on his back that lined up with the front legs. His legs weren’t fitting into sockets at the top; the sockets hadn’t developed. Basil really was faulty and his mother was right to ignore him. We had been dealt a bummer. I took him in the shed, closed the door and shot him.

Charlotta was concerned. She warned my partner not to get ill or she too might finish up in the shed. I became widely known as the lamb killer. No neighbours reported the shot to the police despite the signs up the road declaring it a neighbourhood watch area.

It seemed a pity to waste the wool so I skinned Basil very neatly, salted the skin, bought some tannin solution, and started him on the way towards a very small pair of slippers. His body was a bit small to eat. He was the first and last poddy lamb we ever had.