Growing pains

The Pgoor struck again and this time all five equines bolted as soon as the gate swung open. Having limited imagination they headed off up into the cauldron and then on up the flank of the bonsai mountain where they frolicked in the spring sunshine and nibbled at the grass while congratulating themself on how clever they were. Had they thought a bit more about what they were up to they could have hotwired Vic and headed off to the coast, gone for a canter along the beach before eating litres of rum and raisin and posing for tourists in kiss me quick hats.

This predictable simpleness made my task on return from a mad day at the office an easy one as they were loitering just where I thought they would be and they meekly followed the magic red bucket back to base (the blue one having lost its allure) where they hung around like naughty school children. Suitably chastised the badly behaved equines went to bed without a murmur of protest. Chester did try and provoke a rebellion but his was quashed mercilessly by my feeding his co conspirators as he hung around at the end of the lane hoping they would join him. Eventually he got the message that access to calories lay inside his stable and not in playing silly buggers so he gave in and went to bed to sulk.

The pictures show pretty boy Apollo the day after he arrived at Rock HQ three and a half years ago, the second one as he is today. He's put on a bit of weight!

Dy 20 30 30 lvl 12 hill 13.6km (S and M, Metallica Disc 1)

Stop Gap

We are used to a certain level of mayhem at Rock HQ, some animal inspired, other at our creation (usually mine) but today for some two hours chaos reigned supreme. All thanks to Thor the Boar.

After yesterdays debacle where he climbed out of the new pig pen where the beds were soft, girls aplenty and food twice a day, in preference to standing under his beau, Apollo the Gypsy Cob, plan B was put into action.

Plan B entailed putting him back in the pig pen and then watching to see his favoured exit, heading him off and putting a robust obstacle in the way.

Sorted.

The magic blue bucket of food was summonsed, the door to solitary confinement opened and what should have happened is Thor follow bucket and Plan B enacted.

What actually happened was Thor ran straight to his not so secret entrance to Corral OK, shoved his way through a ring feeder and began courting Apollo. William, the Welsh Cob took exception to the sudden appearance of pork and while I tried to work out why the allure of the blue bucket failed, he began to make life threatening Kung Fu moves on the randy pig.

Thus began a race up and down the runway with Apollo being chased by Thor being chased by William while Hetty tried to hide on to of the muck heap.

Kayleigh the agoraphobic goat had all her worst fears about outside confirmed when she stuck her head out of her stall to see where her breakfast bearer had got to and saw the above menage a trois hitting her gate at full speed. She bolted before the earth moved, William fell on his backside, Apollo and Thor made the return journey just in time for the magic blue bucket, gripped by yours truly, to regain its former allure and within seconds bucket lay abandoned (ungripped) on floor as cow, pig and two crazy horses claimed ownership.

Drastic action was required to bring some form of order the chaos, Apollo was to be the sacrifice, plan being that he would be led from food scrummage, Thor would see the love of his life departing and dutifully follow and at some point be persuaded to join the waiting sows.

This might have worked had it not been for Apollo's desire for freedom rather than pork and once in the yard bolted down the lane with the amorous sausage factory in pursuit. William watched Apollo disappear and threatened to join him but was persuaded to stay by my beautiful and oh so patient wife's voice of absolute authority.

Just as fast as Apollo disappeared he returned, the cause of his velocity immediately apparent, Trevor the pocket rocket hanging on his tail. As they careered along the lane William redoubled his efforts to escape and at one point had his front hooves over the five bar gate. Chester safe in the stable began to kick the door, add to this the sound of the magnificent seven barking encouragement you might begin to understand why I had a SOHF.

Thor was now oblivious to the equine carnage at one end of the plot and somehow I managed to get him in with the girls. Apollo trundled past, slower now and was halted by grabbing a handful of mane and some veiled threats, he was happy to go back to the Corral OK.

Trevor was happy that no ponies bigger than him were roaming free.

Pulse rates began to return to normal, I got the necessary tools to sort the pig pen and order was in the process of being restored.

Despair took on a whole new meaning as Thor, having been in with the girls hardly long enough for a coffee yet alone form a meaningful relationship, was now back in the lane and hell bent on finding his pony.

I wont go on, but imagine more of the above but with much more swearing and threats to fetch the gun until finally after an hour and forty five minutes a very sulky boar was "persuaded" to get back in with the sows.

This time no chances were taken, Tracey stood guard while I ran (well sort of, a quick walk) to get the fencing tools. In the time it took he was out again, but this time his secret was revealed, he doesn't climb five bar gates, not completely, on two of the gates that make up the pen, the spacing in the top bars is everso slightly wider than the other four, so pig climbs up, pokes head through and then slithers through the just wide enough gap flopping on the floor the other side, he then climbs out over the stock fence.

Several planks of wood hastily nailed into the gap and the boring boar was/is contained. He is now sulking, but at least he is where he should be and not sausages (yet!).

And we were only two hours late to a lovely lunch cooked for us by a very good friend who also gave us some runner ducks to come home with. And a cake for little t, and toys for little t, and lots of happy memories.

Day 4 30 30 lvl 10 endurance hill 12.1 km (Regatta de Blanc, The Police)

Prisoner cell block H

Apollo opting for life behind bars. Maybe a file smuggled in with his hay might help.

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.

Really saying something

Blessed with so many critters so close to the cottage I am, unlike James Herriot, usually thankful that all creatures great and small cannot talk and for the most part share my love of heavy metal/prog rock (Yes goats do milk better listening to Marillion (( Fugazi the album of choice((( neo-prog rock ok pedants)))

There are also occasions when I sincerely wish they could tell me what has gone through their tiny minds, usually when they have done something incredibly dull like getting their head stuck in a piece of garden furniture.

Today I had a real sense of Apollo wanting to tell me something, he having the greater part of his face stuck exactly where he knew it should not be, in the straw store. Old horse blankets nailed over the front reinforced by wooden pallet proved no deterrent to this determined pony. Was he hungry? Forced to eat his future bedding due to lack of appropriate calories. Well as two ton of hayledge is just out of shot awaiting his machinations then no. No. He had something on his mind.

Forced out of the way so I could get a look in at first glance it looked like there was nothing to see, except bales, admittedly part chewed bales, but bales. Closer inspection, at Apollo's insistence revealed a cosy Ryeland lamb squeezed in the almost non existent gap and on discovery Bella made no attempt to leave her den. In fact she curled further into the straw and made it obvious there was no intention to move out. I will put a pic of this on the blog tomorrow once she has turned round a bit as all we can see at the moment is a fleecy backside(photographing and publishing pictures of lambs backsides gets you an undeserved reputation in these parts) oh and pony that grasses on its mates.

In the hot seat

Pretty boy Apollo had his supper rudely interrupted by yours truly and for the second time in his short life he was sat on. This time there was a proper camera on to record for posterity all the drama of the event.

Apollo took the weighty intrusion in his non stride and hardly pausing for breath carried on munching while I fidgeted around getting him used to the awkward movements of a seldom jockey. Throughout he was relaxed and calm and showed no psychopathic tendencies so I am hopeful that as the weeks progress we can introduce music and movement into his training schedule.

Life begins at Forty

All thoughts of an enthusiastic early doors start on the Rock HQ runway evaporated seconds after the alarm clock dragged me back from the land of nod. The howling gale and sound of rain hammering the bedroom window a clue to the prevailing concreting conditions. Time passed inspecting the insides of my eyelids until apprentice smallholder let me know that now was not the time for sleeping, it was time for action. Serried ranks of marmite soldiers were dealt with and then I went out into the elements to play spot the pig amongst the Ryelands, goat and dog. That puzzle solved, the weather brightening, the main task of the day was addressed. George was sleeping peacefully in the shed, gleaming as new, and we looked at how far one man and his mixer have come since we started the project. It looked good, but we had a lot to do.

George was pressed into action and as usual a major help. Rocky on the other hand was his usual hindrance. Steve the electrician arrived and replaced our disabled Anti Aircraft light. The monster light he installed illuminates the whole of the runway so any unauthorised landings will be dealt with day or night.

Three and a half hours later 40 mixes were laid and thankfully I ran out of stone and light before energy. It was a close run thing. I manned up for the late routine which included moving the 24 bags of cement needed to finish the runway and clear and clean the gear. Pigs were fed (curiously they didn't escape today) so finally thoughts turned to the plan for the day. Sit on my pretty boy pony. Strange sounds were emanating from his stall as I wearily approached.
Should I get on him considering my arms feel like lead, my back aches, a good sit down was needed but not necessarily on a horse.
Then theres the fact that I'm in a confined space, hard floor, harder hooves, in all I was feeling more enthusiastic about punching myself in the face than climbing on my pony. The weird noises were louder, lots of banging, bumping and the horsey equivalent of "Ouch" and "Oh Bugger" every now and then. Was Apollo was psyching himself up to deal with me?


Every picture tells a story. This one tells the story of a pony who is, to be fair, a few paste sandwiches short of a picnic, dressed in his splendid new coat, having, what is technically known as, a spot of bother. The head end is closest, his ears are where his whithers should be. Fifteen minutes later horse was rescued by would be rider and both of us decided that we would give further complications like me falling off and hitching a ride in the air ambulance a miss today.

Inflation rate

The day didn't go quite as planned (it seldom does) and as the gale force winds and "occasional" showers put the mockers on any plan to concrete we set out from the sanctuary of Rock HQ to view our two new additions to the critters, Rudy and Roscoe. This entailed a 130 mile round trip across three counties but the militia who was selling had offered us a fairish deal which tempted us to venture out. The only outcome of our travels was a precise calculation of the rate of inflation. Excluding fuel costs the current rate of inflation is 61.5p per mile. This was how much in price each animal ad risen in cost by the time we viewed them. The agreed £250 was when outside their stall £300 plus £30 pedigree registration.

Thankfully good sense prevailed and it was a deal we could walk away from. The annoying thing is that this is the second time this has happened, we agree a price and then get there and its all change. Perhaps the militia think that once we have been coaxed out we would buy rather than waste our time.

As we were in the vicinity of shops the opportunity was taken to go to a toy mega store to treat the apprentice smallholder to a new plaything. The curious thing was that within the mega shop of cathedral sized proportions containing every plaything a generous parent would want to purchase to occupy their offspring we could not find the one item we wanted for our apprentice smallholder. A ball. If we wanted a fluorescent plastic scale model of the Eiffel Tower that would transform into a racing bike that fired marshmallows while telling him his times tables, there was lots of those, or a book with moving pictures and voices that matched the hand held TV that looked like a dog, plenty, but a plain and simple ball. Not a hope. There was one but it was helium filled, squeaked and changed colours when it broke ornaments, so we decided to give it a miss.

Back on the ranch my plan to concrete another section of the planet was still on hold as the failing light and other routine tasks got in the way. I cleared a mountain of horse offerings from both stables and for some insane reason thought that an appropriate reward for my labour was to sit on my pretty boy pony Apollo. I am not sure this can be referred to as "backing", a term bandied around by the horsey set, but Apollo has never been sat on before. We do have a good relationship though, I stuff money in his mouth and clear up after him (bit like teenagers really) as I have had him since he was a puppy, hes now 3 years and substantial enough to support yours truly's considerable bulk.

How good our relationship is was tested tonight, I put some appropriate music on, a track by Racing Cars, "They shoot horses don't they" (as a warning), placed a very insubstantial mounting block next to the bewildered beasts side, tucked a rubber mallet into my belt (just in case he had any funny ideas like moving) said what I could remember of Psalm 23 and cocked a welly clad leg over. Apollo looked idly over his shoulder and sensing something was different braced for impact as the rest of me sank heavily onto his untried frame.

And there we stood, or sat, depending on which one of us we were. I even felt confident enough to take a riders eye view pic with phone, which was now playing "Crazy Horses" by the Osmond's.

Like all those who live to fight another day I pulled the eject handle before things got messy, like me squished all over the stable floor. Apollo's a long way from being broken in, but he didn't break when sat on, didn't kill me and tomorrow as a reward for all the concreting I am going to repeat the process, this time with a proper camera on hand to record in graphic detail any injuries sustained!

Sing if youre winning

The low cloud and heavy rain could have put a real downer on the day.Pulling on yesterdays mud caked wet clothing really wasn't my favourite part of the day, neither was finding a helpful Berner had moved an equally mud covered boot out into the rain the happiest of moments.

The poor Ryelands looked wretched as they considered the pros and cons of staying out in the rain for breakfast or seeking shelter. The lure of calories temporarily brought them from under the eaves of the cottage.

The winners were the boys, they were reinstated in their luxury appointed stables yesterday forsaking the mud of Willow Rise and Oak Bank for dry bedding and piped music (prog rock) Thor was also winning as he is in the med bay on a deep bed of soft hay at the back of the stable with hot and cold running apples. Poor lad has developed a limp, the fact that this coincided with torrential rain and his favourite pony being put indoors is surely just a coincidence.
So as the icy rain ran down my back and my dry boot became wetter than the wet one when it stayed in the mud of the pig pen while I carried on a few steps it had the makings of a real SOHF day.
But as my day starts with beaming smiles from our apprentice smallholder I just felt like singing.
Sing if your winning.

Double trouble

Apollo the pretty boy pony has me very well trained. Everyday he hangs over the small pedestrian gate by the water tanks knowing I will walk past, and every day I open said gate and allow my white and brown wondersteed access to the hayledge. This infuriates his best friend and top dog horse William the very handsome Welsh Cob who then looks horsey daggers at me until I relent and let him out or throw fresh armfuls of sweet smelling roughage for his personal consumption.

Rarely, if ever do I let him out where he has unfettered access to the big round bale as unlike Apollo, William has a tendency to wander. Not far, usually just 30 feet in front of yours truly as I trudge round after him until one or other of us gets bored and gives in.

This morning as I began the morning rounds I was reminded by my beautiful and oh so patient wife that I had committed a major error and had left Apollo out all night. Fear not good wife I shouted over my shoulder, Apollo is a good pony, he knows the rules, he will be where he should be ready for breakfast.

Regular readers will not be surprised to read that he was not where he should be in fact he was nowhere where he should. Misty on the other hand, the petite and dainty shitland imminent nuclear explosion was lurking behind the bale, as were several Ryelands and a Bernese Mountain Pig. I congratulated Misty on her cleverness at negotiating the pig shaped hole in the fence and helping herself and with supreme confidence set off for The Cauldron where Apollo would no doubt be. Confidence waned massively when I found the side gate open, the Pgoor had struck again. This side gate requires muscles like Arnie used to have to open and close it and yesterday as I went in search of Pedro a second time this gate was most definitely shut.

William and Apollo were loose which could only mean one thing. Distance.

Spotting some fresh horse debris along the lane I made my way round to the Technohermits cave. No fresh horse bones decorated the entrance and he was in a good mood cleaning his teeth with what suspiciously looked like half a squirrel. No no horses had passed he foamed at me.

This meant I had gone the wrong way. I doubled back and entered The Cauldron was devoid of equine, and Trolls so it was relatively safe to cross the swamp. Half a mile on two naughty ponies watched me from the gorse bushes as I tried to appear casual in my approach. William snorted in contempt as the pretty boy pony spotted the blue feed bucket and abandoned solidarity for calorific gratification. The walk back would have been quicker had Apollo been able to see where he was going but once he had his head in the bucket he was not going to give up eating easily. Finally both were back in the slammer, and I was only 15 minutes late to the office. Not bad for a Monday!

Come on down!

Little Misty leads the charge, William, Apollo, and the pocket rocket, Trevor, brings up the rear while Ferny Fern Fern from Ferntown as ever does her own thing!

What you looking at?

Apollo seems very interested in whats going on.

He wants to get up close and personal

The Berners were not so sure!

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.

Time check!

We had the vet over to give the boys their tetanus jabs today so we were chatting about the progress he is making, hes two and a half years old and we have had him for just over two years.

This is he, above, one month into his lifetime at Rock HQ, we thought he was a big lad, but looking back he was a tiny pony. He is well used to the mayhem here, he even got onto youtube under the title House Horse where he has had over 7500 watch him nosing around Rock HQ, making sure his accommodation was better than ours.

Then this shot is our mucky boy one year on, very stocky, not very tall but a handsome lad under all the dirt.

Today he is still a blue eyed boy, our plan to have a bomb proof hack might be some way off, and the plan to put him to work instead of getting a quad bike and trailer to shift stuff around is still just a plan and in all honesty a quad bike would be a good toy, I mean valuable asset, but the way things are progressing he should turn out just as we want him to, friendly, unshakable and above all, strong enough to cart me around.

Meantime he is doing well as a poseur.

Spot the difference

What a difference a year makes! This is Apollo the wonder foal pictured above a month after we had him and below, just over a year on, photographed today with the new unbreakable camera, which incidentally is going back on Tuesday as rather surprisingly its broken!

Missing Chickens and Giant Hamsters!

This is Apollo in his summer coat relaxing at HQ. He is now in a field causing havoc, covered in mud and jumping fences to get to other horses to play piggy back, the sooner he is done the sooner order will be restored and we can all relax.

Any ideas about finishing the concreting were washed away in yet another downpour. I did manage to get a ton down yesterday despite the best efforts of the frost and then more rain. A two hour window late afternoon meant I finally got round to laying the slab in front of the back stable which has the much sought after "sort of" finish. This means its sort of flat and sort of smooth, all hopes of getting a perfect finish were thwarted by a combination of incompetence and a chicken who decided to try and fly over the newly laid wet stuff in an attempt to reach its perch. As chickens are to flying as fish are to bicycles it fell short of its target and had to be rescued before it became a novelty feature.

Part of the day involved taking the Stable Sprite to get his lambs. A quick trip over to the abattoir and the rewards of his hard labour were safely stowed in the glove box of the car. This was a bit of a disappointment to Stable Sprite who had thought of hiring an articulated lorry with freezer attachments to transport the meat back to his kingdom and who had scoffed at the idea that it would all fit in the boot of Ben's Peugeot. On the subject of which I have almost kept my promise to look after it and not transport animals or their foodstuffs inside the ultra clean car. I am sure he meant live animals so four dead ones don't count, and he completely failed to mention don't carry fencing posts and all the gubbins needed to build a chicken Alcatraz. Talking of chickens, like Stable Sprite and I were on the way to collect the sheep meat I was making the usual death threats to Mr Fox who had by my reckoning had five chickens this week. Shutting the birds away last night we were missing four brown ones and one white. Tracey is very keen that her birds are not on the menu for Mr Fox and a fun time was had searching the hill for the birds or their remains. It was only as I recounted this tale to Stable Sprite that I in fact knew exactly where the missing birds were all the time having been the one who had shut them in the back stable just before laying the concrete in front of it.

Back to the minuscule meat portions. Sheep are easily recognisable mainly I would hazard to suggest by their thick woolly fleece. When they are departed of this world the mortal remains are devoid of wool and therefore look, how shall we put this, a bit smaller than when last bleating. Stable Sprites lambs were small fully clothed. Naked and split in two they looked like giant rats. NO, rats are bigger and have tails, they looked like giant hamsters. He had hoped to cut each leg into three pieces he muttered casting an eye over the tiny rodent like carcasses. Well you still can I happily pointed out, bite sized.

Thats my Boy!

Apollo, a very laid back Gypsy Cob, has been causing us a bit of concern for a couple of small reasons. He is a colt, supposedly, but the two vital pieces of anatomy needed to prove it have been conspicuous by their absence. We were beginning to wonder if we had been sold a dud. Since he has had free reign of pastures new something has strange happened. Firstly he has been trying to play piggy back with William and secondly he has started to get fresh with the ladies. This entails sneaking up from behind and taking hold of items of clothing, like hoods and trying to get up close and personal. A quick check of the dangerous end revealed that our boy is a bit of a late developer and is in need of a vet to take away the very things we have so eagerly been waiting to appear.

Totally underwhelmed

We called in on the boys. As you can see they were overjoyed to see us!

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.