One size fits all!

The tiny ponies are a hardy pair and while William and Apollo are quartered in luxury stables on soft beds eating centrally heated hay served from silver buckets and hand fed poached apples, Trevor and Misty brave all weathers, even snow, occasionally standing in the lee of a tree to escape the fiercest blizzards. They grow super thick coats that protect them from the elements. However, it is summer here, and for once its been quite a good one, lots of sunshine, which in turn meant the little ponies shed a huge amount of hair. A week or so ago the rain returned with a vengeance and poor Trevor was found shivering his mane off in the darkness. Poor lad was taken inside and given masses of TLC while Misty was eventually coaxed down from the mountain in the teeth of the storm and reluctantly took shelter next to Trevor in the back stable.
A decision was made, they smalls shall have waterproof jackets. They don't need insulation, they need waterproofing. Being 33 inched high there are not many jackets that fit, but we found one in the local horse boutique and as can be seen Trevor looks quite happy sporting the blue coverall. Misty is not so sure its her colour but being a tolerant sort she has allowed herself to be wrestled to the ground and wrapped up just to see if one size really does fit all.

Coming soon!

Children's books based on the characters of Rock HQ!

This ones about Rocky.

If you would like to know more send us an email :)

Right on target

Now and then our critters have a little spat, its usually over very quickly and no harm done. Trevor the pocket rocket felt the hoofed end of Misty's fury when he tried to eat more than his fair share of horse nuts. Tolerant she might be but mess with her food and theres hell to pay, the resultant warning kick hit him broadside leaving two prints on his rump and he retreated to a smaller pile of feed. The mud will wash off but I think the bruises will take time to fade.

I want that one!

First catch you piglet. Easier said than done a they wriggle like demented snakes and squeal like air raid sirens. Luckily for us we had Safe Hands Stable Sprite on the case who showboated his technique, giving us a lesson in biology, er that ones a boy, and than picking up the specimen piglet we want to bring back to Rock HQ to be the start of our next what could possible go wrong enterprise, rearing pigs. This will probably translate into lets chase piglets across the common at midnight, but where we let our selves down in experience we will make up for in enthusiasm, and if we have any problems we can always give Safe Hands a call.

My little helpers

Geisha decided to "help" unload the groceries. I managed to wrestle the remains of a jumbo bag of pasta from her slavering jaws but not before half of it scattered onto the floor. Reuben helped her clear the mess up.

Beaten to it!

Our plum trees recovered from the onslaught of goat and bore fruit, much to our surprise. The majority of the crop are ready to be turned to jam and crumbles but quite a number we have been beaten to by hungry wasps, moths and flies.

The Shining

Hetty Dexter got a bit confused when the bedding was changed, she tried to get in through the barns emergency exit.

Having horns wider than the hole posed a few problems.

She persevered while the pigs made the most of the new fresh straw.

She's not the brightest cow.

The Survivors

With ground cover as extensive as this around the perimeter of Rock HQ we are under siege from vermin. Foxes. Not the cutesey likkle wanimals that people mistake them for, but vicious cold hearted killers on the lookout for an easy meal. Given the numbers here perhaps its a surprise that any small animal prospers, not long ago a Vixen and five cubs ran across the lane, a lone fox was under the old oak watching us, another jumped into the garden one lunchtime and took one of the hens of the lawn. So bold are they that they feel quite safe hunting in the day light. We have curtailed our poultry's wandering, constructing Stallag 14, an impregnable fortress dedicated to keeping our egg layers alive, and close to the Rock HQ.
Losing one or three hens, ducks and geese a week has become the norm, but at least we have been spared the full on assault on the hen house and the carnage that entails. Until last night.
The gates of Stallag 14 had been left open to allow the hens and ducks to rake over the garden, sorting out the creepy crawlies and clearing weeds. By 9pm they were making their way back to their fortified bunker, the hens sitting on the perches, the ducks sitting anywhere but under a perch. I had shut the geese and the newly hatched ducklings away and thought about shutting the hens and ducks in but as a couple were still making their way back I left them to it. By half nine the sound of a few ducks on the patio was the first sign all was not well. This was misinterpreted by yours truly as ducks being naughty and staying up late so I carried on reading. Forty minutes later I was out with a torch to make the final check of the perimeter and shut the birds away. A clump of black feathers on the garden path an ominous sign. The torch illuminated the charnel house. Stacked in the corner were most of our hens, very dead, a brace of dead ducks led to three more headless hens killed in line as they ran for their lives. A dozen dead birds, and five missing ducks. A search of the perimeter was pointless but I did it anyway. Killer fox was long gone. In the yard I found two dazed survivors quacking in terror, and pressed against the beagles kennel I found a third seeking sanctuary. They were carefully rounded up and put in the stable for counselling. Down to two ducks missing.
First light and we were up, lay by the stable door was a fourth duck, a bit shaken and with a bitten wing but alive and quacking noisily to its friends.
Final score, nine dead hens, one dead cockerel, two dead ducks, one wounded, and three more traumatized. The final missing duck is presumed eaten. Next time anyone tries to tell me how lovely foxes are and that they should not be hunted, I shall just show them the photos of the inside of the hen house.