It’s been so long since you hopped on my shoulder and joined me vicariously in a particularly-farmy adventure. Let’s rectify that, shall we?
Remember little Georgie and his weepy eye? We decided to call the vet on that one, you and I. The Book suggested it might be a condition called entropion, where the eyelid turns in and scratches the eyeball. To treat it, you simply inject some penicillin into the eyelid to puff it out and force it to roll outward. Well. That sounds a little out of my league, and you – perched up there on my shoulders – agreed. So we called the vet.
He said it’s most likely a condition called entropion, where the eyelid turns in and scratches the eyeball. To treat it, he said, you simply inject some penicillin into the eyelid to puff it out and force it to roll outward. “Hmm,” I said. “Do you have some penicillin I could buy?” “Have you ever done this before?” he asked. “No.” “Better let me show you how for the first time.” (enormous sigh of relief on my end of the line)
So we went out to the Sheep Hotel and snatched Georgie away from Agnes and I may or may not have sneered something at her about having a spare lamb to keep her busy while George was away, had she not rejected her other one. We hopped in the car and tooled up the road a piece and plopped Georgie on the table at the vet’s office.
“Yep.” he said. “Entropion.” So he pulled out a needle and syringe and aptly inserted it into the skin right below Georgie’s lower eyelid, squeezing out the thick penicillin as he simultaneously pulled the needle backwards and out. What remained was a caterpillar-like bubble of penicillin in the lid that forced it to roll outward, rather than in. By the time the penicillin is fully absorbed by the body, the lid is likely situated in its new outward-leaning groove. If not, simply repeat the procedure.
I left twenty bucks lighter in the pocket, but have the whole visit lasered permanently on my brain, and I got to keep this handy reference to use for next time, when I’ll fly solo. And clever you, joining me vicariously – you can save your twenty spot, use the cheat sheet and ascend the ranks of Capable Shepherd when faced with your own weepy lamb eyes.
As empowering (and necessary) as such procedural knowledge is, sticking a needle into a lamb’s eye is not the most rewarding of ways to spend a morning, so let’s cleanse our mental palate with these images, shall we?
Done. Unpleasant mental images erased.
When I return tomorrow, I promise to regale you with news other than lambing, but I can’t guarantee it won’t be about wool, because it is still negative-ridiculous-degrees out there, conditions just asking for wool.