A herd of deer picked their way across the meadow. She watched them, grateful for the break in the repetitive cycle of her thoughts. One day at a time.

• • •

Morgan considered Joanna Mason and her father, Jack, from the side of the sheep pen. Two ewes milled about inside. Both were still pregnant, thanks to a later-than-usual breeding, and one had a lamb’s head peeking out from her vulva. The tongue hadn’t turned purple yet, which meant it had not been stuck long. That was a good sign.

“Okay, Jo.”

The kid looked up at her with wide eyes. These sheep were part of her 4-H flock, and the fourteen-year-old scuffed the toe of her muck boot against the cement floor of the small barn.

“You’re going to let her do it?” Jack asked.

“Only if she wants to learn.”

“I do.” The girl’s brown ponytail bobbed.

“This way, you can try helping on your own first, next time. That can make a big difference for the lamb. Saves your dad some money, too.” She winked at Jack.

“What do I do?”

“First, get the sheep.”

Joanna caught her ewe and tipped her gently into the straw. Her competency impressed Morgan. The kid had good handling instincts. Morgan knelt beside the sheep and motioned for Joanna to do the same, and she was further impressed by the leg the girl placed carefully over the ewe’s neck to prevent her from getting up during the birth. She handed her a pair of disposable birthing sleeves and put a pair of normal latex gloves on herself.

“Now, hold out your hands.” She poured a liberal amount of lubricant onto Joanna’s gloves. “What do you think is going on in there?”

“I think the legs are stuck.”

“You’re probably right.”

Lambs were supposed to enter the birth canal nose and front toes first. The keywords were “supposed to,” as several things could go wrong during the process. One front leg—or both—could remain behind, which jammed the shoulder blade against the ewe’s cervix. Lambs could enter the canal backward, tail first or back feet first, or with their heads turned to the side. Multiple lambs could present a confusing array of body parts, requiring the shepherd to trace each one back to the unborn owner. This case, however, looked simple enough, and would be a good learning experience for Joanna.

“See if you can gently feel around the head and get your hand in there.”

“I won’t hurt her?”

“Be gentle, but she’s already uncomfortable. This will help her.”

Joanna’s tongue pressed between her lips in concentration—rather like the poor lamb’s—as she worked her small hand into the ewe. The sheep groaned and pushed as a contraction wracked her, and Morgan felt sympathy for Joanna, whose hand had just received a painful squeeze.

“Whoa,” said the girl.

“They’re strong, right? Okay. Do you feel anything?”

“I . . . I can’t tell.”

“That’s fine. You’re looking for any bony parts that could be a shoulder.”