The Swede Carol

(in memory of Annie, Angus and Jamie, and barked by the Blacktail Gang to the tune of Hark The Herald Angels...ish)

In six-acres swedes we found,
Nestled snuggly in the ground.
What a lovely tasty snack,
For Neddy, Harry, Scout and Shack.
Humans eat it cooked and mashed,
We dogs like our swedes unbashed...
...crisp and crunchy, no nutmeg
For swedie we'll sit and beg.
Raw swede each on Christmas Day,
Nothing more we need to say.

(if anyone knows the other lost verses, including the one about sprouts, please feel free to add to the comment)

A second letter home from Shackleton

Dear my-humans

I promised another update from Camp, so I have engineered some time at the computer and am carefully poking my way around the keyboard.  Thank goodness for the spell-checker, which covers a multitude of awkward paw-toe mistakes.

It’s been all fun here, and we’ve invented so many new indoor games while Noah’s deluge carries on outside.  My favourite is Battleground Sofa, which involves charging round the living room, using the mats as skid-boards, and seeing who can launch themselves highest and fastest onto the furniture – Harry is our current champion, and even managed to grab a mouthful of the ornamental ivy as he flew past!  My second favourite is Recycle Bin Forage, but the proxy-humans have cottoned on to that ruse and now empty it daily – spoilsports. I quite like Water Dribble too, where we take a long, long drink and see how far we can dribble it across the room.

Apparently, I am the Ring Leader for the Log Liberation Front, or at least that is what Badgerbeard calls me. We wait patiently until attention is elsewhere, then sneak out a piece of kindling or, if we are feeling particularly bold, a whole log … and then either hide it under the Battleground Sofa or surreptitiously strip the bark and chew the wood. When caught, we are full-dog-named, which means we have done something naughty – I get the whole Shackleton, while poor Harry is shamed with a complete Harold P. Eddison, and believe me, you can hear that full stop.

There was even more excitement the last couple of days when Millie and Jasper visited.  We had been told that The Squidgies were coming, but I was not sure what a Squidgy was.  Turns out it’s a slightly overweight Jack Russell (of sorts), and after our initial caution, there was much haring around, noise and drama. They did seem to get a lot of privileges that were not afforded to the rest of us, such as sleeping on the bed – most unfair.

We also have a sworn enemy now.  The Devil Vacuum Cleaner crawls out from the pantry and roams around as if he owns the place. For our safety we are shut away in the Utilitarium, but help out by barking with gusto to try and scare it back to whence it came.  I have to say that Badgerbeard is our hero – he fights it with strength and resilience, swearing only occasionally. Gingerbeard must be afraid of it like us dogs, as he never goes near the monster.

And most shocking, we found out that there is now a cat – yes a CAT! – in the sheds (and the humans knew it was there all along!)  Gingerbeard has the audacity to feed it, and while it’ll never be a pet, it seems pretty at home on the straw…a prime rat-spotting hideout. Our noses are seriously out of joint, especially as it seems to have a name too, the rather silly Alexander Pusskin.

As I sit typing, I do have to say that social media does not have sufficient barkicons to cover the full range of dog emotions – it’s very species-ist and discriminates against hound-kind. I would love to sprinkle my missives with barking-at-the-cattle, gazing-wistfully-at-cake and the very useful face-that-looks-like-I-farted-in-church-on-a-wooden-pew-and-everyone-is-staring-at-me-now.

Just so you don’t think it’s all play, the humans have been doing some work, including putting in new fence-posts.

Love, as always

Your Shack

PS – I received yet another award!  “Collie most likely to bark at random noises” (especially the mouse that lives under the back step and who cavorts around in the dark taunting us).  I also had a bit of a ballyhoo with Scout over spilled bird food (why, we have no idea), and in my defense she started it.  However, as you can see here, we are still friends.

A letter home from Shackleton

Dear my-humans

I promised that I would write from Winter Camp after a few days, once I had settled in, and I have found some time between shenanigans to put paw to paper. It’s been a bit of a whirlwind since you dropped me off, so I haven’t suffered from homesickness yet…there are just too many bins to investigate, logs to chew and bark-choir practices to attend, not to mention pulling all of the wrapping paper and cards out from under the bed where they are clearly gathering dust – Christmas is just around the corner and they won’t write themselves.

My proxy-humans are very nice, especially Badgerbeard who takes me for long adventures in the fields, where I have discovered the culinary delights of poop in its many guises – rabbit, sheep, cow and probably, from the slightly bitter aftertaste, pheasant. Our morning routine is to go out in the rain and check the perimeters of 7-acres, 4-acres and 8-acres to ensure no incursions, and if all is well and all sneaky crows are repelled, we are allowed to run riot. Neddy and I do lots of charging about, while Scout is a bit standoffish (although we are bonding slowly since Badgerbeard had the foresight to take just us two out for our very own romp). But Harry is my favourite as we fight and hurl each other about, unfortunately sometimes without due care and attention. I must look up “arse over tit” when I can, although I did understand some of the other expletives.

It was even more exciting yesterday because there was a huge monster in the field, which we all barked at and made a huge fuss to try and scare it off.  On closer inspection it was a silage feeder, and after we had a sniff and Harry gave it a bite and ran off with a mouthful of grass, we decided that hackles could be lowered and the world was safe again.

When we get back to the house, we are all told to sit while the big gate is closed, and then can run down the drive to stare at the cattle over the fence.  Barking is not encouraged, but on the rare occasion excitement bubbles out they just ignore us.

The other morning, I learnt something new about myself.  It was an early start in the dark, and Badgerbeard had on a head-torch (Gingerbeard is usually busy doing stuff in the big sheds – I have no idea what, but it sounds noisy down there, and a bit scary). The eyes of the other three in the torchlight shone white, but Neddy tells me that one of mine shines orange and the other not at all!  I was a little worried that I had turned into a zombie, but given that I have no overwhelming desire to eat brains (no more than usual anyway), I think I’m ok.

Inside there are plenty of things to investigate too.  I am particularly fascinated by the two big white cupboards – one is cold and holds interesting food, like chilli, but I was not fast enough to get in before the door closed.  The other is clearly a plate storage facility where dogs help lick things to clean them.  I don’t really know why they then wash them again as they are perfectly spotless, but humans are strange (and try to keep us out, but we are a wily bunch).

We also have a wonderful place called the Utilitarium, which is human-speak for dog paradise.  We can be as dirty as we like, and I hear tales of how at one time there was a whole floor of lino that was put in place just so Ned could pull it up and tear it to pieces. I do hope that they put some more down – what fun that would be! There are comfy beds, and tonight I will move in there with my new friends.  I was sleeping outside the bedroom door to make sure that the proxy-humans were not surprised by the zombie apocalypse, but I think I have graduated to full pack status now and can be trusted to pull up lino with the best of them.

There are lots of things to look forwards to, not least of which is seeing you again in January.  But in between, I hear we may visit the big beach and there will definitely be presents to unwrap at Christmas.

Love to you both and maluhia hele

Shack

xxx

PS – I have already won an award and I’ve only been here a few days!  Badgerbeard said I am the fartiest dog this side of the Atlantic – how cool is that?

Everyone’s a critic (06:51 from Tiverton, reprise)

I find myself once again on the early train to Paddington, gazing out of the window as other people’s land flies by. Farmers spend an awful lot of their time checking out what their neighbours are up to … are their sheep doing better than mine? Have they got their silage in yet? How many bales did they make this year? I am no different, mentally critiquing as we rush along.

Not impressed with that hedge-laying, more like hedge-murdering.

Wow, nice house of bales for those lucky red piggies; very practical and easy to dispose of at the end of the season, but not cheap with the daft price of straw these days.

That chap’s sheep aren’t going to stay in his field for much longer if he doesn’t sort out that fence.  

Those rams have been busy, all of the ewes have got red bums.

Wiltshire parkland is stunning; the cows look very happy under the enormous trees.

Won’t be much grass left soon if someone doesn’t move along that herd of deer.

Winter wheat shoots already flushing green in that field!  

Bloody hell, that swan almost flew into the window - forgot how big they are close up.

The autumn colours are amazing - yellow larches and poplars, purple reeds, chocolate soil, henna bracken, and more hips than you could shake a stick at.

Horses really do make a landscape more beautiful; Alice Walker was right.

Llamas - why?

And just outside Pewsey, a fat sheep dead on her back with all four legs in the air - a tad embarrassing.

First frost

This week we had our first hard frost, good news for swede lovers and a sign that Ann and I can start raiding 6-Acres, which this year has been laid up for winter root forage. However, not good news for working outside as winter farming is harsh on the hands - gloves, hand cream and zinc and castor oil have come out of various hiding places. We also had our first hail, which happened to coincide with both of us being on the shed roof fixing leaks. Kismet or sod’s bloody law?

It’s been a bit of an annus horribilis all round for farming (and note that second n … quite a different meaning without that). Early on we had persistent heavy rain that left the ground (and us) sodden. Just as it all dried up, the Beast from the East made its appearance before lambing, with a week of desiccating freezing wind that killed many of the plants and froze the water pipes, followed by two bouts of snow (Frozen be damned), leaving us with poor grass and all sorts of other (and udder) issues. June and July we also had problems with no water…lack of rain meant no grass again, and poor hay. It was touch and go at times as to whether or not we’d have to abandon some of the fields, and it doesn’t help having to dish out winter fodder at the height of summer.

August got rainy again, and a warm, wet and humid autumn followed, ideal conditions for flies and pneumonia. We heard reports of October lambs getting flystrike the day after being born. Where are the swallows when you need them?  Oh right, Africa.

How to get rid of grass cuttings from the lawn...

The rams have gone in with the ewes now, so we can do it all again next year…and this spring we’ll be lambing ALL of the sheep chez nous, instead of some being over with Farmer Rob. I am sure there is method in our madness, instead of just madness, but I’ll be devilled if I can work out what.

The pups are now almost fully grown, and occasionally doing what they are told. We have also ended up with a stray cat in the barns - a rather scruffy small grey fluffy thing that is helping keep the vermin down (although the rats seem to be committing suicide on a regular basis in one of our water troughs…I guess even rodents occasionally see the futility of life and have existential crises).

Harry starting to learn the dark arts of sheeping.

So onwards into a winter of hedge-laying and fence-fixing, and the exciting arrival of my log splitter. Plus I bet I am heartily sick of swede by Christmas!

Brand new chainsaw trousers...because Scout disembowelled the previous pair, which is why she looks so guilty.

Ned's message...

...to all who think Scout is cuter...

An exuberance of mushrooms

A bit of rain after a dry spell, and voilà…our swede field is suddenly filled with mushrooms. We’ve fried them, baked them, added them to stews and, waste not want not, put some into oil for later in the year.

Ann and Second Stockman show off their trugs.

Meanwhile, Farmer Ian juggles dogs on the bike (which is far harder than juggling chainsaws…)

Ian and Cerberus survey their ballywick.

Joseph Jones

Not unexpectedly, but still with huge sadness, dear old Joey made a final trip to the vets today.  He'd almost reached the grand age of 15.  He came from a tatty farm in Wales the day before Christmas Eve, and has ended his days on another farm in Devon via many adventures.  It's a consolation that he is now back with his best buddy Freddy in the great romping grounds in the sky.  Joseph Ffairfach Nathan Jones, we will miss you and thanks for being a longtime companion.  With love.

Joey and Freddy - an amazing double act.

Photographic evidence that Joey did occasionally help on the farm (here with Jack and Bonnie).

Not the best choice of cooling down spot ... from the point of view of smell.

Young, thin and full of energy - the Hatley St George years.

Best buddies take a rest ... on the forbidden sofa.

Hey you up there!

Stop being boring, and come out to play!

Siamo in Toscana?

No, we’re not in Tuscany, but it sure feels like it with the sun beating down, the grasshoppers scraping and buzzing in the dried grass, and brown fields shimmering in the heat haze.  Sheep and cattle shelter under the hedges, and dogs lie panting in shady patches.  Strenuous outdoor activity has been suspended, and even the tractor has been overheating during the annual thistle topping.  We’ve had so little rain that we may need to bring cattle back down from the common if the springs dry up and start feeding them their (supposedly for) winter hay.  Our swallows have finally produced young, having made several nests and fossicked about for many weeks … perhaps there were not enough insects around to feed hungry mouths earlier in the year.

It's been a year of sublime to ridiculous - too cold and lots of snow, too wet and drenching rain, now too dry.  The track into 7 Acres was blocked with two feet of the white stuff several months ago, and now has two inches of fine dust that kicks up into a cloud as Neddy charges through.  The past few weeks have been busy, as shearing, hay-making and TB-testing all collided.  At least the puppies are almost house trained … almost.

It’s too hot to type, so some pictorial updates…

Shearing.

Contented neighbours - back when the grass was still green.

Ann leads the way as the cattle move up to Common Field.

New Zealand?  Nope, just the dust-bowl that is our yard.

Square bales of hay - ideal for stacking in the sheds...

...or for Harry to get a jump on his sister...

...who is innocence personified.

First apples in the garden.

Daily watering required...but it's been a good year for pots!

Lawrence gets to grips with the quad.

Ned takes advantage of Oli...

...and Cathy (that dog is a shameless strumpet).

Second Stockman Ian's father adds more chaos to the four-footed gang.

A rare cool morning - time to run around and have fun.

Barbie blackbird

At some point in its life, our blackbird has been heinously exposed to "I'm a Barbie girl" on the radio or playing from a child's window.  In amongst his repertoire of chirps, warbles and whistles, repeatedly he sings the first line of that song ... which inevitably has left me with an extremely annoying ear-worm and a reflex action to follow with "In a Barbie world".  Farmer Ian is being stoic, but that may not last much longer...

For those of you who don't like puppies, look away now

Peace and quiet is a thing of the past ... the monsters have arrived!  Scout and her brother Harry moved in on Saturday - in 18 months Harry (aka Pudgely) will have the run of the land at Farmer Rob's, but in the meantime we'll get him up-to-speed on the social niceties of life.  Ned is having a wonderful time (reverting to puppydom very happily), and is also making some great progress with sheeping.  Joey's contribution is to add to the piddle puddles in the living room.

Scout - half kelpie, half collie

Harry - half collie, half...oh who we kidding, no kelpie genes got in there, did they?

Scout tells Ned a funny shaggy dog story: "It was this big!"

Noisy neighbours, reprise

Ned relaxes with a book and a cuppa.

Our loud bovine neighbours have gone to greener pastures - literally - and we had a few days of relative peace.  They've now been replaced by dappy sheep and lambs in the fields across the valley, who seem to think that bellowing all night long to try to find each other is reasonable behaviour (especially when standing mere metres away from each other).  Closer in, the 13 Acres ewe-lambs are behaving themselves impeccably, while even closer the birds are having a morning riot.  Strangely, the cheeping sparrows and R2D2-beeping swallows don't wake us...but once awake, boy are they noisy!  Clucking pheasant hens, squawking Mr Squawky, cooing doves.  And the occasional military helicopter that flys up the valley to bomb North Molton (not literally...I hope).

The bluebells are out!

Amazing hedgerows as late early boomers collide with early late bloomers.

Dear old Joey got a blanket.  So Ned insisted on one too. [Wonder where the lino went, Ned?]

Noisy neighbours and perfect mornings

Lambing is over!  Farmer Ian has finally put out the last ewes with their lambs, and the cattle in their various guises (cows, calves, heifers, steers etc) are out and rampaging...what a joyful sight to see them making the most of the sun.  One sheep has yet to lamb - and she's going to have to do it outside.  So now the sheds are almost quiet - not quite, but almost - tame lambs.

Stampede!

These two have been pen-mates all winter, and are inseparable.

The only downside to having the cattle in 13-Acres is that sometimes they are noisy neighbours.  I do not appreciate a forced and very poor rendition of Clark's Trumpet Voluntary at 2am, thank you very much.

We cock our snoots to you and your lack of appreciation of fine music.

Sheep have been on the move up the hill to summer grazing.

Perhaps Mike is overdoing it for a single unimpressed ewe?

Ned - getting to grips with this herding malarky.

Ned has been enjoying himself with his new-found Sonny-inspired quad-bike obsession, and while not a huge amount of help yet with the sheep, he is slowly getting the idea.  He has also been making friends.

Ned and Fern, on a play-date.

Ned and Scout...the former unimpressed that the latter will be coming to live with us (yes, you read that right...)

I'll leave you with a perfect morning.  We are moving ewes and lambs up to Raceground, the sun is warming our backs, the hedges and meadows smell sweet, and there is not a soul around. Classic FM is playing the exquisite second movement of Leopold Kozeluch's Piano Concerto 6 in C Major over my phone, with yellowhammers and skylarks taking counterpoint. Most of Devon has disappeared under low lying clouds. I will lovingly hold this memory, nurture it, and save it for a rainy day.

Ned wonders why we are dawdling...