We come in peace

Unless you don't feed us, then it will be a riot. Daffodil as nominated spokesheep asking for extra rations. Very brave these sheep, they hunt in packs.

Suffering Piles

Its a well known fact that most smallholders suffer from piles. I have been for a while now and the last few days have finally addressed this embarrassing problem. Most of the jobs you do outside in all weathers will result in piles. One had got so big that it was causing problems, not least of which that Stable Sprite usually reversed over it as he tried to escape from Rock HQ. The piles of wood along the lane have now been reduced by one, all hand sawn for the wood burner. It was going to be used for the outside barbq but as that has not been built yet it seemed daft keeping the wood for its sole use. Its now heating the house nicely and I will endeavour to avoid a new outbreak of piles with the next lot of pruning.

We have lived here for just over three years now, and most days we see a neighbour of ours, a very friendly old boy who sits and watches the world, occasionally passing comment as you walk by. Ben the no eared collie has been a constant in the lane and in his owners yard, always ready with a friendly wag of the tail if you are by yourself, ever ready to assert his authority over his yard if you are with one or all of the magnificent seven (now ten). Ever vigilant for House Martins, sitting for hours on the barn steps jumping up as one flew in and out. Never nasty, the occasional playful nip of the calf as you shut the gate just to let you know he is in charge. All in all a very nice and happy collie who got over his severe mauling by a Staffie that left him with no ears but still with his good nature intact.

Today as we drove through his domain I spotted him lying in his usual sheltered spot, flat out asleep. He usually lifted his head to let you know he had seen you leave but today he was strangely quiet. I watched as Tracey shut the gate, the noise didn't rouse him. Jess his companion looked on, head bowed. Tracey and I went over to check. Jess gave a slight wag of encouragement with her tail as I spoke to and stroked Ben. The poor lad had just gone to sleep. For good. Telling his owner was difficult, watching Jess sit next to him when I carried him to his bed was heartbreaking.

Some good news today, Ben, our son Ben the army officer, has been promoted early so he is happy and we are immensely proud of him. Even better news is that we have reconnected the water tank to the stable, disconnected since the trees were felled last year. Its now fed by a temporary pipe from the well, so the muddy stream water that used to supply the tanks is no longer needed. Somehow the connector from the bottom of the tank had got mislaid in the passing months so this was solved in typical Rock HQ style by whittling down a 20mm pipe so the side walls were only half as thick, some PVA tape and a large hammer. Sorted.

In the club

A momentous day here at Rock HQ as we are now in the club. We have a trailer! One step closer to being real farmers our lovely Rice trailer will allow us the freedom to move stuff, fetch stuff, even temporarily shelter poorly beasts and take them to the vet if the needs arise.

Fetching it was a real baptism of fire, dragging it out of the muddy grass Rene did very well and thankfully was able to turn in the yard without the need for a dreaded reversing maneuver. So happy were we that this super useful item would make life so much easier that we called on the way home to fetch some straw to make a deep litter for Hetty.

No problem said Mrs Farmer, just back up and go through the other gate and its there, help yourself. Mr Farmer arrived. Straw you want, its over there, cant move that he said pointing to the massive tractor barring my way, have to back up, go through the other gates, you know where it is, help yourself.

I could see there was no way out of this, except backwards. Master Farmer arrives, pockets jangling with tractor keys, salvation! Whats he want (not addressing me) Straw, he thumbs the direction of the straw, have to back up. He grinned.

Yes I know. With heavy heart I climbed back into Rene while they sorted out picnic chairs and score cards and settled to watch the entertainment. In terror I gripped the steering wheel and selected reverse. Somehow, and I feel much to their disappointment, Rene and trailer managed to miss the stone garden wall, the side of the barn and the Warrior 4x4 lurking by the side. We cautiously made our way round to the other gates, a huge yard awaited with massive turning circle. Usually.

Today there was a cattle lorry, a giant tractor and trailer, another tractor, an open barn door and a curious dog whose mission was to pee on all 8 of our moving wheels. It was a virgin trailer reverser's nightmare that could only have been made worse with flaming oil drums and snipers on the roof. My audience reappeared and while I composed myself plotting a new escape route they nodded approvingly while Tracey loaded the trailer under the dogs supervision. By extreme fluke I managed to get the trailer and Rene facing the right direction without damaging any one's paintwork or dog. Next test reverse a slalom on a live firing range whilst blindfolded with one hand tied behind my back. Easy. Bring it on.

Life behind bars

Any one noticed this muppet of a lamb wedged behind the five bar gates? I only just spotted her as I walked in for a cuppa.

Little Joan, a tiny coloured Ryeland lamb (we have a bigger cat than her) had decided the grass was greener behind the gates and pressed onwards until she got completely stuck

She was a bit stiff but none the worse for wear and as you can see Geisha was pleased her little shadow was back.

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Thanks Dad

I took Stable Sprite to see the cutting room and all the techno butchery gear today with a view to buying some of the kit together like the 50/50 bacon slicer we already have. He sold us our first pigs and since I first started bothering him we have become friends despite the fact he is a lot older than me and he hates snow. On the way he asked if I had a business plan other than the machinery is all shiny. Er... no, but its so shiny and clean and for sale so its got to be worth having.

We had a good look around, the fully fitted cutting room was a palace to butchery, in every cupboard there were sharp things, armoured aprons, chain mail and stainless steel goodies that looked like the Inquisition would buy a set. We opened one cupboard and found a hydraulic sausage maker capable of turning a whole elephant into bangers in 6.7 seconds. Stable Sprite just shook his head and watched while I wandered round making noises like a distressed magpie.


I began to realise that bringing Stable Sprite was like taking your Dad to see a motorbike, he wasn't going to be impressed. We left. Cheque books intact. Over a massive breakfast of sausage egg bacon and beans at Rock HQ Stable Sprite aka Dad passed judgement. "Shall we buy it?"
" No." was the emphatic answer. "How many pigs have you got?" he continued.
None.
"Have we got a room to put it in?"
No.
"Do we need all that stuff, really, yes I know its shiny, but will we need it?"
Thoughts of epic battles with a hose firing mince at 100,000,000 miles an hour into ever expanding sausage skins combined with my ability to cock things up sprang to mind. No.
"So why are we thinking of spending money on kit we don't need, for a room we don't have for pigs we haven't got?"
Apparently because its there, good enough for Mallory was not a good enough reason for Stable Sprite, and because its shiny cut no ice either.

Fresh meat for the grinder

Spring seemed to be in the air at Rock HQ and although it might look like its snowing in the stable in these pictures this is no freak of nature.

Dotty and Bliss decided to help us out while we mucked and got amongst the sawdust sending plumes skywards in what they thought was a great game. Lucky for them Apollo was more interested in eating his breakfast rather than exercising his authority over his quarters.

The spring type weather put us in a good mood and much of the day was spent planning for future events, like the arrival of Hetty. Despite not having an income at the moment we decided to invest in a trailer that looked like an absolute bargain from a farm over the hill. This will be put to good use fetching and carrying feed, hay, transporting the boys, taking the pigs to slaughter and of course fetching our prize Dexter. The nice lady who sold us the trailer also has a fully fitted cutting room and all the industrial gubbins needed to supply an army with sausages, burgers and packed fresh meat. I have decided to buy the mincer and burger press, as long as I can sell enough of my Star Wars lego all will be well. There was so much stuff there. She even had a walk in cold room to store all the meat in, go on make me an offer for the lot, I'll even deliver it she said. If only we were lottery winners!

Anyway after lusting after her sausage maker she did plant the seed of an idea that by the time we got home had germinated into a fully grown plan. She had three bucket calves, these little beasts sell quite cheaply as a by product of the dairy industry, bull calves are killed almost as soon as they are born as no one wants them. This means that there are many cheap calves available to those who have the time and inclination to bucket feed them and get them up to a good size before they are turned into beef. One of these would be ideal to keep Hetty company, and as two are just as easy to look after as one, well why not. So if all goes well they will be here the week after Hetty.

Accommodation is always tight here so the goats are on a final countdown. Either they go to a good home or they become a new culinary experiment and rugs. Goat burgers anyone?

DIY with animals

I'm not sure how useful he thought he was being but Rocky our Berner decided to "help" me with the decorating today. It was never going to be an easy task, painting the conservatory walls with so much through traffic but I decided the wear and tear had got too much to bear so a quick lick of paint and a promise to do it properly once the new entrance through the annex was completed would have to suffice. The first coat applied yesterday had a near perfect right hand dog print where he lent against it while watching me do the complicated bit around the door and behind the settle.

Suitably chastised he kept a low profile today as I wielded the paintbrush for round two. All went well, the dogs and I avoided each other long enough for me to paint the walls and dog hair. I was happy. They were happy. I fed the critters and started carrying logs into the cottage. At this point both Rocky and I forgot about the wet paint, I walked into the conservatory, he saw me coming and dived behind the settle, so we passed each other without meeting as it were. As I put the logs down I remembered the paint, about the same time as Rocky. While he went and hid I repainted the furry patches and locked the door. Apart from the two cat paw prints just under the open window it looks pretty professional now.

This pic is from the Cauldron, its where the trolls live. Its also where the prototype Easter Island heads were carved. You can see one on the right. Hey! Its my reality, don't mess with it.

Coals to Newcastle

The last of the bacon was sorted out today, somehow since the start of November when we turned one of the boars into bacon, all except two back legs and a middle back piece has vanished into thin air.
Admittedly we did have a couple of accidents and the front picnic hams spoiled but the rest has either been eaten in sarnies or given away. Mostly sarnies. Big sarnies. Several times a day.

As the 50/50 bacon slicer is stored over at Stable Sprites domain I took the legs that I had boned and the pack of back to his kitchen where they were expertly sliced into the best looking gammons and some first class rashers. He was on the point of running out of feed so in exchange for a humungous breakfast of sausage bacon egg and beans I gave him enough to tide him over until he fetches a ton in the morning.

While I sliced he cooked and we spoke about the horror story of the Happy Pig Company. A truly miserable tale of how two people decided to keep pigs, didn't look after them, some died, the others starved, the pigs resorted to cannibalism of the bodies until a neighbour alerted the RSPCA. The poor survivors were in such poor condition that three had to be put out of their misery on site. The excuse, the pig keepers were ill. These two frequented the farmers markets selling their rare breeds pork at premium prices, under an organic banner, telling the customers who were happily spending £35 for a few chops that the pigs were fed fresh food in a field with sea breezes. The picture in the newspaper of the poor dead pig in a wheelbarrow in a sea of excrement and mud tells a different tale. Apparently the two pig keepers intend to start again once the dead ones have been removed and the RSPCA have finished their investigation. A quote from one of the chaps concerned, "Even the dead ones were happy pigs until they died" would indicate a complete lack of regard for the poor unhappy creatures they "cared" for. (The story is on line in the Daily Mail under Unhappy Pig Company)

The reason our pork and bacon tastes so good is that the pigs have had a genuinely happy time here, playing chase with the dogs, rummaging around the garden, looking for tasty treats hidden around the pig pen. Bronwyn became a firm favourite of visitors as she was the most persistent of escapees, so much so it became a waste of time putting her back so she had free run of the smallholding until it was time for her to meet her destiny, providing Pig Club with pork and sausage. Thank you Bronwyn. You were a good pig, and made excellent meat.

Remember, you get what you pay for, sausages that are 46% mechanically reclaimed "meat", most of which are from chicken carcasses are not real food.

If you want real food join Pig Club.