Mad dogs and English men

I love a warm day, but why we decide to drench and mark lambs while the fields are sizzling I will never know. However, all three dogs came to help and did an excellent job - working together for the first time and (almost) in a coordinated way. While they could then cool off in the scant water that is around, unfortunately we had to make do with the meagre breeze.

Where did Ned go?

Ah, there he is.

Harry decided that the stream would be cooler ...

...but girls will be girls. 

Scout. Tut.

...and a few baa-lated pictures

How to combine dinner and a nap.

Kate (she's the blond one).

Kyle, also blond under the hat.

A perfect family.

Taking liberties with mum.

Quads!

There's always one...

Born on the same day.

This is what it's all about.

Neddy springs into action!

Mixed stocking can lead to some confusion.

Our version of the Joe Wicks work-out...

...although I'm not sure Irene was particularly impressed.

A rare quiet moment.

"Yeah, I'm pregnant. What of it?"

Some of the new calves, temporarily borrowed for tagging.

Physiotherapy for the "small" calf.

Scout, doing her best to get an extra treat.

Finally it's all too much.

Cheers to all - keep safe and well!

Baa-lated greetings from the farm...

Lambing started only a few days before we were expecting it to, and fortunately Kate and Kyle appeared very shortly after. Kate’s now an old hand at the process, but her boyfriend Kyle was somewhat thrown in at the deep end … lambing only having a cursory similarity to dealing with humans on hospital wards. For a start, no-one is allowed to shove a hand anywhere uninvited when working for the NHS (I can’t speak for private medicine). He soon picked things up, and proved to be particularly handy at mucking out and scrubbing water troughs (grin). No PPE needed, other than waterproof trousers.

The daily routine: 1am Leah drops in to check for action and top-up any hungry looking lambs. 4am I drag my corpse-like self out of bed and do the next shift. On a good day, a quick shufty around, feeding a few lambs, and back for a nap on the sofa. On most days, chasing ewes around the barn to try and pen them with their lambs, intervening when something is not presented right and a wee  bit of help is needed, and more than once trying to match several lambs to several disinterested ewes. After breakfast, everyone heads down to the sheds to feed up, ring and number, and check stock in the fields.  The Lambing Express takes the previous day’s doubles and singles out to the fields after tea and cake at elevenses, or after lunch if we are having a zig-zag day (Kate’s great expression for a day where you start doing something, get side-tracked, and again, and again). Afternoon tasks include merging sheep in the fields in preparation for moving on (either to the other farm or up the hill to higher fields), cleaning cow sheds, and numerous other odds and ends. Late afternoon there is another feed and water top-up, at which point I dip out and start thinking about dinner. Another drop-in early evening, then Farmer Ian does his late-night check and final quench of lambs in need of succour.

After a week, Irene joined us and a few days later Kate and Kyle went back east to lock-down. As Kate is going to vet school, she’ll hopefully come back again for a placement next year or the year after. Irene was supposed to stay for ten days or so, and ended up being with us for three lovely weeks. As things calmed down, I had the luxury of getting up at 4:30, then 5:00 and finally reached the heady goal of sleeping until 6am – bliss! Most memorable bit this year? Finding a triple ewe with two lambs and a small pair of hooves sticking out of her back end. After pulling off the third, the ewe gave an almighty fart and out popped a fourth! All fine and well.

Now that lambing is done, spring calving has started. Usually this happens over with Farmer Rob, but we’ve had a bit of a change around. It has benefits (seeing the calves outside the window frolicking around on a nice spring day), and disadvantages (helping to haul out a particularly large calf and getting covered head to foot in very sticky goop). We had one little chap who was struggling to walk at first and we needed to tube then bottle feed him. However, after some physiotherapy and patience, he’s out there with the others having a great time charging about.

While all of this has been going on, spring happened. After non-stop rain from September to the end of February, there was non-stop sun – very nice for us, but the flowers, veg beds and grass in the fields really need some water – and the few wet days at the moment won’t redress the balance, just yet. The cheeky pregnant cows in the field outside the house have taken to leaning over the barbed wire and chewing on my garden. Along the lanes and in the hedges, the wildflowers have been amazing – another good year for bluebells and early purple orchids. The swallows are back flying around, and we are now on a barn owl’s nightly patrol – he floats silently past our living room window at dusk, then checks for little squeekers in the garden before heading back out again. We even had a lapwing in the nearest field for a few days, and wheatears in the garden.

The dogs behaved well during lambing, taking it in turns to go out and perform. However, the howling and yowling that goes on from the two who are left behind in the utility room is, quite frankly, embarrassing. Seriously chaps, collies really should not debase themselves so! The boys are especially affronted when Scouty is off without them.

Now it’s time to catch up on some other things – burning the brash from last season’s hedge-laying, setting the fields aside for growing hay, general maintenance, and before we know it, shearing.

Unpleasant pheasant

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.

Harry, helping deliver silage to the rams...

..and with hedge-laying (although I suspect he was just having a chew).

Let snoozing dogs lie...

...until they are dry enough to come in. Harry (again!) is a bit of a hearth-hogger.

Roll on warmer weather, but in the meantime, the daffs are coming up and spring is in the air (being blown about at 50 miles an hour).

And finally, we did have one clear night and Venus was in the sky with the moon ... all looks a bit Scandinavian to me.

Hedging the top field - a few photos

A few photos from Common Field, where we have been laying a wonderful beech hedge. Only two months to go before we have to stop when the season runs out ...

Harry, lazing around as usual.

Neddy, bored with proceedings. 

Scout, wondering why we won't let her wander the moors at her leisure.

Some of the finished product - almost looks professional!

Farmer Ian, posing.

A well-earned rest for three Satanic dogs.

No idea where that wet dog has been sleeping.

A calf's view

After many a blog penned by those barky dogs, the rest of the farm clubbed together and petitioned Stockman Mack for some words other than fur-based frolics.  As the youngest, I drew the short straw (mainly because I couldn’t reach the best stuff in the feeder).

My name is Snowball.  Well, I say that’s my name, but really, it’s only what humans and dogs call me.  Cow-tongue is far too complicated for people, and the way they massacre the möömläüts is shocking, so we’d rather they didn’t bother and stuck to their impoverished sound system. And I can’t face thinking about the complete lack of significant pauses in their wittering … don’t they know how important silence and a long chew can be to indicate emphasis, time, manner and place? How on earth they managed to convey the location of tasty tidbits in a large field is beyond me.

I was born on a cold, windy night about a week ago – the cold, windy nights being the norm here at the moment I gather, and the reason for Stockman Mack’s grumpy face. Very kindly, mum had been put into a toasty warm part of the shed, with only Pinkie (my friend) and her own mother – so quite a posh setup compared to the lesser accommodations across the way. It was a bit of a shock being unceremoniously dropped out of my lovely warm pools of dreams onto a hard floor … albeit covered in clean straw. Mum gave me a good licking, and once I had shaken off the confusion, I realised I was thirsty and found the nearest teat. Unfortunately, in local parlance, mum’s “milk had not yet fully come in”, so Farmer Ian decided that I needed to be tubed with some colostrum, the magic elixir that gives a calf all of the things he needs to get started in the world. This was going to prove to be harder than expected, as mum had a real arse-ache on with the humans.

Farmer Ian drafted in help from Stockman Mack, but every time either one entered the shed, mum went for them with her head down and at speed – fortunately for them, they were expecting this and are far lighter on their feet than cattle so can change direction quickly. However, I am sure that having over half a tonne of mum heading towards you must be a bit unnerving. After much shifting of partitions, sheep, Pinkie and her mother, and a very considerable amount of swearing, I ended up on the other side of a gate and could be tubed – not particularly pleasant, but very warming. I ended up pretty tummy-happy, although parental bellowing and darting at the fence continued until I was returned. The second time was much smoother, as Farmer Ian sneaked into the back of the shed while mum had her head in the feeder, bodily picked me up, and whisked me out into the lean-to.

Our days are pretty quiet, apart from the next-door sheep going into the yard once a day for cake, and being very noisy about it. There are cattle in three more of the sheds, and all need silage or hay. It’s much better being inside as the weather is very unpleasant … I hear tell that some sheep are still outside, but they are quite hardy (albeit stupid) beasts, and some are getting swede to eat – lucky them! I’ve been informed that once the fields dry up a bit and the grass starts to grow, we'll go outside – which is a bit daunting. Before then, Pinkie, parentals and I will go in with the other, older, calves and our dad. I’m looking forwards to that, but have to grow a bit more first so that I can reach the hay and also hold my own (ie get out of the way when big old dad bumbles around … mum says I look just like him, but not quite as dim).

Most of the sheep next-door and elsewhere are pregnant, and before yeaning they have to be scanned to see what is inside and then have their bums shaved if they have lambs. Not sure I would like that job really, but apparently it makes for cleaner delivery and healthier lambs. I’m quite looking forwards to having the radio on at night to keep us company, although would prefer something other than Radio 2 (Mack favours 4 or Classic FM, but has been voted down; to be honest, he’d really like a loop of the Fortunately podcasts running 24 hours a day).

I suppose that’s it for the moment, as I really do need to get back to suck an udder or two, snuggle up in the straw, and have a long nap. It’s been exhausting.

Me 'n Pinkie