Piggin rushing about

I didn't have the camera with me, unusual I know, so there are no pictures of last nights escapades with Hetty the love sick bovine. She escaped Rock HQ a few weeks ago and was ravished by a Belgian Blue Bull. It was her own fault and she jumped three fences and terrorised a hundred sheep before she managed to get in a position where he could have his wicked way.

Three days ago she jumped in with the Berkshire pigs Morgana and Guinevere and seemed happy enough, but given her capacity for show jumping we thought is good idea that she should be shut inside for her own safety while the time to bull passes. It was going to be very straightforward, Hetty would follow the bucket of extremely appetising feed up the lane to the small enclosure at the back of the kennels, and as I had Stable Sprite and his apprentice Gremlin as extra cowhands what could possibly go wrong.

Well as it took over an hour, we covered several miles, got The Oracle involved and ended up cornering the beast (cow not the Oracle) in the garden of the Ghost House under the watchful eye (only one) of the Witch who lives there (don't look back) quite a lot in reality. Thankfully with my careful management and Gremlins unbounded enthusiasm we got Hetty safely indoors, the Berkshires back in the pen and the Ryelands out of the conservatory. As Stable Sprite said as he fired up his aging magic white chariot, its never easy, but then again why would I want it to be. What else is there to do? Watch Telly?

Sprung back

After all the cold weather the plants seem to think spring is here already. The snowdrops at the Ghost House (don't look back) have been waving in the breeze for the last two and a half weeks but its only today I got there with two essential items, daylight and a camera.

Its amazing how things change so quickly under our noses. Two days ago I checked the pond, we get hundreds of frog turn up every year to spawn. The pond literally froths with activity as the amphibians get all amorous. Aptly they normally turn up in Valentines day, but yesterday morning dozens of beady eyes were watching me from the safety of the water.

They have sprung back. Early.

The rescue moggies were sent to new homes today, hurrah! I like cats, prefer rabbit, or chicken, but me and some cats just do not get on. Especially when they sharpen their claws in the new sofas.

We are still plus two here, Harry is on his hols, one of the class of 2010, he looks like his brothers and sisters, all rolled into one, hes lovely and enjoyed a trip around the Bonsai Mountain helping with my training for the BBMC. And Molly is still here, Rocky has been very busy since she arrived, we think she goes home tomorrow to give the poor lad a rest!

The Fellowship of the Ring

The Fellowship of the Ring is broken.

It was a valiant attempt to unseat the King from the throne, but alas, for them, fortune did not favour the brave and their ill timed rebellion was crushed and they all went to bed with no dinner.

It was most likely my fault. Perhaps I should not have laughed when, after much effort on my part, the water started to flow at high velocity along the 20mm water pipe. Had I thought I would have checked to see that there was no shitland pony called Trevor biting the free end hanging over the trough, hoping to catch a dribble of fresh water. I did look up in time to see his cheeks bulge as a million gallons of ice cold water suddenly filled his mouth. Pointing and laughing only sowed deeper the seeds of the later rebellion.

The boys, William, Apollo, Trevor and their sidekick Misty (a girl pony) are in a routine that goes roughly along the lines of wake up, wait for servant to open bedroom door, stretch, wander lazily to the hayledge in the Ring, spend all day eating while servant cleans and tidies bedroom, watch as servant appears just before sunset with buckets of tempting goodies, note carefully the goodies placed in bedrooms, wait impatiently at gate for servant to get a move on and open gate, wander into bedroom, ignore platitudes from servant and get nose down in bucket, have servant shut bedroom door and turn out light, create Himalayan range of horse dung for servant to shift later, lick salt block, snooze and do it again in the morning.

So aside from laughing at Trevor's water boarding mishap I was guilty of complacency. A sin that if committed by smallholders seldom goes unpunished. Putting the ponies to bed is easy. Five minutes max.

Which is why last night I was to be found shivering in the lane in unlaced boots, no torch, wearing a t shirt instead of the arctic gear I had been wearing earlier, because after all, this would only take five minutes I cheerily shouted to my beautiful and oh so patient wife as she reminded me to put my coat on as I set out to put the ponies to bed. The four ponies had gone through the motions of wander towards stables but at a key moment failed to enter and cantered down the lane. Misty who is as fast moving as a comatose Eeyore wandered miserably after her fleeing companions whinnying at being left behind. I followed after grabbing a feed bucket to tempt them with.

By the time I rounded the bend in the lane even Misty the wonder Sloth had disappeared into the night. Somewhere out there were four naughty ponies and 500 acres to play in. The tracks in the snow helped with direction, but each time I got to a point where they might be, the tracks led further away. Every now and then a whinny of temper from Misty prompted me not to give up and get back to the warm of Rock HQ and my coat. The whinny got louder, this one was real fury. The tracks ahead split, three went one way, Misty another, I presumed the whinny was her telling the boys they better make their whereabouts known. I followed Misty's little paw prints, up to the Ghost House, where she stopped and doubled back along the hedge line. As I descended toward The Oracles homestead I wondered how on earth four ponies could hide so well against a snowy bonsai mountain and how much I could sell horse meat for.

Finally I found them milling around like naughty teenagers. William advanced, ears back, your empty bucket trick will not work on us, he was saying, but in horsey, if he could talk we wouldn't worry about paying the mortgage, anyway, bluff was called, what you going to do, there are four of us in the Fellowship of the Ring, we will not be broken.

He was right of course. Me shivering with cold armed with an empty bucket was no match for a naughty Welsh Cob with an eye on the crown. So the next weapon in the armoury was deployed, divide and conquer. Holding Apollo firmly by the forelock words were exchanged along the lines of "For you Tommy the war is over" and with the promise of a full bucket if he behaved Apollo fell in behind and plodded after the true herd leader. Misty sensing she might share Apollo's good fortune dropped in alongside while William and Trevor cantered up and down trying to convince their former allies that all was not lost, they could win.

William continued his defiant stance right until the bolt was kicked over on the other's doors and suddenly the yard was a very large and lonely place. Mustering the dignity of the defeated he entered his stable without an apology while I did my best not to gloat. Fifty three minutes after the start of my five minutes outside I was defrosting on the range which was nearly as warm as the glow of victory.

Better late than never

Spring was in the air today as I walked the mutleys around the bonsai mountain. So much so that the snowdrops have finally made an appearance, a bit later than usual due to the cold weather but its good to see them, even if these are in the garden of the ghost house and not ours. As we are on the dark side of the hill ours might be further delayed, but like they say good things come to those who wait.
Now to the uninitiated in the goings on at Rock HQ it might look like we are not making any progress but we are moving forward at a great pace. Much admin was done today and the paperwork and labels arrived for Hetty our imminent Dexter. I managed to stop them sending the "minimum" number of printed labels for out "herd" and persuaded them to send one sheet of 25 labels rather than the over the top 500, save the trees and all that.
Our sheep are happy and healthy, the pink eye has gone, it did flare up again in three of them but after another round of me playing nurse they are all better. The thought of me wrestling them to the ground to drop antibiotics in their orbits has no doubt hastened their desire to get better. They are looking good. And fat. Some suspiciously so. Crispen our Ram was sent away at the crucial time last year but it looks like he may have caught at least one, Roxy is looking like a giant marshmallow on matchsticks waddling around the yard.
I think I found the remains of Rosie up on the hill, curiously enough at the entrance of sheepskull lane. A new sheep skeleton has emerged from the dead bracken, I couldn't find a tag so cannot be sure its her or one belonging to the militia, but she has been missing for about four months along with Meg and there have been no live sightings of either of them.
Some good news is that there may be a litter of puppies here in nine weeks, Rocky and Reba have done the deed so hopefully there will be a result round about the 2nd of April. Also on the cards at that time is a visit from my family, which will mean Dad will get to see Rock HQ for the first time in real life.
There is a slight techno problem and as soon as I sort out the gitwizards who manage the site it will be resolved but for some reason the .com version is not working but the .co.uk version of TFTR is. I don't know how it works I only write it but normal service will be resumed asap. Meantime our visit rate has gone up 41% over last months figures meaning that some 30,000 visits were made, so thank you all for your support, we appreciate the emails and comments. Its good to know that some of you out there have had very similar experiences to ours. Especially with goats. We are not alone!

I aint fraid of no ghosts!

Fitting easily into our routine, twice every week we take the Technohermit a hot meal and make sure he has what he needs to get through the week.

Currently this entails walking in the dark along a narrow track, mostly uphill, along past the Ghost House and up to his humble abode. Weather permitting this a quick trip in Rene the everso useful 4x4 in all his surround sound airconditioned leather seated safety shelled goodness.

As weather is definitely not permitting wheeled vehicles to pass through the mud and slush its down to Shank's pony with the magnificent seven in full cry as company, a much slower and far more exposed journey.

The worst part of the trip is not getting wet and muddy, nor is it listening to the hermits account of his bunions, the threat from lions, werewolves and zombies, no, its walking past the Ghost house. Twice.

The second time is always worst, having to comply with the don't look back part of the tale is hard work. Especially for me.

Tonight the hermit was on form, eagerly waiting for his home cooked chicken casserole. As I handed it over we had our usual chat about his bunions, the space station (he is after all a technohermit) and how folks living in towns have it easy. Well compared to squatting on a windy hillside I expect they do, but I knew what he meant, central heating, taps and shops, luxuries like that.

After a rambling conversation about how badgers get into ant hills he stopped and looked at Faith the Gordon Setter playing in the snow. This then led to him telling me that he had met someone who had seen a big black dog or puma on the hill. I listened intently as he described how it has frightened this man from ever venturing onto the hill again. I explained about the walkers who had got confused recently up by Rock HQ thinking Ebony was a black panther and not a harmless sheep, this is assuming a sheep hellbent on getting into your sandwich box is classified as harmless. He shook his head, no, this was some time before we lived at Rock HQ. Over three years ago. He went on to describe the exact spot some miles away where the black beast was seen.

I decided to impress him with my local knowledge and rambled on about the hound of the baskervilles being written based on the black dog of the hill and how in fact that was a legend about a wicked Baron who was killed and manifested as a vicious black dog roaming the hill in search of mortal souls.

When I finished it seemed darker and the wind was driving the rain hard into our faces. I thanked him for bringing up the subject of ghosts as I still had to walk back. He grinned at me and jerked a stubby thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the ghost house "O'course that uns haunted" chuckling rather too enthusiastically for my liking.

"Great, cheers mate, I have to walk past that place in a minute."

He looked back down the hill continuing "Some old woman dressed in white is supposed to come floating out the door or summat."

Fantastic, and me without my running shoes. "You ever seen her Keith?" my voice seemed a pitch higher than I remembered.

"No! No, I ain't never seen her, my missuses mother did though." He seemed to sense my rising fear, "Ah don't worry, there ain't no such thing as ghosts man, shes probably moved on by now any road"

"I don't think they pack their bags and leave do they?" I asked this new authority on the spirit world.

"No, when your dead your gone, ain't no ghosts, don't worry."

"Thanks"

"No. They're DEMONS!" he shouted and with that bombshell left me to my long walk back.

I cant remember at which point my brisk walk back turned into a fast jog.

I didn't look back.

Best intentions!

Well tonight I did have half a plan just to do a quick couple of lines about Trevor and his fat balls. But as usual event overtook this smallholder who is home alone, aside from 60 or so beasts and Beth with her boyfriend Tom. Tracey is at her Mum and Dads because her Dad is still very poorly. So I was lucky enough to be driven home by Beth who models her driving style on a blindfolded Mr Bean, this time the journey passed without incident and I at no stage felt compelled to grab the handbrake or scream hysterically as she approached every junction.

Back at the ranch I intended to complete all jobs and then get the house not only tidied but completely redecorated before Tracey came home. First job was to muck the boys out who had each dumped a wheelbarrow load of fresh do all over the stable floor. As they have both got used to standing quietly having a munch from the ever decreasing haystack I let them both out for that purpose. I should have paid more attention to the mood of Apollo who was fizzing like an unexploded bomb. Whilst I was moving the latest offerings from his bowels he went off, down the lane at full speed disappearing into the darkness. William and I stood and waited. Soon the reassuring clatter of hooves heralded the wonder foals arrival. William chewed thoughtfully as Apollo circled him in the glow of the anti aircraft lights.

They stood shoulder to shoulder facing down the lane, William looked at Apollo and nodded and both took off down the lane Grand National style at full gallop.

I watched and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

No reassuring clatter of hooves.

Great.

They had whats technically known as done a runner.

I got my less than useful torch and with the Magnificent 7 in full cry set off after them. Precious few signs were there for an experienced tracker like myself to follow but judging by the hoof prints in the ice sheet at the bottom of our lane they had obviously considered turning for home before heading off up the hill towards the Ghost House and Mad Keith's. My spirit lifted slightly when I thought the torch had picked out Apollo but it turned out to be our sheep who panicked in the darkness unable to recognise the dogs as friendlies and so stampeded ahead of me hemmed in on the narrow track. We all got to the point it opened out onto the hill and as if by magic Mad Keith was perched on a rock watching the pantomime unfold. "Hi Keith, don't suppose you have seen two horses run through have you?"

"Yes, just now, they're up there" he pointed further up hill.

Great. I increased my pace, so did the tidal wave of sheep before me. Seven dogs ran amok on the hill looking for geriatric rabbits. I shouted over my shoulder, "Was one a white one?" Mad Keith thought a moment before shouting back, "No. Brown I think"

Half a mile ahead the track split in two, if I didn't head the horses off at the pass they would either head back around the hill or head off into thousands of acres of wilderness. I broke into a jog, unhelpfully so did the sheep. The torch illuminated a horses backside running ahead of the sheep, the panic of the sheep spreading to Apollo. William was just trotting along enjoying the adventure. Unbelievably the whole procession was brought to a sudden halt by the two Berners running back towards us having overtaken us all in the darkness. The sheep formed a defensive circle and Apollo skidded to a halt. I caught up with him, put a dog lead around his neck (it being the first thing similar to a lead rope I could find, be prepared, that would be a good motto to live by) and turned for home.

He was exhausted and shuffled along by my side alternately leaning on me for support or dragging his hooves a pace behind. William followed like a naughty child trying to pretend he wasn't really following and the sheep not wanting to miss out on anything fell in behind him.

And so this convoy of animals made its way back around the hill to Rock HQ. Right on cue as we got to the boundary of The Ghost House Apollo froze and refused to move freaking us all out. I had to drag him whilst at the same time conforming to the legend, don't look back.

Eventually we all got back to the safe glow of the anti aircraft lights and the two naughty boys were shut in their stalls without a goodnight story. This little escapade seriously ate into the time available for redecorating so Tracey will have to make do with just a tidy house on her return tomorrow.

What of Trevor and his fat balls?

Well the little shitland has made the most of his latest eviction from the stable block. The trees in the garden are adorned with fat balls for the birds. Little Trevor has managed to find all these bird treats and eat them all. I am expecting his latest offerings for the garden to pop out strung together in green nets.

A narrow escape

I am beginning to question the logic of walking across the hill with a rucksack of apples on my back for the pigs.

Its saving about three pounds a day, obviously the pigs enjoy them and I am getting fitter carrying them. Those are the positives.

There is a down side.

So far I have been accosted by The Oracle who thought I was a thieving hippy, terrorised by a naked hermit running through the bracken, hit on the head countless times a la Issacc Newton in my quest to get the fruit to obey the laws of gravity therefore allowing me to retrieve them from the ground rather than risking life and limb climbing the tree, risked the wrath of the witch from the ghost house (she is an ex witch but the curse remains, don't look back) and exposed myself to injury as the sturdy hazel branch I launch enthusiastically skywards to knock the apples down follows a trajectory that inevitably sends me scurrying for safety (into the path of falling apples) to avoid a head injury.

I am used to getting strange looks from walkers on the hill, usually as I am accompanied by a goat and have a machete in my hand, but wearing a crash helmet as a precaution against falling fruit and logs is perhaps one step too far.

So today I resolved to retrieve the precious fruits from a cottage on the hill which is unoccupied, one of the three holiday homes. This was an easy mission even for an accident prone person like myself. The tree was just inside the garden and no on lives there, its on the dark side of the hill out of view, I can pick the apples at my leisure. Even with a goat and four of the magnificent seven racing around this was going to be easy.

I started to fill my bag but was feeling distinctly uneasy. More uneasy than I did in the garden of the ghost house where you know you are being watched from the windows, don't look back.

I was sure there was someone here in the garden with me. It was then I saw the gardener,my old army skills hadn't deserted me, I saw my foe before he saw me. Admittedly I was assisted by the fact he was using a petrol strimmer which sort of gave his position away and I was able to make a tactical withdrawal without being detected.

Once back on the hill path I regrouped and started back down the hill with my entourage, four dogs and a goat.

Except she was missing.

From the sudden silence of the strimmer and the explosion of oaths Maggie had decided to stay behind and help the gardener. I considered for a moment going back to help, she was after all one of ours, we shouldn't leave her behind, I should show compassion and mercy, it was an unfair fight.

I made good my escape, the gardener would have to fend for himself.

Walking in sunshine

Today was supposed to be Kington Show (see www.kingtonshow.co.uk ) but unfortunately due to the rain of the summer it was cancelled, the showground more suited to an aquatic show rather than an agricultural show. A real shame, especially as Rocky and Reba our Bernese Mountain Dogs were entered in the dog show, the first time for Reba and the first time they had been entered against other Berners.

So with a "spare" day we were able to get to grips with jobs on the smallholding and as luck would have it after days, no, weeks of rain it was a bright and sunny day.

It has been one of those rare days where it all went so well, it was all so easy and a day that makes all the bad ones fade into distant memory.

The sheep were moved to The Ghost House gardens, the lure of the lush green grass and about a ton of free apples about to yield to gravity thus supplementing the dietary requirements of the rampaging Ryelands overcame any superstition associated with the property. The two Gypsy Cobs in the field watched as the intruders fanned out and explored their new surroundings. Moving the sheep is usually an exercise in patience but today they fell for the follow the bucket routine and walked halfway around the hill to their new pasture.

Tracey walked behind making sure no stragglers bolted for the hills, she has been very poorly the last two weeks so it was good to see her out and about in the sunshine enjoying the role of assistant shepherdess. Having collected two large buckets of apples we fed the pigs and watched them for a while. We put the boys out in brilliant sunshine, they all behaved and William only bit Apollo once and only nearly stamped his brains out in the first five minutes. After that they settled and when we fetched them in this evening Apollo was grazing just behind William so they seem to have bonded.

The poorly sheep, see strangers from a strange land, was turned out today, she has put on weight but still has ribs like a toast rack and a strange lump on her jaw. She is happy enough and was soon grazing alongside our magnificent Ryeland Ram.

The day went so well we got all the jobs done that were on the list, a first.

I went back just now to check the sheep and was pleased to see them all contently lying around chewing the cud, bellies full of apples and grass. I made sure they had water and collected some more apples for the pigs breakfast. It was getting dark. I was in the garden of the Ghost House.

I must admit I didn't look at the windows and as I left I didn't look back as lore dictates. Neither did I start running when I heard something running up behind me. Faith our setter sped past, Poppy on the other hand saw where I was heading and had sat waiting at the lanes entrance not wanting to go into the garden. Once I was sure I was out of sight of the house I turned and looked behind me, a full moon rising over the trees silhouetting the hill beautifully. Right on cue an owl hooted, which really did sound like a howl. The legend of the Black Dog sprang to mind and I headed home, I didn't run, but I did walk very quickly.

All quiet on the Western Front

Strange weather here today, lots of heavy rain and then a fantastic burst of sunshine. Jobs got done in quick time tonight, one of those evenings when it all seemed to go too smoothly. The sheep were somewhere on the hill, the goats were almost certainly bothering them somewhere so they were not around my feet or jumping into the feed buckets as I carried them to the pigs and horses.

At the bottom of the lane I saw an ominous set of tyre tracks leading off up to the ghost house. I did think I would collect some more apples for the pigs, they like free food as much as I do, but as I was stood pondering the meaning of the tyre tracks, the pros and cons of carrying a heavy bucket full of apples a third of a mile home I saw out of the corner of my eye a familiar shape amongst the bracken. I pretended not to notice wondering what Mad Keith was up to, more importantly what he would do next and whether I should drop the bucket if I had to run.

He sidled over trying to look as nonchalant as a hermit can when discovered in the foliage.

He stood with me looking at the tracks and we shared a few moments silence.

"I thought you were Murphy" he eventually said his voice tinged with relief.

I looked at him, he was studying my face for a reaction, he nodded "Ah, Murphy's back" he added as he watched me scuff the stones in the track with my boot as the implications of the information were dawning.

"I didn't know" I replied looking up the hill to the ghost house perched on a small westerly facing spot, the hill looked so peaceful. Mad Keith followed my gaze, "Ah, I thought you was him see, I saw him this morning but I pretended to be busy, I avent got time for him."

"Thanks for letting me know Keith, I'll give getting the apples a miss"

"He likes the apples too,I dunno what he does with em, crab apple cider I spect." he chuckled to himself.

"Cheers Keith" I turned and headed back along the lane, a narrow escape, Murphy is back on the hill. It is indicative of how much of your time he takes in any encounter if the techno hermit hasn't got time to spend talking to him. I knew the evening was going too smoothly, with him back we would all have to be vigilant that he didn't catch us unawares with a "I can see you're busy...."

Perhaps we should pretend we've moved until Mad Keith gives the all clear.

Its a dog Holmes!

As its the weekend I did plan to lie in a bit longer than our usual morning routine allows. I should have known our tribe of critters would have other plans. The Bernese alarm clock went off at around half five and then the dawn chorus of hungry goats bleating under the bedroom window put paid to any thoughts of sneaking back to my bed and grabbing another hour of much needed kip.

Never mind I thought, this will allow me to catch up with a few garden jobs and I can have a long and leisurely breakfast. Again the plan and reality differed greatly as Reba, pictured here, decided to take off over the hill forcing her hapless owner to abandon his full cooked English and find her.

The hill is currently covered in five foot high stems of bracken so making it impossible to see anything unless its the size of a small elephant. Much calling and silent swearing failed to produce the missing pooch. Swearing has to be silent as Tracey has a swear box, a pound an expletive towards her new dog. Tracey joined the search, we found out why our sheep have suddenly stopped turning up for breakfast, The Oracle has taken to feeding them as they look so cute. So our fat Ryelands have persuaded a grizzled border farmer to part with sheep nuts, as he says they are now his friends for life, or rather as long as there are sheep nuts in his bucket. After a light breakfast with him they then bother Mad Keith for bread so no its wonder we don't see them.

Tracey decided to go back to Rock HQ while I was ordered to go up to the technohermits collection of shacks to see if he had seen our dog. I don't know why but as I approached the ghost house today I felt distinctly uneasy, the sun shone through the leafy canopy of the trees as they arched over the path but it was noticeably colder. Rabbits were grazing ahead, not actually going onto the lawn of the white house in front of me. No one was home, as usual. For the first time since we have been here I let the stories of the house influence me and I turned back from the path and headed home. I didn't, just like instructed by the stories look back. Anyway with rabbits on the path it was clear my dog hadn't ventured that way.

She was on the hill, probably adding to the legends and ghost stories that abound in this area. There is for instance a huge black dog that terrorises the hills, if you come to Rock HQ you will meet three real live ones, but this legend has been around since the fifteen hundreds.
A local Lord, a nasty fellow called Black Vaughn was on the losing side at a battle and beheaded. His ghost tormented the locals until thirteen priests were summonsed and were so frightened as they tried to exorcise his ghost from the local church that they lost their minds. One did however manage to reduce the ghost to the size of a fly and catch it in a snuff box, which was then thrown into a big pond on top of the hill next to ours. Some local sap let the fly out of the box and Black Vaughn's ghost manifested as a big vicious black dog forever roaming the hills and scaring the locals, usually on their way home after they had been to the pub.

Some chap called Sir Arthur Conan Doyle heard this story and published it as The Hound Of The Baskervilles. Now you know.

Anyway our hound of the Baskervilles was found by Tracey sat in the conservatory covered in sticky bods and reeking of fox pooh. Obviously she had picked up the scent and set off to investigate rolling in every turd she found along the trail.

She was feeling very pleased with herself, not nearly as pleased as the cats were feeling after helping themselves to my unattended breakfast.