Crafty swine!

The pigs have raised the bar, war may have to be declared. Before I describe their latest antics we had a bit of a mystery to solve when we got back today. First signs that something was not quite right was a huge pile of doings in the lane. Far too big for poultry or sheep and as there are no flying elephants here some other animal must have evacuated on the lane. As we rounded the bend a dopey looking Gypsy Cob was stood where the car wanted to be. Not quite sure how he got there but absolutely certain he should be in the field we baled out of Fifi and grabbed him before his two brain cells knocked together and he took off over the hills.

Over the last few days we have found gates open onto the hill, our sheep were literally having a field day munching the local militias grass until they were rounded up and shut the right side of the fence. There is a rumour that a local chap gets one on him from time to time and wanders round leaving all the gates open. This continues until the militia fed up with having to retrieve wandering livestock temporarily solve the matter with a few sharp words and a punch on the nose. Thinking Apollo may have been one of his latest run free projects we pondered on what had happened. A quick recce of the perimeter suggested a different story. Apollo is a horse who is fixated with his backside, so much so he spends hours, literally hours scratching his bottom on anything he deems suitable. Today he was stood on a steep section of Willow Rise scratching himself on a rotten post which snapped causing that section of fence to suddenly disappear from behind him. He then did an equine backwards roll through the sudden gap and when he recovered from the surprise found himself the wrong side of the fence. Not one to waste an opportunity he spent the next few hours stuffing himself until we came home.

Back to the pigs.

The trough was placed against the fence next to the garden so I could feed them without actually risking mortal injury by getting in the pen. The pigs, obviously missing the sport of making me jump like a demented bunny have moved the trough to the far end of the pig pen thus forcing me to enter their domain to do battle. Their latest tactic is to lie quietly in the shadow of the barn and to rush en masse when I get halfway across the pen. A race then ensues as we all rush to the trough. I win if I deposit the feed in the trough before the pork swarm can create fresh wounds on their irate owners legs.