Bucket o' balls

There is always something odd going on when you are involved with farming.

Today I went up to the sheds and found a bucket of testicles in the alley way.  I am hoping that the vet had been round to castrate the bull calves, because other explanations are rather thin on the ground...

The cattle are possessed!

No, not really.  I just forgot to turn off my flash, so everyone has scary alien eyes.  At least that's the story I'm sticking with – mwah ha ha.

With the wet weather, soggy ground, and colder days, Farmer Rob decided that it was time we brought in the cattle.  I've heard bleats about "poor things, stuck in the barn over the winter" (and not just from sheep) – indeed, we had to cajole, pester and prod to get the beasts in from the fields…or rather, not.  They knew something was up, and while I was laying out straw, bringing in silage bales and generally preparing their quarters, cows and calves were bellowing in the fields and straining at the gate – they couldn't wait to get in, having had enough of mud and rain.  It was a bovine 100-metre sprint.  As for the bull, he'd been let in a few days earlier because he was standing forlornly as close to the barns as he could possibly get, all doe-eyed and hopeful – Ann fell for it hook, line and sinker. 

There's always one calf that gets into everyone's dinner.

There was a small error of judgement on my behalf, letting the cows have silage ad lib before the vet came to finish off the TB testing (all fine, by the way).  Lovely, lovely grub – so much so that two of the cows were too rotund to get into the 'crush' (the contraption that keeps them still while being faffed with – no real crushing involved as that would be a stupid way to run a business).  Even the bull fits in there, no problem - so these girls were almost spherical.

The calves use the creep gates to get in and out of the barns so they can have extra cake twice a day.  

"See you later mum!  Off to have dinner with my mates."

At home, bulk buying at Mole Valley means we have to bag our own Bonios.  Never have we had such a rapt audience…

"What's in the box dad?"

A trio of manipulative collies.

Putting our visitors to work

Typical isn't it.  No blogs for weeks, then three turn up at once.

The challenge to Danaë, Irene and John...burn the four enormous heaps of cuttings from the hedge...

...when everything has been rained on for several days.  Of course each fire needed a committee to debate the pros and cons of construction, combustion and appropriate swearwords...

...and the collies had to help (sulking, yapping and eating sticks)...

...while Cody was scouring the field for ram poop to eat. At last the fires got going...

...after considerable frustration and grumpiness from our Irish team member.  A good day was (eventually) had by all, and a good job jobbed (thanks folks!), leaving everyone stinking of smoke and the dogs finally tired...

Where are the binoculars when you need them?

A new low point in my self-esteem this morning - having spent five minutes watching a herd of deer on the other side of the valley, waiting for them to break cover, Ian pitched up and pointed out that they were in fact a thicket of bracken.  Amazing how much enjoyment you can have watching ferns until someone bursts your bubble.

Love is in the air

A few days ago, while cutting unwanted trees from a long-neglected hedge in preparation for laying early next year when the sap is rising, I was surrounded by signs that hormone levels are on the increase in the hoofed denizens of our locale. 

Below me the rams were getting boisterous, shoving at each other more than usual, with a noticeable change for the better in the aspect of their soon-to-be employed dangly bits. No longer just a bunch of mates who hang out together most of the year, competition is in the air - the occasional head-butts make me wince…and can draw blood, so we have antibiotic spray at the ready when we are down in Little Field. Above me on the other side of the fence, a lone ewe gazed longingly across at the boys, bleating soulfully. I'd like to think that she was assessing her options: Texel rams sure are ugly, but the lambs are sturdy stock; Charolais may produce rat-babies, but they do grow up to have good confirmation; and perhaps a floppy-eared Suffolk might be a good choice if she fancies black-faced offspring. But of course the reality is she just doesn't care who performs the deed, reminding me of one of the reasons I don't watch documentaries on ITV about 18-30s holidays in southern Spain.

Texel - a face only a mother could love; Cecil and his Suffolk chums.

Not to be outdone, across the valley the stag was bellowing – a somewhat unworldly sound. He occasionally makes an appearance, but never long enough for a photograph. And the bull has done his duty, with only three cows not yet pregnant, and after what I saw this morning, he's determined to get a full house (thank goodness I am not easily shocked). Meanwhile, this autumn's calves are growing nicely on the other side of the hill. 

Then on Thursday it was time for action – the rams were strapped into their tupping gear, with new bright marking blocks, then introduced to their harems. A couple of days later, and I can already see dozens of red bottoms, so they are not wasting their time. You have to hand it to them – most of the year they are completely useless, but when it comes round to their very specific niche, they perform most admirably. 

Getting to know you...

What a lot of bottle!

As the lambs start going off to meet their mint-saucy fate, there are plenty of new arrivals.  Another 102 ewes (mostly mules, but with 20 more Exmoor crosses) joined the flock last week and are getting used to the new digs before their not so romantic encounter with one of the boys – of which three more signed up to the team last month.  Even old Cecil has perked up (if you have ever read "Footrot Flats" you'll understand why he has that name) and is rough-housing with his mates, testosterone levels starting to build.  Last year, at the end of the season, he was to be found sitting by the gate as far from the ewes as possible, just waiting to go home – it looks like that even for a ram, there's only so much sex he can endure.

Meanwhile the autumn calving is well underway – five so far.  Two gentle greys and a batty black that runs around with his tail in the air, followed by his anxious (first-timer) mother – it's like watching a toddler and mum in Tesco (although some in our local store have bigger bums) - and a lovely pair of white-faced heifer twins who have needed a little extra TLC over the past few days – with a bottle that is considerably bigger than the one the lambs use.