The joy of the beach: Two-month-old Lambington gets her daily exercise by the beach.

Almost all of New Zealand's 29 million sheep live in paddocks, and the course of their lives is pretty much mapped out. But a few are kept as pets – and I know of one whose human "mum" is in it for the long haul.

I met Lambington by the beach. At first she bucked and kicked in the way that rabbit or guinea pig owners call "pop-corning". Then she settled into back-and-forth sprints involving a lot of leaping.

Lambington loves the beach, says her owner, Eurika. They go there daily, sometimes twice daily, to give the two-month-old lamb a workout.



"I didn't know you were supposed to exercise sheep," Eurika says. "I had no idea how much they ran!"

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Lambington browses on sand – "because it's rich in minerals" – and chews on bark and driftwood. "We meet a lot of dogs, and she'll walk right up and sniff them. A lot of times they'll sniff back but a lot of times they'll back right off."

When she's not at the beach, Lambington lives at home with Eurika and her husband, Antony. There's a semi-rural yard to run in, but Lambington is otherwise a house-lamb. She wears a nappy indoors, gets washed in the shower, and sleeps on blankets next to her "mum".

Nick Barnett Lambington's wool coat is soft and highly strokable.

Perhaps the quote-marks around the word mum can be left off – because Eurika and Lambington have bonded closely after their lives intersected in an unplanned way.

Eurika explains to me how it happened: her adult son found himself helping a friend whose farming grandparents had a sheep that got into strife while lambing. Got that? And her son rang her because Eurika's a former veterinary nurse.

Despite Eurika's efforts, the ewe died, leaving a lamb motherless; the ewe had been the first in the flock to lamb, so there were no others to act as foster parents.

Nick Barnett Lambington takes a drink. She's due to be weaned in a week or so.

Eurika's instincts kicked in, both parental and veterinary: "Give me that sheep," she thought to herself.

"Antony had no idea," she says of her sudden decision. "I arrived home with a lamb that had peed through four towels on the way home, and I thought I'm going to need nappies. So the first stop was Farmlands for a lamb teat. The next stop was New World, [where I] got the nappies. I had some pet milk at home because I always end up with the waifs and strays so I always keep a stash.

"From then on, it was 20-minute feeds and nappy changes and cuddles and love. My son said 'I haven't seen you this happy in years'."

Nick Barnett Rump of lamb: Lambington, complete with flower bonnet and (right) newly donned nappy.

Lambington now is on toddler-size nappies, but they're getting too small. People have spontaneously donated bags of nappies for Lambington's care, and if they're the wrong size, Eurika slips them into a pull-up.

Eurika has taught her lamb to "do pees", and a few key commands such as "come here", "lie down" and of course "no".

She and her husband have raised many animals of various species over the years. A sheep, she finds, is quiet-natured, less active than dogs, non-jumpy. Lambington seems to be going through a more belligerent, teenage-type stage right now, but "mama's in charge", Eurika insists.

Nick Barnett Lambington is interested but wary when a dog passes by, but the dog is not keen to meet her.

Among Lambington's quirks are a love for eating paper – including fast-unspooling rolls of toilet paper – and not being "a morning sheep". Not till 10 or 11 in the morning does she want any exertion.

As I chat to Eurika and Antony, and watch Lambington trot around, a woman approaches from the rest home across the road. Would Eurika care to bring the lamb over for the elderly folk to meet? Of course, says Eurika.

Lambington has already visited rest homes and kindergartens, where she is a hit. "The kids at the kindy asked if she'd jump through a hoop. So I held up a hoop and eventually she jumped through it. But I don't have hoops to continue practising with!"

Nick Barnett Sweetly posing: Lambington is shy with strangers unless 'mum' is close by.

Meeting the bright, soft, harmless little lamb – a symbol of peacefulness – seems to lift people's mood. "Honestly, you've just made my day," a woman at the beach told Eurika the other day.

At rest homes, "people stroke her or just put their head against her and she'll sense it and snuggle into them".

Eurika thinks animals, generally, can be therapeutic. "Maybe it's the simplicity of the animal – they've got no motives, no evil intent, their only aim is to be themselves. And you're safe around them."

Nick Barnett At the gallop: Lambington in the middle of a seaside sprint.

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