Size Matters

The day started extra early in anticipation of Piggle delivering her piglets, but she just lay head first in the straw, huffing and puffing until the feed bucket arrived at which point she forgot her labours and scoffed.

The Ryelands have been in maternity pens to make sure they bond with their offspring, so today as it was almost sunny they were marked with our unique hi-vis identification system and allowed to run riot on the runway. In a couple of days they will be allowed out on the bonsai mountain.

Once over the disappointment of Piggle's lack of effort I got on with the aviary project. This has gained a certain urgency with the arrival at HQ of two of its inhabitants, Zebra finches. They are currently in the conservatory with the quail who are also intended to reside in this five star all mod cons purpose built palace rather than a fish tank.


As ever the job got started with almost no planning and little idea of what the final product will actually look like. Help was at hand, or rather paw

with Reuben keeping bits in place while I fetched screws or the drill which was always just out of reach.

He who cannot be named phoned mid point and asked how things were going, pretty good so far. When asked for the dimensions I was a bit vaguer, its as tall as high as I can reach and big enough to use all the wood I ordered. Size matters.

By end of play, or rather end of time allotted to play chippie, the majority of the framework was complete with only one deliberate mistake (no gap for internal door type mistake) but I was very pleased with the progress, as were the finches who were able to see the construction site from their cage, providing the cat sat on it moved its tail.

I took dinner to the technohermit as the sun was setting, up the track I caught sight of Ebony who had escaped from the Corral OK the night we tried to rehouse Rosie the sausage pig who had unexpectedly given birth.

Ebony is now the proud mum of a very bonny lamb (gender unacertained) and they did what every sheep should do when approached by a man who's vegetarianism had been cured by a plate of lamb chops. They legged it.

April, fool!

Its hard to believe that its already April, the year is racing by. A truce was called at Rock HQ, no practical jokes. I found this hard to stick to but did abide by the rules. No sending eldest son to school dressed as a girl telling him it was gender realignment day (an absolute classic) in fact no jokes on all fools day at all. A busy day in all, Hazel the almost 4x4 got her handbrake fixed, which means we can park with confidence on the Bonsai Mountain. Geisha has claimed one of the new Berner beds, but at least this keeps her off the sofa.

We welcomed to the world Jester, a very sturdy lad who now brings our tally of potential lamb chops up to four. He joined Berry, Bumble and Bee in the post natal ward. Maude, Easter and Bonny are still threatening to lamb but failing to deliver in every sense of the word. Its was a bit mind blowing to see such a big lamb fall out of such a small sheep, Ebony, and Ebony as her name suggests is a very different colour to the snow white adorning Jester. He does have black ears though. The BBMC training is going well, another quick blat up the North Face Gully was completed, this time without putting my foot in a rabbit hole and falling face first into a gorse bush.

The sheep display team training is going well. We are entering the Ryelands into the World of Sheep competition at Kington show this year. The theme of our entry is the Pyramids and we have five minutes to construct a three bale high "Pyramid" using only trained sheep. Here we see the first stage of construction, Bonny is waiting for the second layer to be moved into position. Its hard work but we are pretty confident of a medal this year.

Shear fun in the real world!

Back in the real world, the one where Tracey has had to do all the work while I stroll around the countryside with my friends, there is lots of work to be done. Yesterday passed slowly as I recovered from the exertions of the trek, both feet had swelled from bruising so I spent a jolly day with them in a bucket of cold water reading and drinking a few beers. We went to The Harp to celebrate and had the usual fantastic meal, once again David cooked a steak that could not be surpassed in any way shape or form.


Sunday dawned, along with a new batch of aches and pains but the shearing had to be done so no more lounging in the garden. Typically instead of being in the yard for breakfast the Ryelands were all over the place so very slowly the round up began. By the time this butch itinerant shearer arrived we were missing last years lambs, Sandy, Hercules, Maude and Bonny, two ewes, Roxy and Ebony and our Suffolk cross, Meg. Tracey volunteered to walk around the hill to seek them out whilst I kept up a steady supply of tea and chocolate hob nobs for the Shearer Man. Some of you may recognise him, for he is famous, not for being the sheep equivalent of Vidal Sassoon but for being the captain of Hereford Rugby Club.

Whilst Tracey was doing the Bo Peep bit he manfully wrestled the sheep and gave them their annual short back and sides, all the time keeping them calm by singing to them (see photos above and below)

Tracey returned with the missing flockers apart from Meg. Now we have already lost three Suffolks since we have been here, see postings for M.I.A.s to read the full story, and again it looked like Meg was now M.I.A and probably on her way to a pie filling plant, caught up in the annual roundup.

Job done the Shearer Man waived his fee donating it to the Prostate Cancer charity, a big gesture as the amount would have bought him five miles, so many thanks Pritch, you cant sing but you are a generous soul.

Once the sheep were over their trauma they wandered off, cooler if not happy.

Early this evening I took Mad Keith his dinner. Whilst we were chatting a lone sheep wandered down the trail towards the rest of our flock gathered on the technohermits lawn. Meg had returned, safe and crustless. She now has a choice, stay hot all summer or allow me to shear her by handshears, and does anyone remember how that turned out our first year?

I aint fraid of no ghosts!

Fitting easily into our routine, twice every week we take the Technohermit a hot meal and make sure he has what he needs to get through the week.

Currently this entails walking in the dark along a narrow track, mostly uphill, along past the Ghost House and up to his humble abode. Weather permitting this a quick trip in Rene the everso useful 4x4 in all his surround sound airconditioned leather seated safety shelled goodness.

As weather is definitely not permitting wheeled vehicles to pass through the mud and slush its down to Shank's pony with the magnificent seven in full cry as company, a much slower and far more exposed journey.

The worst part of the trip is not getting wet and muddy, nor is it listening to the hermits account of his bunions, the threat from lions, werewolves and zombies, no, its walking past the Ghost house. Twice.

The second time is always worst, having to comply with the don't look back part of the tale is hard work. Especially for me.

Tonight the hermit was on form, eagerly waiting for his home cooked chicken casserole. As I handed it over we had our usual chat about his bunions, the space station (he is after all a technohermit) and how folks living in towns have it easy. Well compared to squatting on a windy hillside I expect they do, but I knew what he meant, central heating, taps and shops, luxuries like that.

After a rambling conversation about how badgers get into ant hills he stopped and looked at Faith the Gordon Setter playing in the snow. This then led to him telling me that he had met someone who had seen a big black dog or puma on the hill. I listened intently as he described how it has frightened this man from ever venturing onto the hill again. I explained about the walkers who had got confused recently up by Rock HQ thinking Ebony was a black panther and not a harmless sheep, this is assuming a sheep hellbent on getting into your sandwich box is classified as harmless. He shook his head, no, this was some time before we lived at Rock HQ. Over three years ago. He went on to describe the exact spot some miles away where the black beast was seen.

I decided to impress him with my local knowledge and rambled on about the hound of the baskervilles being written based on the black dog of the hill and how in fact that was a legend about a wicked Baron who was killed and manifested as a vicious black dog roaming the hill in search of mortal souls.

When I finished it seemed darker and the wind was driving the rain hard into our faces. I thanked him for bringing up the subject of ghosts as I still had to walk back. He grinned at me and jerked a stubby thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the ghost house "O'course that uns haunted" chuckling rather too enthusiastically for my liking.

"Great, cheers mate, I have to walk past that place in a minute."

He looked back down the hill continuing "Some old woman dressed in white is supposed to come floating out the door or summat."

Fantastic, and me without my running shoes. "You ever seen her Keith?" my voice seemed a pitch higher than I remembered.

"No! No, I ain't never seen her, my missuses mother did though." He seemed to sense my rising fear, "Ah don't worry, there ain't no such thing as ghosts man, shes probably moved on by now any road"

"I don't think they pack their bags and leave do they?" I asked this new authority on the spirit world.

"No, when your dead your gone, ain't no ghosts, don't worry."

"Thanks"

"No. They're DEMONS!" he shouted and with that bombshell left me to my long walk back.

I cant remember at which point my brisk walk back turned into a fast jog.

I didn't look back.

Black Panther stalks Rock HQ

Two very excited walkers stumbled into our yard yesterday, they were the friendly type who like to talk, the type we like. They were dressed for the arctic weather and I had seen them a few days before walking through. Anyway they were very keen to talk to Tracey and were enthusing about what a lovely House Rock HQ was. I on the other hand was preoccupied with the lack of water supply and might have taken an alternative point of view to theirs as I pulled yet another bucket of ice cold water from the well.

After extolling the virtues of self sufficiency they moved the conversation on to our sheep, what type were they they enquired, South Downs?
No, Tracey explained they were Ryelands, the old Hereford breed, the hikers nodded in approval and then told her what had happened when they had walked by a few days ago. They had wandered into the Cauldron and had a bit of trouble like so many do finding the path. Away in the distance they spotted a black shape creeping through the undergrowth. Unable to gain a proper perspective due to distance and the winter mists they thought they were looking at a large black cat.

Their hearts started to beat a little faster as they remembered the legend of the hill, that of a large black dog stalking for eternity, the one Conan Doyle based his book on. All the time the beast was getting closer and picking up speed, obviously making its way towards them. Feeling somewhat threatened they huddled together and backed away intent on returning to Rock HQ to seek sanctuary as they were now convinced they were being confronted by a Black Panther.

Until it bleated.

Ebony our coloured Ryeland had seen them and perhaps sensing a free biscuit or even a sandwich she was keen to engage the walkers. Panic over they dutifully fussed over the less than vicious sheep and carried on with their walk.

It would be hard to imagine any creature less Panther like, but its good to hear that one of our flock has added to the legend of the Beast of the Hill.