Night fighting

Late last night as we did the last checks before bedtime and shut the geese away it was horribly clear that for three, Rupert, Storm and Sunny the walk back to the goose house was the last thing they did. Their bodies were scattered across the Corral OK where they had tried to escape the fox, those that did were in the goose house, the three that didn't testimony to the foxes murderous antics. No sign of fox, except for tracks, and nothing eaten off the dead birds. Why it left them or why it stopped short of killing the remaining birds we can only speculate, maybe Thor came along and frightened the cowardly vermin off. Steps have been taken to try and outwit Mr Fox, hopefully it arrives this weekend, meantime increased patrols armed with a gun are on the agenda.

This massive pile of stone arrived today ready to be turned into a hard floor in the Corral OK. Sunday is going to be a busy day!

One of those nights

Given the emotional turmoil of the last few weeks and the fact that we had spent the day in Worcester working on a recruiting stand Tracey and I were looking forward to trying out our new bed. Smallholders find, unlike their non smallholding colleagues that the weekend is not a time of sleepins but a time of less sleep as you inevitably go to bed late and get up earlier. We decided that we would, no matter what sleep in on Sunday morning.

Saturday started extremely early saying goodbye to Ben, we then did our round and fed and watered the beasts before getting ready to stand in Worcester City centre handing out leaflets. We saw more people in five minutes than we would normally see in a week in our local town. Quite why the modern British male chooses to wander the streets demonstrating he has the dress sense of a 14 year old American teenager is beyond me but we persevered at our post and in four hours handed out 500 leaflets.

Back on safe ground at Rock HQ a few odd jobs were done and it was bedtime. 12 hours ahead of restful sleep on the new mattress.

Initially the dogs had other ideas. The puppies camped out on the stairs instead of their beds and as I began to drop off I hallucinated giant rats gnawing the bedroom door. Not quite, but a Berner pup decided to have another go at the stairs. Several tellings off later they beat a retreat and an uneasy silence descended on the cottage. This was soon broken by the outside dogs baying, in full cry, which could only mean one thing. Fox.

Tracey and I took it in turns to hang out of the bedroom window, remonstrate with the dogs and scan the darkness for anything fox like. Nothing.

Two am brought a new sound, akin to a cat being run through a mangle backwards. This went on long enough for me to decide it wasn't going to stop, get my boots on, unlock the workshop, find the gun, turn on 3 security lights and get off five randomly aimed shots in the general direction of the mayhem. It was foxes fighting in the field directly in front of Rock HQ, probably cubs wandering round dispersing or a fight over territory.

Once I was sure they had got the message I reclimbed the wooden hill and threw myself onto the very comfortable mattress. Sleep finally overtook me right until half five when the dogs started again.

I toughed it out until seven with a pillow clamped over my head when I relented and got on with the day. Which has, despite having one of those nights been a great day. Everything went according to plan, a major job got done and we went and collected Tracey's new charges, pictured above. A Chinese Gander called Sunny ( a husband for Sally) and four grey Chinese Geese, a Gander called Thunder, then three geese called Storm, Gale and Cloud. Sally instantly fell webbed foot over wing tip in love with Sunny and has been flirting with him endlessly.

This might seem incongruous given the fox problem but they are secure in one of the goat houses until a special duck and geese pen is completed in the garden next week.

Next weekend we start a weeks leave, and there are big plans afoot that will completely change the way Rock HQ operates.

The Chinese mean business

Size doesn't matter, its spirit that counts. Here we can see Sid and Sally our Chinese geese standing their ground against Chester a visiting Bernese Mountain Dog. Already he has had his ears tweaked by Sid, Chester is unsure what to make of these strange birds, so does what a sensible dog should do when faced with complete defiance, beats a hasty exit.

This might be one reason why the fox gets so many of our birds. Our poultry is so used to having dogs careering around the homestead that they are used to dogs approaching at speed and used to the dog taking evasive action rather than jumping onto them before tearing them to bits. There have been a couple of accidental deaths, see murder most fowl in the blog for details, but on the whole the birds are not bothered by the dogs. Perhaps then when they see a fox approach they think its just another dog visiting and that a quick peck on the ear will send the fox on its way.

As I type replacement hens are hatching out in the incubator. A project when we are on holiday next week it the construction of a fox proof bird run, they can use that during the day and free range in the evening.

As yet the fox trap remains empty.

Apart from Bella.

Danger Low Flying Geese

There are times, despite having a list of jobs as long as your arm when you just think blow it, they can wait. When you have got animals up to antics like these three playing chase you tend to watch them instead of boring stuff like housework.

While we about our evening routine we had to fetch the geese off the cliff, again, and as we were tempting them down with tasty morsels Bella attempted to fly, not the best idea for a fat unfit bird like Bella. She managed to gain about three feet in altitude, crashed into the stock fence, bounced back and fell into a roll of wire stood against the fence. Trapped in her makeshift cage she had to be rescued as there was no chance she would get free under her own steam. Brandy on the other hand resolutely refused to move from the ledge forcing both Tracey and I up onto the cliff face. Once I got within arms length he performed and amazing vertical take off. Tracey and I watched astounded as he gracefully flew down towards the yard, beautifully silhouetted against the setting sun, his white and buff feathers now edged with the crimson hues of the sunset, his mate Blossom honked her appreciation of this joyous sight, a picture of aerial grace spoilt only by the dull thud as he crashed into the side of the stable and landed in an undignified heap on the gravel.

We didn't laugh.

Much.

However, Tracey and I were now on the cliff so we climbed up and explored part of our hill we hadn't previously been to. We sat in the last warm rays of the evening sun looking out across the hills and valleys of Old Radnor. We would have been able to hear the evenbirdsong if the dogs hadn't have found us and sat panting in unison. It was still a great moment, on that confirmed our decision to move here.

We love it.

No matter how many jobs we still have to do.

Secrets of Animal Husbandry

There are things in the world of smallholding that you find yourself doing or accepting that had someone explained to you before you took on the farm you might have questioned or dare I say baulked at the idea.

For example your tolerance for dirt increases, whats the point of clean trousers when you are likely to be kneeling in one of nine forms of excrement that morning as you attend to one of your beasts or birds. You accept extremes of temperature and weather, bravely trudging along the lane carrying vital supplies to starving animals in blizzards, hurricanes, hail storms, torrential rain, biting northerly winds and very occasionally hot sunny days.

You get used to being tired, having a full time job and then working full time on the farm does take it out of you and it is a battle now and then to get out of your warm armchair in front of the wooodburner, leaving your nice cup of hot chocolate, beautiful wife and loyal Bernese Mountain Dog who seconds before you moved was lying at your feet looking adoringly into your eyes promising to defend you to the death should the need arise and who is now cowering under the kitchen table as you don your sou'wester and cheerily give the "Come on Rocky" the signal that he should join you on your epic trek to round up the geese for the night who will invariably scatter when your torchlight appears and be all over the place like a mad woman's shit rather than snuggled up in the goose house safe from predators and the elements, you get used to that sinking feeling as you stand by the door looking at the dog looking at you giving the "Are you mental, I've seen the weather mate I'm staying in here where its warm" signals, and you know full well that you are about to go out alone.

There are lots of things you get used to, and there are lots of things about animal husbandry you are never told.

For example, if you knew that goats climbed like monkeys you might reconsider having one, or two as we do. If you knew they eat everything other than what they are supposed to eat you would probably invest heavily in electrified fencing, the type capable of keeping King Kong away from your precious garden and fruit bushes and trees.

Any new animal at the Rock means a steep learning curve for the human residents, the type of learning curve NASA uses to launch rockets.

So no one told me, no one ever mentioned what I found myself doing whilst standing in the evening sunshine at Rock HQ. Had they done so I, without fear of contradiction, would have told them to "Sod that for a game of soldiers" or perhaps similar sentiment expressed in fewer words, mostly of four letters and undoubtedly one at least beginning with the letter f.

I was involved in a task that still makes me shudder at the thought and my brain now contains images that are most unpleasant. The worst thing is we have to do this again, several times a year for the rest of our lives, or for as long as we have a male horse.

We have to clean Williams penis.

With a special lotion purchased form the equine equivalent of Ann Summers, the instructions for use are enough to put you off your dinner, yet alone the process. Apparently the horses thingy gets covered in dirt and when it withdraws back into the sheath it drags this dirt inside which over time converts into a black tar like substance called Smegma, the name alone is conveys terror, this Smegma hardens and can crack (OH please God no more) creating razor sharp edges which cut the poor horses widgey (How have they survived this long!) and create an infection which in extreme cases makes your pony very poorly and need the vet.

Not wanting to be the owner of Mattel's diseased dick my little pony we had to take action. Warning signs were there that there might be a problem as Williams sheath had fly bites on it so perhaps his todger wasn't smelling so good. Smell is another aspect of smallholding you get very used to, there are some ripe smells around animals, particularly goats when they backfire.

So armed with buckets of warm water, sponges and pony love potion we fetched William to be cleansed. He stood quietly, gently munching his hay from the net while Tracey and I considered how to go about this task. With one of us on either side of William we bent down and inspected his John Thomas, it was, as mine would be if this was going to happen, hiding. It had to be coaxed out. I knew I would never be the same after this evening.

The guidance on the potion said an ideal time to lasso his willy to clean it was when he had a wee. Anyone witnessing a horse taking a leak and the gallons they produce would know that this is not the time to be anywhere near without total waterproof protection. Ben tells a story of the horse at Sandhurst, Warrior, who on the Commandants parade in a a very high wind took a leak which instantly vapourised and the pissy mist landed on the wives and daughters of the senior officers who were all dressed in their best.

There had to be a different way to coax it out. Tracy gave it a quick rub, I really didn't know where to look or what to feel as I was dragged into what seemed like an equine threesome. As I watched her trying to provoke a reaction from the flacid horse I suffered a curious mixture of feelings, revulsion, envy, bordering on jealousy. My wife's hand action prompted no response so with the words "Cover me, I'm going in" or similar Tracey put her hand, suitably oiled, inside Williams foreskin.

The next few seconds passed in a blur. William definitely reacted, his eyes bulged, he almost choked on the hay and quite possibly the wax shot out of his ears as well.

Tracey triumphantly waved under my nose a lump of evil smelling black stuff clutched in her lubricated digits. She dropped it on the floor and I looked away as she reached in for a second handful. William was to my mind showing to many signs he was enjoying this and was definately giving me leery looks. Not wanting to ruin the moment for them both I looked out across the Radnor hills and found somewhere safe in the sunset to park my shattered mind.

Animal husbandry couldn't get any worse than this.

As usual I was wrong.

Pip the collie was sat watching the show. She is a strange dog with severe attachment disorder and behavioural problems.

She ran over and sat under William.

She ate the Smegma.

Find somewhere safe.