Spring? Spring!

After pretty much giving up on spring ever arriving, I saw four swallows swoop across Quarry Field on Saturday - was so excited, called Farmer Ian and whooped.  The bumble bee on the early purple orchid also gave the game away.

Lambing continues, with the last fifty or so wandering the rapidly emptying sheds.

"Aren't we supposed to sleep in everyone's dinner?"

Wee Neddy got his first taste of herding, through necessity rather than design.  While not perfectly executed, no-one was harassed or nipped, and all of the sheep and lambs ended up in the right field - so while there is a lot of work to do to get him up-to-scratch, his buddy must be looking down from the Great Romping Grounds with no small measure of pride. Sonny's last resting place is under a hazel at the top of the garden, with the most amazing view of fields, sheep and Dartmoor.  We visit for a chat regularly.

Irene has now gone back to Bedfordshire, and it seems very quiet here (apart from Joey's incessant claw-tapping as he laps the kitchen table).  Before she left, we rustled up some smiles for a Team Lambscombe selfie...

Second Stockman Ian, Tame Lamb Mother Irene, Farmer Ian and Rat Squasher Daisy

Sonny

Not long after publishing yesterday's blog, we lost Sonny in a farm accident, just over a week after we said goodbye to Cody.  He didn't suffer, and everyone else is ok physically, but it'll take a long time to recover from this horrible heartbreak.  He was such a lovely boy and enjoyed every minute of being on the farm.  I can't say more.  Just a goodbye Sonny ... and sending you to the great romping grounds with more love than you can imagine.

A few photos to keep y'all happy

Driving out in the rain to feed the barreners and not-so-beastly ewe-lambs in the morning, I am reminded of the living dead as an old mule walks out out of the gloom giving her best George Romero-esque "moan....moan....moan....moan" as she senses breakfast is arriving.  She is soon joined by another, then another, a slow relentless tide.  Then suddenly Dario Argento takes over direction and the mists part to reveal streams of bleating ewe-lambs pouring across the valley, a hoard of ovine zombies howling and groaning as they converge.  Not brains on their mind, but "cake....cake....cake....cake".  I'm afraid I'm rather a traditionalist when it comes to zombies.  I like them slow and shuffling.

Lambing has been progressing apace, with the usual dramas (such as midnight midwifery and getting the bike stuck in mud several times).  Sonny has taken the opportunity of distracted humans to spend the last few weeks eating his dinner and then working his way through everyone else's, followed by a tasty placenta down in the yard.  He has now been temporarily renamed Jabba the Pup, and if he has not lost weight again by his next vet check-up, Farmer Ian can take him as I cannot deal with the mortifying shame of a fat working collie.

Without further ado, some photos (which is what you all want anyway, not me whittering on...):

My favourite lamb

"I'm too sexy for my mac, too sexy for my mac, to sexy by far"

"Nothing to see here, move on"

Yup, a bit muddy. Spring has not yet sprung.

Farmer Ian's farming breakfast

Ned is embarassed by the size of Sonny's bum

Joey demanded a doleful cameo