I emerged blinking from my nasty dusty insulation job in the new extension's attic crawl space (hence the rather strange garb) to see what all the fuss was about.
Aimee was tired of trying to chase her to where she needed to be, so I got Ernie the half-trained shepherd dog, who then chased her the wrong way. The lambie finished up down by the bottom fence where it just stopped dead, as did Ernie, who didn't know what to do with a lamb that wouldn't run. It was a Mexican stand-off.
So I picked the lamb up like a sack of Maine spuds and carried her to where she needed to be. Less tiring for the lambie, a bit puffy for me.
When she got to the gate of the New Paddock and was put down, she just lay there for a while.
I think it was all just a bit too exciting for her. Poor lambie.
But not poor wee lambie. She's one of our biggest ever.