Guess who!

He's back. He's not happy!
Full story of how the Pocket Rocket was brought to heel tomorrow!

Growing problem

Our strange weather took another turn towards winter this morning so nothing got done outdoors until a full cooked and several cuppas. Finally the sleet stopped and the sun came out allowing some progress to be made in addressing a growing problem, the pigs.

These chubsters are now 20 days old and taking more room each day. We need an ark to house them and mum, not the floaty type but a bomb proof wooden house that stays dry and has room for a large quantity of pork. Based around two pallets which refused to be the same size in any way except in height, this construction will keep them off the floor, a rubber mat will cover the pallet slats, and out of the wind, rain and sun. Sections are ready to be moved to the new pig pen (where the fish farm was) in the morning when we hope to rehouse mum and piglets with minimum of fuss. This is likely to be quite entertaining as seven piglets unleashed on the smallholding will no doubt have their own sense of direction. I had a lot of help making the ark, the pocket rocket felt he had to inspect every aspect of construction.

Good news on the lamb chop front, Izzy, the small creature taken from death's threshold yesterday, was alive and well this morning and reunited with Springtime and her brother, Audi, in the sheep pen. Hourly checks have been in place to make sure they continue to thrive, Audi has no sense of direction and needs help finding the milkbar.

Grazing rights

We as commoners have grazing rights, meaning we are allowed to have a number of units (animals) on the common land, grazing what passes as grass in these parts.

Not sure it extends to neighbours gardens though!

In all the mayhem of yesterday I omitted to report the sad death of Sybil our oldest pet. This ancient lagomorph, in her eighth year passed away in a manner befitting a loved pet, quietly in her sleep. Bless.

Today I have been from one end of the Red Kite empire to the the other, or rather from bottom to top, Vic and I covered over 220 miles there and back again, a very productive day. We have a new visitor to Rock HQ, Roxy an adorable mastiff cross rottweiller cross bath sponge. Soppy as anything and totally bewildered by anything with hooves. Shes met the clan and survived the welcome so she should survive her stay only emotionally scarred from her encounter with the pocket rocket.

Day 5 30 30 lvl 14 outdoor training 13km (Generation Terrorists, Manic Street Preachers)

SHS

The pocket rocket came over all small horse syndrome today, thus part of the day was spent sorting him out. Having already suffered a SOHF due to Ambrose using my backside as a target, again, Trevor playing Johnny big potatoes around his kingdom put the tin hat on it (the day not my backside).

Tracey, my beautiful and oh so patient wife, horsewoman of the year, took Chester the full size version of horse out for a spin (or whatever the terminology is) and set off in the glorious sunshine along the lane.

Trouble started when the little stalker Trevor followed all the way to the gate that marks the boundary between us and reality. Unable to open the gate without releasing the maniac miniature horse on the general populace yours truly was summonsed by phone to come and sort him out.

Vic and I to the rescue to speed things up, the gateway to the world was a confusion of aggravated thoroughbred, miffed patient one and aggravating tiny horse. Trevor was given suitable advice and set off back along the lane, the portal to reality swung open, Chester haughtily pranced through, taking forever to do it, meanwhile pocket rocket seeing an opportunity for more mayhem shot through at light speed and made a bid to go over the hills and far away.

The next few minutes passed in a blur punctuated by swearwords as I fought to get a grip on one horse and avoid being trampled to death by another. Eventually Trevor gave up and got the right side of the gate while remaining on the wrong side of his owners.

Last I saw of him was a horse shaped blur as he overtook Vic on the way back to HQ.

I say last I saw, he has been tucked up in his bed.

He did create more havoc later in the afternoon when a pleasant group of around 20 walkers went through the yard,exchanging the usual hellos and walking fars and yes they are big dogs aren't they. Directions were given to the cauldron and warnings shared about feeding the trolls as they were planning a lunch stop.

They left. The sun continued to shine. Birds sang their hearts out.

Not long after a sound like a demented werewolf impersonating a small but terrifying pony accompanied by several raised voices suggested that the trolls were the least of the hikers problems.

One thing after another

Its been a Sam and everything day, one small disaster after another which looking back will be funny but all have served to create mayhem here at Rock HQ. First light there was a very loud Moo, my shell likes detected that the utterer of the Moo was a lot closer to Rock HQ than she should be and definitely the wrong side of the cottage from where she was left. Yes Hetty was now back in the garden having jumped two fences and negotiated an open gate (left open not by the PGOOR but by the SAS) and was loudly complaining of the bullying antics of the Pocket Rocket who had forced her from the breakfast table. Time was too short to sort her or him out so she was fed and told to get on with life until naughty pony was spoken to about sharing.

First light also provided an opportunity to find bank card, bank card loss is serious matter but as it was lost between Vic and front door its unlikely that empty bank account is going to be further depleted by ner do wells. It was high on the embarrassing factor though as bank card was new bank card replaced by bank after I had lost first one in car park in town a few weeks ago. This set off a real comedy of errors as bank replaced lost card by posting new one to old address, several visits to bank where I explained carefully that I lived where they sent my bank statements and could I please have my new card, not to a house I used to live in five years ago. This was then sent but no pin number, that was sent to old house too, twice, finally new card arrived, old number failed to work it, new card seized, new card, new number arrived, both at right house but new number failed to buy petrol as new number needs to be activated at banks cashpoint, as no banks cashpoint is in our town (two horse towns don't need a choice of cashpoints) cannot activate card but can draw cash from other banks machine, no real problem except now lost new card. Goat eaten card is likely scenario as evil beast followed me around but feel less than inclined to report animal consuming plastic to bank so after long and pointless search under gloating scrutiny of evil horned beast decide to fess up and report I need new card to bank.

The bank card pales in insignificance compared to the lost keys saga. Front door key is kept where I cannot lose it, in the front door. Yesterday while looking for bank card found self shut out of HQ. Beautiful and oh so patient wife let muddy SOHF monster in mumbling about goats and cashpoints and dutifully joined in search for card and keys. No keys. This morning after three hours were expended on searching for keys and similar on card I was stood by kettle making refreshing beverage pondering how do we get cash from bank to buy new locks when a stifled cry from beautiful and oh so patient one alerted me to strange turn of events. Keys had now been found, centre of dining table, next to my car key and glasses. Now how two people managed to miss keys centre of well lit table, next to car key and glasses, a table that I checked several times is a mystery. Tracey is not prone to practical jokes, I am, but I know better than to play one that wastes so much of my true loves precious time so neither of us were responsible. That leaves only one explanation, Heidi the ghost. Heidi does exactly what her name suggests, she hides things. So far bank card has not been returned but we were grateful for the keys.

The SAS launched a joint attack on the large metal object in the kitchen we laughingly refer to as a cooker. The two highly trained SAS operatives frightened the rayburn into submission and it roared into life. They left, so did its cooperation and its back to sulking in the kitchen refusing to bake beans. They also left gate open see top of page for consequence.

Faced with sandwiches again I was stood contemplating ham or fish and just mentioned to patient one that at least nothing else could go wrong. It was at that point six black and white rabbits hopped past the kitchen window followed closely by a small pig.

Come on down!

Little Misty leads the charge, William, Apollo, and the pocket rocket, Trevor, brings up the rear while Ferny Fern Fern from Ferntown as ever does her own thing!

Surefooted

This is the pocket rocket demonstrating his nifty hoofwork on steep slopes

Grubs up!

Trevor the pocket rocket and the love of his life, Misty sharing a bale.

We've earned it!

Currently we can hardly move. There is enough strength left in my right arm to drink my beer, Tracey is propped up on the sofa with a fanta feeling as tired as I am.

This morning I was Stihl sore, and still sawing, above is just part of what I cut through today. When I was sure I couldn't strike another manly pose with a chainsaw I got on with the rest of our routine which included dragging a bale of hay up to the small horse, Misty, who is getting used to us all. She is so cute, but just like the Pocket Rocket she has heels of steel which the dogs have been on the receiving end of a couple of times.

Pocket Rocket in flight

Trevor spent a happy five minutes racing around tonight keeping us all entertained!

The sunshine continues giving us all new challenges, like getting last years shorts to fit or getting the goats to sit in the shade rather than cook in a sunbeam.

I did intend to get another training walk in tonight as The Great To Do is perilously close, but events overtook me and once I had dismantled the barricade constructed by the piglets (who obviously know I am the bacon butties number one fan so they have constructed a two foot deep barrier that prevents access to their sty) watered the garden and horses (very different techniques used here) fetched the goats, rounded up a wandering beagle who set off across the fields on a mission, got lost, panicked and ran in the opposite direction, it left very little time to entertain Mad Keith who appeared on the track with his bicycle and demijohn.

Seems like the weather has dried up his spring, or rather reduced the flow to such a level that its not fit to drink without boiling. Given the amount of wildlife and vegetation that's suspended in it when its at full flow I would consider it sensible not to drink it full stop but he has survived 45 odd years (some very odd) so it cant be too bad. Or hes immune.

Anyway, glass of squash, conversation about how hot it was, second glass of squash, more tales of how its hot, or too cold, never just right he set off with his eight pints of Rock HQ spring water.

By now any hope of exercise had faded along with the daylight so Tracey and I finished the rounds, got the kids inside and had a bacon omelet, all our own work.

Tomorrow I plan to get up early and definitely exercise before anything distracts me.

Chances of that happening?

Great mysteries of smallholding

As I returned home from work I found this on our drive, a very long way from where it should be.

It is the "gate" that keeps The Pocket Rocket in his lair.

Fearing the worst I left it where it was thinking someone had been foolish enough to disturb the little monster while we were away. I wasn't at all concerned that he might be missing, he knows hes landed on his hooves and enjoys lording it over his minions too much to run away but I was half expecting to find dismembered bodies of hapless hikers who are lulled into a false sense of security by his doe eyed sweetness and light demeanor until you are within biting distance when he transforms into a whirlwind of teeth and hooves.

As I got closer to the stables I remembered he had been turned out (put in a field) so he was not responsible for the wandering gate. What was?

Had I inadvertently thwarted a gate theft? No one in their right mind would consider my wood working skills worthy of stealing.

I puzzled for a while.

The answer?

Ryeland sheep trying to get third breakfasts. One particularly fat one must have tangled up in it and framed itself, panicked and bolted until it finally fell off as it ran down the lane. The wreckage of the garden furniture showed a clear path as the beast tried in vain to lose the gate along the way. As I collected it from the lane and began the long walk back wool adorned the bolts and edges.

Well done Holmes, another smallholder mystery solved!

Wheres the Pocket Rocket?

We were asked the other day what had happened to Trevor, the pocket rocket, as he has disappeared from the blog for while. Well as you can see he is alive and well and changing colour again.

He is also making himself popular with the other horses by commandeering the best hay and rolling on the left overs. What he doesn't realise is that there are secret plans afoot that will hopefully calm him down. This is imperative as I am hoping to train him to pull a small cart, this aim usually prompts guffaws of laughter from my nearest and dearest. However, I have a secret weapon which will put an end to his over amorous antics and the taking your life into your own hands comments when I mention his schooling.

He is going to be gelded, which will have a big impact on this little horse, hopefully he will relax a bit and mellow. Past form tells me it will just annoy him.

Pony on elastic.....

...going up and down!

Trevor the pocket rocket phaving one of his moments.

Back in action!

Its been a while since I posted a video of Trevor the pocket rocket in action. We took the boys for a walk across the valley to our friends who have Berners and Trevor took the opportunity to explore the garden at high speed!

The pocket rocket is back in action!

A quiet day in the garden

Its been a busy 24 hours st Rock HQ and as usual the animals are up to their antics providing much amusement to their human owners.

Now most people don't get miniature horses having a snooze on their lawn, neither do they have dogs roaming round that are bigger than the horse.

But then again I get so used to seeing strange things everyday you get used to it. But today I saw something so strange, so extraordinary and baffling I still can't quite believe it happened.

Its been a glorious day, the sun shone, the birds sang and I took Rene off road for the first time to collect the apples for the pigs, who deserved a massive apple feed. With the help of a 20 foot stick and a quilt cover I managed to gather together more apples than I could physically lift. Somehow I wrestled them into the car and turned for home.

It was then I saw it.

Fleetingly.

But it happened.

As I did a three point turn up in the bracken I saw a figure.

It was Mad Keith, the techno hermit.

He smiled and waved.

I drove off, gripping the steering wheel in panic.

Mad Keith was naked.

I didn't stop to find out why.

When Trevor met Apollo

Trevor has been very calm about Apollo's landing at Rock HQ. In fact the pocket rocket has calmed down an incredible amount since the episode in the garden when he tried to get on the hammock with Tracey.

The little shitland has almost stopped biting people, I say almost as he still bites me, usually when I am not looking.

So as he gave up his stable for Apollo, moved to the dairy round the back, we thought we had better introduce the pair.

For a first meeting it went very well, Apollo did the I am a little foal act, being all submissive and making smacking sounds with his lips to show he was no threat.

Trevor on the other hand returned to form and once he decided that he couldn't eat him spent the next hour trying to mate with him. He hasn't changed that much!

Other news!

Ben has had to stop the Tour de Farce as he got tendonitus and couldnt move his leg, he did do 350 miles in three days in awful weather but had to admit defeat and Sara still holds the record for unplanned distance cycling.

The fox returned last night and helped itself to the cats dinner, the leftovers of a pheasant on the woodpile. Even when it was being shot at it just hid beind a tree and checked to see if I was serious about shooting at it. It eventually ran off once live rounds were fired.

Its time will come!

White knuckle ride

Another day marking great progress at Rock HQ. William our fantastic welsh cob cross was backed for the first time by Tracey. This is a technical horsey term meaning sitting on the beast for the first time to see what will happen. Hopefully it wont end in a trip to casualty.

Now we do have a plan, one which involves getting our animals to trust us completely and as a result they tend to accept what we do without fuss or stress. Having said that there is always the potential for disaster, the animals can decide to do what they like, as in the case of Maggie the psycho goat having her feet trimmed. First attempt led to a strategic withdrawal by the humans at Rock HQ both having suffered injuries. The following day she submitted meekly to the indignation of a compulsory pedicure without recourse to extreme violence.

So we have invested a lot of time getting William used to our antics, he is a very placid lad and has only been a bit naughty from time to time, on one memorable occasion galloping off around the hill with his stable mate the pocket rocket, each goading the other to run further away from home until they were eventually headed off at five ways crossing by a very hot and bothered owner and marched back to their stable.

William has shown signs of how much he trusts us, lying down in his stable and staying put while we made a fuss of him was an indicator of how he was developing (see things you don't see everyday posted a few months ago) and he really is a people horse, coming over to see us even when distracted by food.

So today after a quick leg stretch walk and being made to give up his grazing early he stayed in a cheery mood and waited by the pile of steel gates. Once we were sure he was calm Tracey sat on him, this video shows how he took it. He hardly reacted at all, this is it has to be remembered totally alien to a horse as they would never have a weight on their back in the wild. As you can see he just carries on munching his dinner, listening to the noises around him and unconcerned that the dogs are as ever roaming around. I must admit to breathing a huge sigh of relief as Tracey got off him, it was a great test of her relationship with him and it shows what can be achieved with trust, patience and good horse sense.

He is not old enough to ride yet, we have to wait another ten months or so, we will use him to assist on the farm meantime, and that's a whole new set of tricks William and his humans have to master.

More Pocket Rocket Mayhem

Anyway all was calm in the garden tonight so the magnificent seven were lounging around and I was doing important stuff like standing around and looking at stuff. This was not, and I must make this quite clear an attempt to stay out of the way of Tracey and Bethan. I had not, and I stress this point, I had not overheard a conversation that involved the words "sping clean." Nor had I seen a bottle of window cleaner and cloths placed on the windowsill for my use. My activities in the garden were not linked to any avoidance of housework.

No.

Partly I was making sure the dogs didnt get up to any mischief in the garden, listening to the birds and planning a menu for the weekend when we have friends over for dinner, but mostly I was pottering around and therefore unable to clean the windows of the conservatory, my household task for the evening.

The Berner's we sitting on guard as only Berner's can, ready to run and hide at the first sign of danger. Pip was gnawing on her dog chew (sheep skull), Faith was bothering the chicks in the A frame, Poppy was diligently guarding the feed bin making sure no marauding goat took liberties, the fact the bin was empty had no bearing on the matter, Preston and Passion were beagling about in the brambles at the top of the garden. All was well in the canine world.

Until Trevor made his presence felt.

He is a true Shitland.

But we adore him.

You can take a horse to water

Its been a busy night at Rock HQ, the battle with the Bracken is brutal and ruthless, no quarter asked or given. I have cut back one and a half acres of the dreadful plant, in most places it was over a foot high and it really didn't look like I had been over it at the weekend. I consoled myself by looking across the hill and over our fence, its over four and five feet high there. I got covered in green mush, this happens so often now I have taken to wearing a full army camo outfit, armed with a strimmer now instead of an SA80 to protect myself.

Anyway, the jobs done, for another four days. So I got back to the cottage and started to feed the animals, all is well at Rock HQ, the animals are all well behaved and I even got inside before the rain started, which has saved a job, watering the garden. Somethings not right, I get the feeling they are plotting something. Evenings where it all goes as planned are few and far between. Maybe they know this week there is a Friday the 13th.

Above is a clip of Trevor the Shitland demonstrating how much he likes his very expensive rubber mat bed.

Trevor is now on Facebook, Trevor Shetland, look him up and he might let you be his friend.

The Pocket Rocket Returns

This is Trevor the Shitland Pony having a mad moment in the garden.

If you look at the Pocket Rocket video from a few weeks ago you can see how much he has changed colour. He is still a mental bitey creature but he is great fun to have around.