Thursday 10 March 2022

A letter to Shackleton

Dear fellow specklehound,

I have heard many a tale about you and your exploits from the gang here in Devon, and I gather you have moved far, far north … which is ironic given your namesake’s endeavours. Although quite why anyone would want to go to Antarctica is beyond me (I’m not sure I’d have the endurance … heh heh heh) – all that snow and no cosy wood fire to snuggle up to after a day of chasing pheasants (unless, of course, the penguins are highly edible and have droppings that are a delight to roll in).

I am very much enjoying living with Badgerbeard and Gingerbeard, although sometimes it does feel like we are the embodiment of Snow White – rabbits bouncing on the lawn, birds swooping everywhere and singing, cats demanding fuss, and the other day, a blind rat sitting at Badgerbeard’s feet, calm as a cucumber (although I’m not quite sure how calm a cucumber really is, pending slicing). My guardian being the soft, daft plonker that he is, didn’t dispatch the rat and has semi-adopted him, with explicit instructions that no harm is to befall him (or her … we didn’t do the old flip and check). The cats may have other ideas, but as it’s still here thus far, perhaps they have an entente cordiale too.

I have yet to be allowed into the lambing sheds. It might have something to do with a passing comment I made that “lambs look and sound very much like dog squeaky chews”, which drew an evil eye from BB. So far there has only been one double, a bit early, so a surprise … BB was not impressed, given his level of tiredness already. I won’t repeat the language, but it would have made a sailor blush. There is also a premature basket case – literally, as she’s kept in a basket under the heat lamp. We were not sure she’d make it, but the plucky little thing rallied and now can bleat for England when she’s hungry. We suspect that she’s blind (hopefully blind animals not becoming a theme), but that doesn’t seem to stop lambs from thriving and being a nuisance. If she continues to improve, she’ll end up being this year’s hanger on … last year’s with the crippled front legs, Matt Damon, is still here and she (!) seems to be living the life of Riley (whoever he was).

Neddy has been very excited because it’s Aunty Lorna’s N-ty-th birthday and we had to stop him catching a train to Edinburgh as his herding expertise is required here for the foreseeable. He’s overall a bit of a funny stick, but clearly loved and loving. I’ve heard “Typical psychotic collie” mentioned, but don’t really understand what it means. Personally, my love of balls and sticks is not a psychosis, just a neat design feature. As is barking at my own reflection in the window. Harry and Scout are both well, but if you ask me, H needs to cut back on the treats a little bit. Hope you and Luna are being fed well on ptarmigan, snipe and haggis.

Badgerbeard has been grumpy because he’s fed up with the wet, the dark, the cold and the general state of the “bloody world”, and has talked about dyeing our tails blue and yellow so that we can wag them in unison. Beats me why, but he seems pretty upset about something. However, 3am alarms and wrestling sheep will give him something else to fret about. Whatever it is, it must be big because when his greenhouse distributed itself across the garden, irretrievably, his expected dramatic response was simply “It’s only a greenhouse.”

Lambing proper starts next week, and Auntie Ann will be helping (as well as bringing cake … hint hint). Kate and Irene will be back, no doubt greeted by a stoic Gingerbeard and Badgerbeard falling to his knees and praising the Lord. Harriett is also coming to give us a hand, so I’m very happy as she thinks I am a handsome boy who deserved much love and attention.

Finally, I made up a joke just for you, my spotty paw-friend. What do you call it when a bunch of sheep get into your basement? Underfloor bleating! Oh, I crack myself up.

With the very best from humans and the superior species alike,

Un fuerte abrazo,

Jebediah Dante Specklehound

Harry faces down the hoards.

Farmer Ian has a helper.

A self-portrait - how utterly handsome am I?

The three amigos - my supporting cast (ha ha ha - but don't tell Ned I said that).