The are many battles smallholders fight. Some are massive wars of attrition such as the one waged against the ever encroaching Bracken, whoever gives up first loses. So far armed with a petrol strimmer I have managed to carve nearly three acres of reasonable grassland from the strangle hold of the dreaded ferns.
Then there are battles that you cannot win, like the one against the weather so you adapt, adopt and improvise to get the jobs done before the weather wins. Or how about the battle you must win at all costs, keeping the goats out of the garden, constant vigilance is called for and sometimes parts of the garden have to be sacrificed in order to let the goats think they are winning while you regroup and launch a new offensive.
Perhaps the strangest battle is the one over the eggs. It seems all of the inhabitants of Rock HQ want to get their hands, paws, claws and even hooves on the rent from the hens. I turn my back for a second tonight and Faith hurdles the barn door and takes off with two eggs in her mouth. Last night Reba ate 14 eggs collected and put for safe keeping on the kitchen worktop.
But the strangest thief of all is Trevor, caught on camera having eggs for breakfast!
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