Schnooglegang

Schnooglegang (noun) a group of small calves sitting together for company and warmth while mother cows wander off to feed. Origin unknown, thought to be Germanic.

Spring is well underway

 

Enlightenment for Ewes and Yoga for Lambs

Enlightenment for Ewes

To follow your lamb faithfully is not the tudduth way.

The water in a bucket filled from a trough tastes better than the water in the trough, more so if the bucket has just been filled for another purpose.

The best time to lamb is just before a tea ceremony.

An honest ewe must pass through the gates of the trailer to find new pastures.

In times of difficulty, look heavenwards and call loudly, then help will arrive.

The path to enlightenment always requires a pause for reflection and a long wee.

Look favourably upon the night lamber and don’t headbutt him into a hurdle, for he may be the strong hands in your time of need.

When coughing, an equal and opposite reaction at the other end is inevitable.

No honour is gained by birthing three lambs and having no milk to support them. What is gained is a red ear-tag.

Receive not a name, for your time shall be limited.

No-one can ever know why the ewe lamb bleats.

Yoga for lambs

The Diver – legs forwards, head ready, with a quick and sleek entry into the world.

The Cheerleader – one leg up, head poised, other shoulder tucked back and behind.

The Synchronised Launch – two coming at once. Most often requiring third party assistance to maintain the pose.

The Reverse – rear-legs first, gracefully sliding out.

The Reverse V – tail and bum first, no legs. An awkward move, most likely leading to just a tail emerging and significant chance of interrupted movement.

The Frankenstein – just a head. Liable to lead to swelling and considerable embarrassment.

 

And a few photos from lambing …

Ned is too big for this particular bath.

Easy access milk bar.

Kate practices her poses for an inevitable role on Spring Watch.

Harry practices his poses for The World's Goofiest Dog competition.

My favourite lamb.

Barney makes the most of a pile of baling twine.

Not just lambing ... it's all go here!

Clever tame lamb works out how to get some fresh milk from next door.

This year's lambs are assorted colours - thanks to the SuffTex rams in particular.

Proof that farmers like a good catch-up (look down the road, and there's two more at it!)

Lambing passes Jeb by - life's too much fun to work.

Ann has a lovely pair.

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).

The cat finally makes a move

After a year of keeping his distance, the cat started talking to us ... we responded, feeling a tad foolish meowing in the yard, and much to our surprise ...

He's now called Barney ... geddit? That seemed better than Sheddy. 

Still here, despite the silence

Oh boy, last post at the start of August? Where did all the time go? Life on the farm has fast-forwarded from summer to winter and into spring, although it’s been so warm recently, you’d be forgiven for thinking it was still September (and that, my dear friends, is going to be my excuse).

All of the sheep are down off of the hills and the cattle toasty in the barns. Lambing is scheduled to start on the 19^th of March, so we have a few weeks left to get our house in order. Our “round to it” list included putting in lots of stakes and fixing up wire in the various places that sheep (but mostly cattle) have wreaked havoc, replacing several gateposts and fixings, burning piles of hedge cuttings, and clearing out grass from around the bases of the new trees. Ewes will need pedicures, iodine drench and vaccinating before lambing, and while not quite the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, we do have to separate the girls into singles, doubles and triples to ensure they get an appropriate amount of food – we don’t want a triple underfed so she can’t grow her lambs properly, but equally we don’t want a single overfed so hers is huge and difficult to birth. There’s some cattle TB testing in there at some point too.

Back in October, Farmers Ian and Rob took the opportunity to visit Kat and her family in Sardinia, and I rather rashly said I’d look after both farms … after all, it was a quiet time of the year. I planned quite a nice routine:

Have a cuppa in bed, breakfast, then walk the dogs. Feed cattle hay/silage in the sheds. Take hay out to the bull and his harem in Sonnyside (avoiding being trampled in their excitement – daft Paddy actually got onto the back of the trailer one day to get the best bits). Check on the lower sheep, feeding lambs and the less impressive ewes, then up the hill to feed hay to the cattle in Raceground and check the sheep in Common, accompanied on the quad by one or other collie madly panting in my ear and rubbing mud up my back.

Dogs fed and locked in the utility room, jump into the Landrover and drive to the other farm. Say Hi to Sally and scrounge a cuppa. Feed three groups of calves in the shed, check on calves and ewes outside, feed the remainder of last year's lambs. Put out buckets of cake for Sally to feed the shed cattle in the evening so that I don’t have to come back later. Back to home farm via any shopping needed.

Lunch and an hour of pondering. More dog walking, more cattle feeding, and finally done.

Unless, of course, the cow that Farmer Ian said wouldn’t calve while he was away actually decides to calve. On day three, I noticed she was looking a bit pensive and investigated further … only to find a tell-tale dangly bit of goop hanging out. Liz and Bryan (Farmer Ian’s aunt and uncle) kindly offered to do the basics at the other farm, so I hung around waiting – fortunately able to sit with a cuppa in the living room and use the binoculars for remote checking. After about an hour, she was on her side straining, and I went over on the quad to have a closer look. Not quite sure about her temperament, I approached cautiously and started to pull on the two legs poking out (nicely presented, thank goodness). After much heaving on both of our parts (see seemed happy with the first aid being given), the head was not coming free, so I took the executive decision to push my arm up her bum (sorry anyone who is squeamish … I did clean under my nails afterwards) and push with one hand from inside as well as tug from outside. That did the trick (and it’s Ann’s trick … for lambs, equally useful for cattle it appears, albeit a whole hand instead of a finger). Head and front legs out, there was no time to waste to get the chest free and enable the calf to start breathing. That achieved, we both had a bit of a breather before the final heave and hips, rear legs, and done. She’s a lovely heifer calf.  I phoned Sardinia to give the news, high as a kite on adrenalin.

As the weather was dreadful, I loaded the calf into the trailer and we drove slowly to the sheds, mum in tow lowing uneasily, and got everyone settled in a nice warm strawed corner, which was just as well as the youngster took a couple of days to get into the swing of udder = dinner, and I ended up tubing her with colostrum and milk until she got going.

I hope to do more frequent updates, especially as we are now spending more time on the computer trying to get our heads around what we have to do to fulfil our Sustainable Farming Incentive Pilot activities … no doubt more on that later as we start soil testing, fencing off wildlife areas, and measuring dead wood in the woodlands.

Harry and Flossie help ensure the lambs behave at Farmer Rob's.

The girls are very happy with their piles of hay.

Ned, the self-cleaning collie.

Jeb plays with his new friend Reggie who came to visit.

The new calf.

Bonding with Paddy while the boss is away.

They gang up on us and stare for treats.

And if that fails, there's always the under-table-inveigle...

...or the strategic placement of a trip hazard.