No, I haven't suddenly had a burst of excitement for Christmas. The cattle really are lowing…as well as belly-aching, moaning, snorting, and fog-horning (which is appropriate for the weather). This spring's calves have finally been separated from their mothers, and both cows and young are complaining vociferously, although I would have thought that six months of udder-feeding was enough for any mother. However, peace reigns when we fork in the silage – just the comfortable sounds of chewing, with the occasional chirp from visiting chaffinches and robins, and the soft splattering of the inevitable reaction at the other end of the beasts. Contrary to expectation, the sheds have a heady and quite pleasant aroma of fermented grass and hay – from the silage and cow breath. Unfortunately, so does our kitchen where the wellies and overalls live.
Meanwhile, elsewhere the autumn calvers are doing just that. Three new little-uns in the past week.
One of the new calves
While the cattle are enjoying their winter quarters, the sheep are still out and about in the fields. The twelve weedy lambs are now looking good, thriving on extra cake. It's not quite a mobbing when they are fed, but their enthusiasm is infectious and cheering. Their bigger brothers and sisters are having a little extra too – it doesn't pay to be too greedy though, as the fatter you are, the quicker you go off to fulfil your destiny.
The rams have gone in with the ewes here and elsewhere – across the county you can see sheep with coloured bottoms. During tupping, the rams have complicated leather-wear for courting, marking their conquests with grease-paint. On the way to Tiverton we saw one sheep that was completely red - I shall draw no conclusions.
Our girls in the fog
