From the Edge of Exmoor: February 2020

I think that our resident pheasant has totally lost the plot … although I wonder how much plot a pheasant has as the best of times? His hormones have gone crazy, and as my friend Jos pointed out, his testicles are probably currently larger than his brain. As I write he is squawking at the wind – trying to attack each gust as it comes past. He’s been a real menace, chasing me around the garden, attacking us when we attempt to go to the woodpile, and flying down the road behind cars as if he has a chance of beating them in battle. Poor confused chap … although my patience is wearing thin, and I am tempted to open the door and let Scout sort him out (don’t worry, I won’t, but it’s nice to have options). Strangely, he totally ignores the other birds as he struts back and forth, only flying into a rage if another male pheasant comes into his bailiwick.

Perhaps it’s the weather that is making him loco, as it’s having a good go with the rest of us. The constant wind is wearing. The ground is sodden, and we’re behind with hedge-laying and other outdoor pursuits. If the sun peeks out for a moment, off we go, chainsaw at the ready, although for the last few weeks that has rarely happened. More often I get started and then retreat as the hail and sleet force me to cower behind any available windbreak. Fortunately for us, the string of storms has not caused major problems, unlike those poor folks up-country. Ponds in fields where they are not supposed to be and exuberantly muddy dogs are not all that problematic. The inside sheep (first lambers) are toasty, clean and vocal. The outside sheep are dirty, wet and making a right swamp out of any field that they are in. However, lambing is in two weeks, so everyone will get a go in the sheds, the sun will come out (it will, it must) so we can let out mums and offspring, and my mood will lighten considerably.

The pooches have each been getting a run around during the day, taking it in turns to accompany Farmer Ian on his rounds to help out moving the sheep back and forth for vaccination, bum shearing, foot trimming and other assorted activities. Each dog has a different style, strengths and weaknesses. Neddy is brilliant at moving the sheep quickly and with direction, although he does get a bit worked up and nippy at times. Once in the yard, neither he nor Scout seem to be able to sit still, whereas Harry is a very focussed boy, measured and ideal for close work. Trouble is, he’s not very forceful when it comes to shifting recalcitrant ewes. Scout is probably the most independent of them all, which leads to her disappearing on walks and coming back with her tail between her legs when yelled at. However, overall no complaints … three fine young pups. Farmer Ian has forbidden me from having any more, despite four being the perfect number of dogs for a home.