SPRING has arrived. This is the first year that my granddaughters have had any involvement with lambing, but at the farm where we now keep our ponies, new babies have been arriving every day.

I have noticed that lambing does seem to be a much more relaxed affair of late, which is probably due to the fact that the farmer is now semi-retired.

I remember the days when he used to be on duty 24-7 at this time of year. Some days he would be almost falling asleep on his feet, with 450 “ladies in waiting” to watch over.

These days, however, there are just 30 ewes in the maternity ward and the majority of these were once pet lambs themselves which does, I believe, help to make the procedure slightly less arduous.

Last Saturday I arrived at the farm to be greeted by Bethany, my eldest grandchild, eyes wide with wonder and amazement as she told me in a hushed voice.

“Nannie, I have just seen ‘it’ happen – right there, in the barn,” and she pointed to a ewe contentedly munching on hay, while her woolly twins suckled enthusiastically.

For a fleeting moment, Bethany’s words took me back in time 11 years to the maternity wing at the James Cook Memorial Hospital in Middlesbrough.

It was very early in the morning and as I passed the nurses’ station on the way out, I couldn’t help but mention to the night staff, that we now had a baby girl.

The girls named the lambs Mollie and Millie, even though one was a boy; not that it mattered, we all agreed that they were a good choice of names. Then one baby lifted its head and uttered a loud “Baaaa…” sound.

“Oooh……” gasped Maisie, raising a hand to her mouth, “She just said her first word.”

Meanwhile at home, warmer days and sunshine mean that Sam, our solar-powered tortoise, has woken up from hibernation.

This summer she will have been with me for 32 years, but I still never cease to be amazed me when she wakes up having spent four months asleep in a box in the garage.

Within days of stirring she is trundling around the garden looking for dandelion leaves, which certainly seem to be her favourite food at the moment. She even chose them in preference over a strawberry last week.

The urban fox has also returned, having kept a very low profile over the winter months.

I have seen him in the garden on several occasions now, usually near the bird table and always late at night.

However, a couple of weeks ago, when I was out walking the dogs one morning, we bumped into him, almost literally.

It was a sunny day and we were enjoying a tranquil stroll by the beck when suddenly, just a little way ahead of us, the fox appeared around a bend heading straight towards us.

He did hesitate for a moment, and so did I while “the gang of three” kept their heads down, engrossed in the exciting “sniffs” to be found in the long grass; at least that’s what they would have me believe.

Now I would have expected Mr Fox to turn around and scarper, but instead, he continued heading in our direction and if anything, he was picking up speed.

For a moment I did think that we might be in trouble and then, with the confidence, skill and accuracy of someone who knew exactly what he was doing, he made a sharp turn to the right which took him through a gap in the undergrowth, across the beck and out the other side.

Across the field towards the school streaked a small russet shape; he knew exactly where he was going. Deftly he slipped through yet another gap, this time in the school fence, whereupon he disappeared completely from view.

Thankfully the Cavaliers were none the wiser. Their heads were still down in a search to find something disgusting in which to roll, and for once I was rather glad.