Missing Chickens and Giant Hamsters!

This is Apollo in his summer coat relaxing at HQ. He is now in a field causing havoc, covered in mud and jumping fences to get to other horses to play piggy back, the sooner he is done the sooner order will be restored and we can all relax.

Any ideas about finishing the concreting were washed away in yet another downpour. I did manage to get a ton down yesterday despite the best efforts of the frost and then more rain. A two hour window late afternoon meant I finally got round to laying the slab in front of the back stable which has the much sought after "sort of" finish. This means its sort of flat and sort of smooth, all hopes of getting a perfect finish were thwarted by a combination of incompetence and a chicken who decided to try and fly over the newly laid wet stuff in an attempt to reach its perch. As chickens are to flying as fish are to bicycles it fell short of its target and had to be rescued before it became a novelty feature.

Part of the day involved taking the Stable Sprite to get his lambs. A quick trip over to the abattoir and the rewards of his hard labour were safely stowed in the glove box of the car. This was a bit of a disappointment to Stable Sprite who had thought of hiring an articulated lorry with freezer attachments to transport the meat back to his kingdom and who had scoffed at the idea that it would all fit in the boot of Ben's Peugeot. On the subject of which I have almost kept my promise to look after it and not transport animals or their foodstuffs inside the ultra clean car. I am sure he meant live animals so four dead ones don't count, and he completely failed to mention don't carry fencing posts and all the gubbins needed to build a chicken Alcatraz. Talking of chickens, like Stable Sprite and I were on the way to collect the sheep meat I was making the usual death threats to Mr Fox who had by my reckoning had five chickens this week. Shutting the birds away last night we were missing four brown ones and one white. Tracey is very keen that her birds are not on the menu for Mr Fox and a fun time was had searching the hill for the birds or their remains. It was only as I recounted this tale to Stable Sprite that I in fact knew exactly where the missing birds were all the time having been the one who had shut them in the back stable just before laying the concrete in front of it.

Back to the minuscule meat portions. Sheep are easily recognisable mainly I would hazard to suggest by their thick woolly fleece. When they are departed of this world the mortal remains are devoid of wool and therefore look, how shall we put this, a bit smaller than when last bleating. Stable Sprites lambs were small fully clothed. Naked and split in two they looked like giant rats. NO, rats are bigger and have tails, they looked like giant hamsters. He had hoped to cut each leg into three pieces he muttered casting an eye over the tiny rodent like carcasses. Well you still can I happily pointed out, bite sized.

The fox sat where?

Poppy making sure she gets a good coating of the latest offering from the fox.

A good day at Rock HQ despite a frighteningly early start. Famous last words last night as my head hit the pillow were along the lines of not having to get up early. Tracey, who is so organised quietly reminded me that The Stable Sprites white chariot is kaput, broken sump meant the engine melted so I had remembered I had volunteered mine and Rene's services to get his lambs to the slaughterhouse.

The first of December was heralded by a severe frost and it took as long to defrost Rene as it did to drive over and collect the sheep. Seeing the sun rise in spectacular technicolour over our hill from Stable Sprites kingdom almost made up for getting kicked where real men should never be kicked four times in quick succession by an ungrateful Welsh Cross sheep that I was carrying to its freedom from the trailer, Stable Sprite having spared its life as it was "pretty". It does get lonely up in these hills but hearing him describe a potential food source as pretty was a mite disconcerting.

The abattoir was its usual chaotic cheerfulness of surly smallholders eagerly pushing in the queue and dropping off their pride and joys to be transformed from the wife's pets to choice cutlets. For some reason whenever we are there the rest of the world assumes mine and Stable Sprites role is to guide trailers to the pens, unload the live cargo's and move the nervous smallholder away from the pens sobbing as wickle fwuffy wamb skips off to buy the celestial pasture.

I also intervened in a fracas between Steve (uncanny) who has to be the tallest slaughter man ever and Steve (really) who was a very irate smallholder who's sheep were not given permission to unload as they were too scruffy. All the other pens had nice clean sheep who looked like they had been to the salon for a wash and blow dry. His looked like, well, sheep. The type that you see in a field, especially in winter. However, these are not the sheep abattoirs accept, oh no, they have to be the cut and blow dried types or the slaughter men get cross as the mud clashes with the blood on their aprons. Steve, who had not thought to take his sheep to the salon was sent off by Steve who incidentally had a huge knife and its a golden rule of mine that you always side with the one carrying weapons.

As Stable Sprite reversed his trailer in I was interrogated as to the cleanliness of the beasts therein. I was sure they were clean and tidy, might not have the neat trimmed backsides and tummies of the others awaiting their fates but Stable Sprite looks after his animals well. He had also put them in a nice straw lined trailer overnight. We all held our breath (men, sprites and sheep, the sheep especially at the sudden appearance a giant armed with a razor sharp blade) as the tall knife wielding sheep inspector applied his mark one wet n muddy detector, a hand (his own, he was strange but not that strange), and judged that the sheep were OK. Cold but OK. We breathed a sigh of relief, except the sheep who realised a bit too late that in their case cleanliness really was going to be next to Godliness.

We left them with the knife man. Tomorrow they will be very cold. But soon warmed up in the Rayburn.

Rain or Shine

Mostly rain, but tomorrow, no matter what the weather I am going to do the concreting. Or build the chicken run. Or maybe chop the logs. Then move the logs, sort them and stack them. Perhaps the ditch around the kennel will be the priority. So much to do I am spoilt for choice!

The North Farce

A week has passed since we tried to get the concreting done and surprise surprise, its been a lorra lorra laughs but its still not done. The main reason for the lack of progress is the quantity of water that's falling from the sky. Its only stopped raining for about 27 seconds this week and it hailed for 16 of those. Everything is a soggy mess, the beagles have got their very own stream running through the centre of the kennel block, last seen they were constructing a raft out of dog bowls and baskets. All the inhabitants of the ranch are seeking shelter from the continuous deluge and its only the humans who are committed enough to brave the elements and carry essential supplies to hungry residents who are warm and cosy in various shelters dotted along the smallholding. Fed up with being stuck in doors I suggested that we walk through Worzel Wood to get some air and as its under the trees we shouldn't get so wet. We would have been drier throwing ourselves in the river, which when we last saw it was a small brook, I don't think I have ever walked in such heavy rain. Even the Big Black Mountain Challenge would be classed as dry compared to today's soaking.
A couple of interesting diversions today, one when we were missing a Bernese Mountain Dog, Bliss. The piteous whining soon located her, stuck in the roof of the stables. They have taken to climbing up on the bales and resting in the overhang watching goings on through the gaps in the woodwork. Unfortunately for Bliss her siblings thought it funny to knock the stack of bales down that she had used to get there. She was soon rescued and a grateful Berner is always something that cheers you up and I needed cheering up.
The second diversion was a massive sense of humour failure over my nice new gortex jacket what I bought last "summer" for the Offas Dyke Ordeal. Knowing full well the Great British Summer would more than likely require a new waterproof I set about purchasing one off Ebay. The North Face is my preferred brand but incredibly expensive and so I was instantly attracted to an unbelievable offer of a brand new last years model North Face for the bargain price of £69! The RRP was more like £370 so this indeed was a bargain. Free postage as well, all the way from China. Fantastic. But wait, don't they make fakes. Not wanting to be ripped off I emailed a few customers who bought the same jacket, yes, very pleased, a real deal, purchase with confidence. I did. It arrived. It looked great, all the labels and everything. Super.
Until today when worn for the second time the Velcro cuff strap came off in my hand, the sleeve unstitched, it had the jacket had the waterproof quality of the paper packaging it arrived in and as Tracey pointed out I should have known something was wrong as the stitched brand labels are a bit wonky and if you look closely they are spelt wrong.
Anyone want to buy a North Farce jacket? One careful owner?

Broke again

I take a lot of photographs, on average I would guess a thousand a month. Most are quick snaps of animal antics, some are thought about and "composed" like the one above of the Offas Dyke a couple of miles along from Rock HQ. Then there are the pictures that log events like today's snow, it just missed us but the hills around us are dusted white. So the camera takes an awful lot of abuse, its carried in my pocket as I go about tasks on the smallholding in all weathers. Unfortunately the latest compact has gone to the great recycling plant in the sky, it died today. I have broken yet another one. For a while the lens has been a bit temperamental, sometimes refusing to come out and play in the mud and rain, and today it eventually deployed but with a bit of a crack across the middle. I'm not sure how I managed this latest act of vandalism, the last one broke when I fell on it after being mugged by a rottweiler and then smothered by a randy pony. The first camera just wore out after months of neglect. So now I am eagerly awaiting 25th of next month. The letter has been sent to Santa who has access to the all bargains at Argos.

Hooves off!

Misty is very particular about who she shares dinner with so Trevor has learned to give her a wide berth when dinner arrives. The two of them get on really well and the smallholding is often brought to a standstill due to their antics. Two pint sized ponies charging around whinnying their manes off brings any work to a grinding halt. Not that much is getting done in the monsoon like conditions we are suffering. Still there is always tomorrow. Which incidentally has snow on the forecast!

Lookout Rene

Not sure who built this and really not sure how I managed to miss it lurking in the trees at the entrance to Sheepskull lane but this is The Lookout.

Another day of appalling weather, temper and mud. Rene is in need of a new MOT and as usual something nasty went wrong minutes before delivery to the mechanics. The hideous metallic grating sound revealed itself as worn brake pads on the back drivers side and as I am so expert at all things mechanical, and as I just knew where some brake fluid was and instantly found the magic wheel nut that undid the special head lock nuts on his alloys whilst coincidentally having a new set of brake pads that came when I bought the brute I dutifully set about saving money by grovelling in the mud and being a real man mechanic. Warning signs that all would not go smoothly were apparent from the outset but I chose to ignore them, things like only finding 3 out of four pads was a trifle annoying but I persevered. Soon the wheel was off, I was wet and dirty, but after a quick check I found the pads were in fact the ones required and all was well. Except for one millimetre of bother.

The nut on the brake pipe was 11mm. The spanner set was deficit 11mm. I took a deep breath while the Berners were sat around waiting for the excitement to begin. Not wanting to fail I searched the workshop, no lack of spanner would stop me today. An hour passed and I had amassed three 12mm spanners, two 10mm, an 11mm socket that was not deep enough to fit, a broken adjustable wrench, four assorted screwdrivers, a solid paintbrush, a drill with a flat battery, chaffed knuckles and a seething temper. The Berners were treated to a homage to Basil Fawlty as Rene was kicked, told that there was always one and he was it, reassembled, left in the rain and ignored. A soothing cuppa was delivered by my oh so patient (and really poorly) and beautiful wife who told me not to worry as the nice man called Steve at the garage would fix it. The only highlight of the day was that I found the fourth pad buried in sheep pooh in the back of the heavily soiled Rx4. I knew it would be there,I am after all a champion hoarder and the throwing away of a new brake pad, whether it fitted or not would have caused me endless sleepless nights.

The best yet!

We are still unable to do any of the real jobs outside due to torrential rain. Stable Sprite popped over today and it stopped raining just long enough for us to take some measurements of the Berner Annexe. All plans to create a model Swiss chalet for them have been shelved due to unexpected economic downturn and the bare essential plan has been approved, so breeze blocks with a roof will have to do until fortune favours the brave again.

The rain does have unexpected bonuses like this rainbow. The best yet!