In Neonatal

Placing a fresh batch of hay on top of a soiled hay bale, I make myself a “clean” seat in the neonatal room. With me are three preemies, four milking mothers, and one dead sheep. I wonder how long the sheep has been dead. The two stronger infants climb over the corpse; drool still runs from her nose.

Since my arrival, I regularly check on the progress of the littlest preemie, Baby Stephen. Sheep are not named at Ca’Mazzetto but as it was uncertain if the abandoned lamb would survive his early birth, I thought to give him more of a fighting chance and thus named him after someone who’s passionate about life.

The largest lamb with a brown freckled face chews on the shoelaces of my Sorrels; I offer an index finger. The second lamb follows suit; he gets my pinkie. The two infants suck my fingers while Baby Stephen remains in the corner with his head cocked back. At least he’s not shivering like he was when I first met him.

Not surprisingly, with no milk the finger-sucking is appealing for only so long. The lambs look for a real teat but get head butted when entering mom from the front and kicked when entering mom from the back. I pin the unwilling mother between my legs, grab Baby Stephen and place him in the milk vicinity like I’ve seen Pasqual do.

“Bravo!” Pasqual says when Baby Stephen successfully attaches to a nipple.

“Aye Madonna!” he curses when the mom urinates on his leg in protest.

Knowing the drill, the older infants scurry to the secured mother - free milk with no kicking and no head butting. Ah.. but I know the drill too! Being bigger, they’d push my little friend aside, so still with mom between my legs and Baby Stephen underneath, I hold the freckled lamb with one arm and place the second lamb on top of the mother. No free lunch for these two.

“Bravo!” I say as Baby Stephen eats.

“Aye Madonna!” I curse as the freckled face lamb urinates on my arm in protest.