Never say Never Again!

This might look like a dark shadow lurking behind Kayleigh our agoraphobic goat but it is in fact a very well bred animal called Maisey who has just joined us at Rock HQ. She hails from way up north, County Durham originally, before moving to west Wales where she was trained and shown, got pregnant (hussy) had kids and from that point her show career was over as her udder went a funny shape. Not the shape judges admire anyway. So the nice man who sold us Kayleigh (she actually has a very posh Welsh name that when pronounced properly sounds like an angel singing, if I say it it sounds like I have just barfed on my shoe, so we call her Kayleigh) who had trained Maisey called us on the off chance we wanted another garden botherer.

How could we refuse? With Kayleigh giving us enough milk to bath in and Kurry soon to be a tandoori recipe it was obvious we needed another goat, especially as she is also agoraphobic and allergic to gardens. Anyway Anglo Nubian Goats are like chocolates, one is never enough.

So tonight I got to milk two goats. One stood quietly and ate her food while letting me get at the white stuff. The other kicked the jug over, bit my left ear and kicked me in the right. Once I explained to Maisey the options available, compliance or spicy cookery she settled down and I got enough out of her to compensate for the bruises and feed Kurry.

A.N.D.Q!

Garden planning

Its been another glorious day on the Bonsai Mountain, perhaps the 5th sunny day in a row, inevitably attention is turning to the "garden" or warzone. The vegetation and trees have fought gallantly against marauding hordes of hoofed beast determined to eat their fill, the end result of this onslaught is defoliation on an almost agent orange scale. One green house has been ruined by hungry goats keen to exploit the fig tree and grape vines, and a mental cow who took to sleeping in it after making her own entrance, and then a different exit, just in case. Plans are afoot to rectify the wreckage, part of which is the demise of Ambrose our last long range goat who is about to make a contribution to Rock HQ other than stripping the bark off the fruit trees. Our new version Anglo Nubian being agoraphobic is a much better form of goat and as she hates outdoors is environmentally friendly. I am going to be a bit more sensible about what we plant though, our first year here I planted dozens of everything and got precious little in return, I mean no one really needs to plant twenty types of melon do they? Especially when you end up with no actual melons for your hard work.

Day 1 30 30 Hill lvl 12 10.4km

Dont frighten the horses!

There were several points today where activities could have descended into chaos. Observers watching a fat bloke "running" up and down the lane being either the chaser or chasee of pigs might argue the toss and say it had but at the end of play I am happy with the results of our honest labours.

Kayleigh and Kurry were moved from the plush interior of the stables to the new goat house at the end of the kennel block. This entails fencing off 12 feet of the concrete runway with a nice shiny metal gate giving Kayleigh the agoraphobic Anglo Nubian a nice sun terrace. Once installed in new quarters she spent most of her time leaning against the walls complaining the sky was falling in or hiding behind the hay rack as the horses were looking at her in a funny way. Kurry took it all in his stride and danced around in a highly entertaining way oblivious to his mothers phobias.

The newly purchased hurdles formed a barrier across the yard and for the first time livestock entering the yard were faced with a barrier that at least looked like one, not the usual collection of strategically placed vehicles, wheelbarrows and wishful thinking, this being the only thing stopping whatever beast it was heading off to the hills.

Today's beasts were stampeding pigs who, having not been fed breakfast were keen to tell me of the error of my ways. I led the way and soon had all the pigs crammed with some enthusiasm into the stable, a slight faux pas on my side was not having been confident this would work I had failed to leave any real food in the stable to occupy the curious pork until the door was shut. With a squeal of "Back its a trap" they all ran back out of the door and back down the lane hoping that the breakfast fairies had been in their absence.

This continued until two of the three little pigs were safe in the stable with Iggle and Piggle, one of the little pigs being a bit more wary than its siblings refused to leave the safety of the Bonsai Mountain.

Thor was then persuaded to leave the med bay, say goodbye to Apollo and get in amongst the Mangalitzas Pam and Bridget. Here a transformation took place. Our boar of questionable sexuality suddenly became all boarish. Drooling over everything he marked the perimeter of the pen with foamy flob and tiddled over everyone and everything while the girls made idiots of themselves and squealed and squeaked with delight every time Thor strutted by. He even managed a couple of attempted mounts, bossed the girls around who unbelievably became all passive and stole their food.

Confident that Thor now knew his place, his purpose and status in the animal kingdon I left him to get on with chopping wood (there is a saga re wood, oil, heating, sulky rayburns and clever electricians, but you will have to wait) while he got on with what he had been bought for.

Quite why some four minutes later he was back under Apollos belly rubbing himself in a most undignified manner and frightening the horses is a question that only he can answer. I suppose true love conquers all, and that includes fences.

Dawn of a new ice age

An extraordinary sight greeted us this morning, the ground, trees and most slow moving critters were coated in frost. Mid January and frost? Who ever would have thought it? Why it was plus 13 the other day, I was outside at midnight wearing only a t shirt (well not only I had trousers and boots but you know what I mean) and here we are minus 6! Somebody should do something about this sort of thing. I blame the Government. So it would seem winter has finally got fed up with spring trying to push in and has put in a late appearance.

I was happy about this as it meant less sloshing around in knee deep mud

and even the mundane became more attractive when coated in ice crystals.

Jobs of the day included some real therapeutic stuff. Chopping logs is always fun. And butch. Much more macho than milking goats and I am embarrassed to say that I am getting goat maids grip, a sort of cramp that occurs from repetitive squeezing, however this is a small price to pay for the lovely creamy milk on my soggies this morning. I also realised late last night that the startled looks on the faces of colleagues when I left a late evening meeting saying "I'm sorry I have to go and milk the goat" was from them thinking this was some new form of euphemism for something unsavoury.

Time was spent with the new arrivals, and after a trip to a Gate shop (yes there are such things)we look like, for once, we are organised as the new hurdles will keep Kurry from the milk bar (he has been helping himself) and when we add the rest of the hurdles there will be lambing pens aplenty. Much much different from our first lambing in 2007 where one ewe was separated from the other by old rabbit hutches and string. We thought we were doing well when we used straw bale walls last year, but these metal hurdles with interlocking ends and clip on hay racks are the bee's knees and almost as much fun a Lego!

Tomorrow there are a lot of moves planned, the new goats go into a bespoke goat house with patio (just in case the agoraphobia is cured) The three now not so little pigs plus Iggle and Piggle move into the space vacated by Kayleigh and Kurry, (where they await the quick trip to the clestial sty and Mr Whirlpool) Thor moves out of what was always supposed to be the dairy, but is usually the med bay or emergency shelter, and down to live in the pig pen with Bridget and Pamela. What we hope will happen is that there Thor will forget his love for Apollo and do the business with his own kind. This might be wishful thinking but we are nothing if not optimistic at Rock HQ.
Not sure what Apollo will think of it.

USP

Some of our readers have felt compelled to email over the last 24 hours, the theme being, given my allergy to goats, and the blatant prejudice demonstrated toward the species on the new webpage under the title "Goats. Why bother?" , what then would possess me to seek out and buy some more.

Well rest assured my desire to be as goat free at Rock HQ is as strong as ever. A quick look down the "garden" where you can review the detritus of battles lost against the ravenous hordes of milkless horned cloven hoofed pestilence who stripped the fruit trees of all vegetation,fruit and bark, who ignored the no entry signs on the veg patch, conquered the goat proof fence and decimated all signs of life, or the smashed up greenhouses that contained the almost ripe crop of tomatoes devoured in an instant, is more than enough reason to get rid of all goat like creatures lurking around the smallholding. Ambrose is in the exit lounge as I type, he having only a few days left before sampling Caribbean cookery.

So why Kayliegh and Kurry?

Were they such a bargain I could not refuse?

Well not really, they cost a fair number of beer tokens.

Was it the thought of all the milk, yoghurt, cheese and Ice Cream made from Kayliegh's contribution to her keep (not to mention the replacement curry ingredients from Kurry thrown in free) well partly, the fridge does contain 4 litres of the white stuff, the dogs have had a fair share and Kurry has been fed. So Kayleigh has already contributed and done some good work for goat kind.

No, this goat has a unique selling point, one so appealing that even I who has suffered at the hoof of goats for five long years simply could not resist.

Kayliegh is agoraphobic.

The garden is safe.

Like clockwork

Every now and then, when the planets are in alignment, the four horsemen of the apocalypse are otherwise engaged and the small gods of smallholding are looking the other way, you get a really good day. A day that lifts your heart, makes you think that actually all this effort is worthwhile and that for once being coated in the doings of several species is justified. Yes I am talking about day planned and day actual being one and the same. A day that was planned with military precision, the success of which relied on timing, a day that went like clockwork.

The bar was perhaps set too high, but we had no choice. We could borrow a small stock trailer, Wednesday only, morning only, a small stock trailer needed for two jobs, job one, collect a goat that I had for some insane reason felt compelled to buy(never say never) and a goat which I was assured would provide us with milk and curry. Milk to the sum of 7 pints a day, and curry in six months as the male kid given to sweeten the deal would be the main ingredient of several, and he would with a bit of effort make a fetching rug.

However moving goats on the the smallholding would mean that Guinevere and Morgana Berkshire sows would not be able to go to see the boar for a long time as we would be on shutdown, no stock movement off site. As small trailer would also transport pigs it was a simple matter of collecting trailer from different countrymove job one collect goat to job two so new job one became persuade the right two sows to leave the pig pen (which contains 9 pigs of different sizes and breed, all untrained) and get in a trailer for the first time ever in their lives (they got here on the back seat of Hazel the almost 4x4, don't ever buy a car off us) take them to the land of the Stable Sprite, unload, drive across the county to collect goat and kid, return, unload new critters and get to work on time. Simple. What could possibly go wrong?

For once absolutely nothing. Morgana led the way, Guinevere followed albeit through a different gate but both took to the trailer like fish to bicycles. Locked and loaded we went to the magic kingdom of Stable Sprite which to some looks like a barren wasteland but is actually work in progress, he was eventually coaxed out of hiding and took charge of the sows. His boar then tried to take charge of the sows but they took to charging off, but they will all get together in the end. Pig club needs the recruits! (Pig club news sheet will be sent this weekend honest!)

We made it to the car park of The Little Chef some miles away in time to collect our new Anglo Nubian, Kayleigh (yes another Marillion fan in goat form) and her son Kurry (uncanny!)

Safely aboard we got back to HQ and unloaded our precious charges into the stable, I got changed from smallholder to social worker and made it to the Red Kite office at the allotted time. Just in time for tea and biscuits. Hurrah!

Later, much later, after milking Kayliegh and fattening up Kurry with a bottle of her milk I made a statement that I knew the small gods of smallholding could not ignore.

I simply said, "You know (this was a comment to the world in general as my beautiful and oh so patient wife was beyond listening to me having a highly entertaining goatling to play with, yes I know she shouldn't play with her food)

You know (I repeated it in case she had forgotten what I was about to say on account of brackets)

You Know (for emphasis) either we are getting better at this smallholding lark or we were incredibly lucky today"

The world held it breath and waited for the definitive answer.

There was a loud whinney and crash.

Trevor kicked in Hazels door.

We were lucky.

MLS spreads

Geisha used to get MLS, beofre she exploded (goats do this from time to time be warned) but we thought it was peculiar to her and her ANDQ ways. Here's Ambrose struck down by a rogue sunbeam, even a glancing blow can trigger MLS!

Long night, longer day

Yesterday's encounter with a swarm of wasps faded into insignificance, if feeling like your scalp is bathed in acid is ever insignificant, compared to later events. I went out at around midnight to check Pam the Mangaliza and wasn't surprised to find a deficit of piglets, but as I stood by the gate wished instant pig birth a strange sound echoed around the smallholding, an eerie wailing that made everything freeze and listen. In the maximum security unit Geisha, who had to be fair alerted us to the likelihood of poorlyness earlier on, was now very ill. We had tried to sort her out during the day, a succulent selection of greenery freshly cut was turned down. Not a good sign. We put on her favourite Marillion album (Anglo Nubian's prefer prog rock to heavy metal) but she lay in the corner and refused to perk up. Now, at the start of the small hours she was wailing with tummy ache.
This is where Darwin's theory is seriously flawed, survival of the fittest and all that, the origin of the species is lacking a chapter on self combustion in goats. Goats are, for the uninitiated, mobile chemical reactions on legs. Every second of the day their internal chemistry set bubbles and fizzes away, always on the point of critical mass, threatening to self destruct. Too much of one foodstuff and they explode. Literally. Their internal organs go to war against the host and usually the first thing you know about it is a goat that has ceased to be.
As we are now seasoned campaigners in the chemical war we know what to look out for. A goat failing to be cheered up by Marillion's Fugazi is one, but secondary signs like scouring (runny poos) were absent. Now, just past the Witching hour Geisha looked like she was lining up for the mother of all chemical reactions. Having tried to revive her and failing the fourth emergency service was called and the vet responded within minutes. Over a much needed cuppa tactics were discussed and together we tried to get Geisha to stay away from the light. Pipes were stuck where they shouldn't be in any goat and soon she was giving off a foul smelling gas, injections to relive the pain, combat the infection and prevent muscle spasms were all administered. By 3am she showed no real sign of rallying but was breathing easy and her heart rate was down. Still no poo which was a worry, Geisha can out poo the horses, combined on a good day.
We left her to it and in the morning at first light (still no piglets) Geisha was alive, and moving around. Experience warned against hope. Luckily I could do my work from home today, and between phone calls, letters sent and meetings organised I checked on the med bay. 10 am saw me back at the vets getting more injections and liquid paraffin to drench her in a final bid to clear anything causing whatever it was, but even as I tipped the goo down her throat her eyes told me it was pointless.
Lunchtime and I thought she had gone but she woke with a start and tried to stand. This was pitiful to watch and she gave up preferring to be stroked where she lay. Her breathing was slow and laboured and we were in the final stages. By 4pm she seemed to be in fresh pain, the drugs wearing off perhaps, or worse symptoms showing them self so a call to the vet to come and end it. Tracey my beautiful and oh so patient and very tearful wife went into the med bay to say goodbye at which point Geisha gave a final mew and passed on to the great vegetable garden in the sky where gardeners are happy to see her and welcome her ravishing of the ever growing crops.
Another call to the vet to cancel his trip over with the humane killer, thankfully there was no need to shoot our pet. I caught up with him later on, both of us had had a bad day, and we chatted about life, the universe and exploding goats. His view was she had got some catastrophic gut complaint, like a twist which meant she shut down and died. Anglo Nubian's do quit sometimes. Nothing could be done. We have had a run of bad luck, Rainbow the foal, Jester the lamb hit by a bike and now Geisha. With a pig about to farrow and a Bernese Mountain dog about to have pups we are hoping the run has ended.

None shall pass!

We don't get much traffic passing Rock HQ, our lane leads nowhere except to the swamp in The Cauldron. Many years ago there was some form of track that led along the Bonsai Mountain and occasionally a coal truck would venture along dropping off fuel to Rock HQ and the next cottage along. Lack of traffic is a good thing, considering the free range nature of our critters, we have only had one end up as road kill, Barry White one of the little Ryeland lambs got squished under white van mans tyres as he reversed into the turning circle.

So as we have 50 million acres of space to play in it did come as a bit of a surprise to find a dispute on one of the sheep trails at the top end of The Cauldron. Geisha the Anglo Nubian Goat and Ferny Fern Fern from Ferntown were heading one way while Levi, Joan and Petal were intent on going the other. This led to a snarl up, neither side felt like stepping off the track to let the others pass. There was a lot of pushing and shoving but both Geisha and Levi were convinced they had the right of way and would not yield. Levi should remember that A.N.D.Q!

As far as I know they are all still there.

Gizzit!

Chopping logs is thirsty work, but your ginger beer is not safe with Geisha around!A.N.D.Q!

Still alive!

Geisha the Anglo Nubian Goat puts a lot of effort into sleeping, it wears her out. Another case of MLS at Rock HQ.

A.N.D.Q!

Regular guests might have noticed a few bits missing from these pages, this is because our technowiz Sara has revamped her page, see mountainbikegirl in the margin, and in doing so forgot the arcane links to our pages where photos and banners were intrinsically linked. Normal service will be resumed when she sobers up enough to answer the phone.

Meanwhile.

The Dolyhir Bernese Mountain Dog site (see margin) was almost finished today by a technowizard called Rob, so by this time next week it will be "live" and fans of the best dogs in the world will have pages and pages of Berners to look at. Work will then begin in earnest on the new Tales from the Rock site.

Meanwhile.

Driving today across the mountain a blur of movement on my right, out of the drivers side door I was amazed to see a Red Kite. Flying. Flying about five feet off the road surface, parallel to me and matching my speed. For a millisecond we were eye to eye before it peeled off right over the gorse and bracken.

Signs and portents.

Sore point

This is Apollo who has an itch that can only be reached by destroying the magnolia tree.

We have been let down by technology this weekend, none of the videos taken have uploaded except this one taken nearly a week ago. The tree has been radically pruned since his attention.

He has been expelled from the garden since its makeover having done a marvelous job in lieu of lawnmower. The downside being that he owes Tracey another vase and some flowers after he wandered into the sitting room and helped himself to her cut roses.

On the subject of roses there have been two disasters today. I carefully strimmed through an ornamental rose bush hidden by some long grass, a feat only beaten by Geisha our Anglo Nubian who had obviously overheard me extolling the virtues of the final remaining rose bush with its mass of fragrant pink blooms and which now resembles a collection of autumn twigs as the green and flowery bits proved to be a fine goat snack.

Needs must!

After all the trouble the goats give me and the effort I go to to keep them out of the garden it might seem strange that today I chose to take Juliet and Bravo with me while I planted out the courgettes and sorted the tomato greenhouse.

While I was otherwise engaged they made short work of the weeds that have got a bit out of hand in the raised beds that are being rested and the brambles around the pig pen. It worked a treat, I would like to claim the idea as my own but all good ideas at Rock HQ stem from Tracey.

Mind you I watched them like a hawk, like that saying goes, keep your friends close and your enemies closer still!

The Boys are happy to be outside so much, just as well as their stables are being put to good use as a casualty clearing station for goats with bad feet and as a maternity ward for the goats that refuse to produce their kids. Finally we seem to have cured the Anglo Nubians bad feet and Maggie and Geisha are walking normally after a shot of anti biotics, buckets of savlon wash and several cans of purple spray, some of which I managed to get onto the target area of the infected hoof but most of which I managed to apply to myself, my clothes and my wife who was holding the offending goats limb steady for me at the time.

Tomorrow should be interesting, the Technohermit has invited me for a cup of tea at 7pm. I'm unsure what the protocol is on these occassions, should I take my own cup I wonder, what does one wear, and most importantly, should I enter his lair if he asks me?

Answers to all these questions I hope to discover tomorrow.

When Hell freezes over!

Lets get a fact about goats cleared up once and for all, they don't eat everything.

They do however try to eat everything. The day you see a goat not eating is when Hell freezes over.

So the flames must have been at least dampened today as Geisha, our lovely pedigree Anglo Nubian Goat turned her back on the food. Even though her stall mate Maggie started to eat it all she refused even to look at it.

A sudden influx of poultry would normally provoke an eating race but

still she persisted in her non eating.Clearly a non eating goat is a cause for concern and as our plans for milk and cheese are resting squarely on her furry shoulders action was needed to put her right.

The cause of her loss of appetite was footrot. Hooves grow continuously like fingernails and have to be trimmed regularly to prevent their feet literally rotting away. Imagine the worst case of athletes foot ever, but with little worms in just to make it more interesting then perhaps you can appreciate why Geisha felt less like eating and more like crying.

We have been trimming and checking her hooves weekly as we had noticed the onset of this horrible affliction but it just gets worse. No matter how many times I spray us both with the purple foot rot cure it makes no difference other than my colleagues at work giving me funny looks for sporting an unusual shade of purple nail varnish. What she needs are dry feet but given our climate and its propensity for rain that seems to be, well a real case of blue sky thinking. We have moved her to dry quarters and a dry bed on a dry floor where she rather pathetically just about managed a little piece of dry straw for lunch. A real case of A.N.D.Q!

Purple was a bit of a theme today as we cleaned The Boys, giving them a good brush and generally tended to their every needs. Its a strange thing smallholding, you spend most of your time making sure your charges are clean, dry and well fed while you on the other hand get dirty, wet and hungry.

Anyway Apollo had done his party trick of rolling in his fresh number twos, turning him from a white to a sort of nicotine yellow with green splashes. No worries, we have a new weapon against the terror of pooh, a spray that is especially formulated to turn off white ponies back to radioactive white in just a few squirts. Unfortunately the manufacturers of this particular soap spray have not met Apollo and his pooh so despite following the manufacturers guidelines he didn't go white, first he went a dull grey and then a strange kind of purple rinse effect took hold, like an old ladies hair do.

Luckily I only did from the shoulders back so passers by wont think there is anything amiss as this handsome Gypsy Cob whinnies hello.

The phony war in the garden continues, masses of preparation work ready for the spring offensive.

This is how it looks at the moment, the spring cabbages have survived Trevor's assault, the sprouts are over and the garlic is struggling but holding on.

Cant wait until we can start doing proper gardening as opposed to trying to stop yourself slipping over on the death trap paving slabs or suddenly walking with one very cold and wet foot as you have left a boot stuck fast in the mud.

Goats. Why Bother?

Anyone wanting to keep goats should think long and hard about it, then go and seek medical help as you do need your head examined. No sane person would put up with their antics.

This is just one morning with Maggie and Geisha.

First they tried to eat all the lambs food.

Then they knocked over the poultry feed bucket and had a second breakfast.

Having been chased off from the hay put out for the sheep Maggie doubled back and stole Trevor's breakfast, at the same time claiming the bale of hay put out for Apollo who is in the background looking most put out.

So why would you keep goats?

Well.

Entertainment value obviously!



ANDQ!

A.N.D.Q!

Can anyone see a potential problem here?

Maggie does this but as she has horns she can't get out as easily as Geisha!

A.N.D.Q!

Big girls don't cry

Before we took over the smallholding I used to work over 60 miles away from home, this meant hours in the car, tedious journeys, backache, bad temper and a huge fuel bill. I would be sat in my car watching the seasons change and somehow feel very disconnected from the world.

As luck would have it, just after we signed for the monster mortgage and moved my job disappeared and very fortunately I got a better job some twenty minutes from Rock HQ. There are times however where work calls me away and I have to go to London or some other large city in order to fulfil my paid work role.

Today was such a day and so it was important to get a good nights sleep as I had four hours of driving and the nightmare of Birmingham's rush hour to negotiate. My escape to the land of nod didn't get off to an auspicious start when the bedside light decided to play up. A sudden flash of light as Tracey and I lay in the dark alerted us to the fact that something was wrong. As we lay wondering if there was an electrical storm the lamp buzzed on and off again, something was up with the dimmer switch. I listened patiently as Tracey fiddled with the switch before she announced it was not fixable so she would unplug it. To a pulsating lightshow that would have been the envy of many a nightclub she valiantly tried to unplug the lamp. No, we would have to get out of bed and move it so she could reach the plug. I duly obeyed and soon we were spared the fit inducing strobes and replaced the bed against the wall in the dark.

We settled down to sleep, Tracey commented that it would be funny if the light flashed now it was unplugged, agreeing that would be a good trick I turned over and was immediately confronted by a flashing light. For a split second my fuddled brain tried to work out why the unplugged lamp was still flashing but it was my phone, Beth just letting us know she wasn't coming home, cheers. Finally sleep beckoned.

A noise.

A weird unearthly noise from outside. Both of us held our breath as we tried to hear it again. There it was, a horrible screeching sound like a werewolf being castrated with a blunt pair of scissors. Louder this time.

Tracey opened the window.

Foxes?

No.

Shhhh.

Its the goats, screaming. They were safe in the goat houses, they had food, water, shelter, no natural predator apart from me if they carried on making such a row and making that much noise they were not ill. Ignore it. They will soon be quiet.

They were quiet.

The beagles started to howl. Thoughts of dog and goat curry came and went.

Midnight already.

The goats started again.

2am already.

4am they are still calling. Tracey volunteers to check on them, both are fine but she lets them out of the goat houses as its the only way to keep them quiet.

4.30 am we settle down to sleep. Bleating outside the bedroom window, at least one of the goats want us to come out to play. I decide against throwing things at them and stuff the pillows in my ears.

6am alarm goes off and despite it hitting the wall it still rings forcing me into action. I shower, dress, grab a coffee and go. The goats, perhaps sensing my bad temper are nowhere to be seen.

Tracey text me later on, she has found out why they were making such an ungodly racket. Wolves? Hungry? Wet? Cold?

No none of these, they want a Billy goat, both have come into season and were calling for a Billy to come and ease their feelings of frustration.

We don't have one so they have settled for Crispy the Ram and are currently bothering him, at least they are quiet now, he's taking one for the team.

Poor lad.

Famous last words

It was probably my fault, as we got into Rene after work tonight and settled in the comfy leather seats I happened to comment as I turned the key and started the engine something like "You know this is the first time we have started a week off without having a big job or emergency to deal with."

As Rene nosed his way into traffic Tracey and I planned the week ahead, reflected on a good day at work where we had met a good friend who had treated us to lunch, managed to get all the jobs done so we wouldn't be worried about problems at work, all was good in our world yet again. Better still the sun was shining and although this was the last time we would be driving home in the daylight til next year our spirits were high and we looked forward to shutting the gate at the bottom of our drive and concentrating on our small farm for the next nine days.

Once home I got on with sawing wood, I can manage this by kneeling on it as my arm still wont allow me to put any real weight on it, not weight enough to stop branches moving while I saw anyway. The magnificent seven raced around, Apollo was mooching through the fallen leaves munching the odd tasty one and Maggie stood and chewed thoughtfully while watching me. After a short time I did begin to wonder where Geisha was, now goats are fairly independent creatures but they are herd animals and half the herd was with me. I carried on sawing and carried in the logs, checked in with Tracey who was tidying up after me in the house and I returned to the stables to begin the mucking out.

Apollo had decided to try and get in the garden through the back gate, as I diverted the foal from entering the forbidden zone I could see Maggie had by now abandoned the newly sawn log pile and was half way up the cliff. Again. A plaintive bleat alerted me to Geisha's plight. As you can see from the picture she was in real trouble. Now you might think it heartless that I stopped to picture the stranded animal, what you cannot see in the picture is how torn up the ground was in front of her from her struggles and how high up she was at the edge of a drop. Prone to falling myself I wasn't going to approach the distressed goat without backup so took this picture as I waited for Tracey to get to us.

Geisha has a huge appetite and what seems to have happened is that she saw me feed the lambs this morning and decided to attempt to jump the stock fence at the base of the cliff. Somehow her hoof got entangled and trapped between the top barbed wire strand and the top square of the stock netting. Stuck fast she had struggled and fallen over the edge hanging for a while by her hoof. Eventually she must have made it back onto the "level" part and was waiting utterly exhausted for us to free her. It took seconds to cut the wire but carrying her down the steep muddy bank was an exercise in patience and teamwork. Luckily Tracey and I work well together and in a few minutes Geisha was wrapped up warmly in Trevor's stable and instantly eating anything on offer. It did get quite emotional at one point for all concerned, especially as we had flashbacks to losing our prize Anglo Nubian milk goat Fuchsia last year who died very suddenly. Her final moments were made as comfortable as possible lying on a bed of hay with her head in my lap. Her last goodbye was to vomit into my lap as she exhaled for the last time.

Geisha seems to be OK despite her ordeal, she is cold but has not stopped eating since she was moved to the stable. Her hip doesn't seem to have dislocated like we first thought, she is incredibly tired and in obvious shock but she looks like she will recover.

Back in Rock HQ we had a stiff drink, some old Christmas sherry, well any port in a storm and its better than our home brew which is impossible to drink even when desperate laced with lemonade and spoonfuls of sugar. Tracey reminded me what I had said earlier. I shall have to be more careful with my choice of words in future!

On tonights menu!

Our sheep are not spoilt you understand, I didn't spend ages picking up Bramely apples for them, carry them across the mud and drop them off for their dinner. So on tonight's menu they have grass, hay and apples.

In the background Maggie the Anglo Nubian cross is trying to decide whether to brave the rain and gales or set off back to the nice dry goat house, calories or comfort, a hard choice for any greedy goat!

And I didn't spend ages getting the apples, The Oracles wife gave us about fifty pounds of windfall for the animals.

Bless her.