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?

Mutant Sheep!

Here is a lovely picture of the father and son combo, Crispen and Hercules, pedigree Ryeland Rams.
Now over the last 48 hours or so I have been in mourning for the loss of Crispen, who as you can see is not exactly dead yet. Mourning for him because he has lost such a lot of condition over the last month and yesterday I tipped him over and found he had no top teeth. Thinking this signaled his premature end I wandered around the smallholding finding fault with everything, all the while pondering the fate of my much loved Ram.
Crispy and his three wives were the first animals at Rock HQ that were not officially pets, and as I am a sucker for lamb chops (they cured me of being vegetarian, a long story) I looked forward to this group of sheep providing me with unlimited breakfasts, lunches and dinners for many years. It also helps preserve an old breed as they are not commercially viable usually producing one small lamb a year that takes an age to reach a good weight. But the flavour makes the wait worthwhile.
Crispy and I have an understanding, both being alpha males, when our wives let us, so there is a mutual respect between the two of us, neither one attempting to prove his dominance over the other. Hes a lovely chap and is often in the background watching what you are doing quietly contemplating life and looking for the next sunbeam to sit in. So the thought of losing him was too much.
However.
Whilst worming the flock today I discovered that none of our sheep have top teeth, except for molars at the back. For a few minutes I was convinced we had bred a flock of mutants but as Tracey so patiently pointed out if Crispen was a mutant only his children would be mutants, even our unrelated specimens lacked what I thought were compulsory top incisors. Gradually it dawned that this was how they were meant to be.
Now Tracey claims to have known top teeth were not de rigour for sheep, and my Dad, a sheep expert decided not to phone me to have a quiet word in my shell like to let me know the inadequacy of my sheep dentistry.
So, it looks like Crispy is ok, and currently enjoying the attention lavished on him. In particular the ample portions of bunny food suddenly offered for breakfast instead of boring old sheep nuts.
Me, well I am happy hes ok, and not a bit embarrassed at my school boy error, live and learn eh, and any way what am I, a shepherd or a social worker?
Mind you, you do wonder why he has lost so much weight, if its not worms it must be stress caused by worrying about Lions on the hill!

Camoflage and concealment

We are often asked where would we be without our animals. Sitting on a beach in Antigua is my usual response given the costs involved, but seriously, whilst we might be richer financially we would be a whole lot poorer emotionally without our eclectic gang of dependents at Rock HQ.

It had been a busy and interesting day at work, Paul confirmed that the business plan to win the lottery and pay the mortgage off was one step closer to success with a ten pound win ready to be frittered away on more tickets, and so paid work day over we set about tending to our smallholding.

Despite a cold wind knifing its way through the gaps in my gortex jacket which made the prospect of a sun drenched Antiguan beach seem just a tad more appealing than trudging through slush and mud whilst trying to protect my self from the hailstones all was well in my world.

The horses had got over their high jinx of the weekend and were genuinely pleased to see me, at least they were interested in me until their dinners were laid out before them, then they were only interested in getting their noses down. William did have a moment of panic when I couldn't undo his padlock and had to leave him greedily eyeing his bucketful as I tried to find the ubiquitous WD40. Mucked out and well fed they had a few minutes each quality time before I set off to walk the dogs down the lane.

Fate was smiling on me, in the darkness I managed to find the torch I dropped in the lane two days ago, a quick rattle and an optimistic press of buttons and it emitted its pathetic finger of light skyward. Now I had a torch I could check my favourite time wasters the piglets. They were top to tail in the deep straw bed, very content and very asleep. Up on the bales of hay I found a nest of eggs, a Black Rock hen clucked noisily as I took them. Fantastic, fresh eggs are in short supply this time of year at Rock HQ.

As I walked back up the track a shooting star flashed overhead, this evening was getting better and better.

All jobs done I took the dogs to the kennels and dished out oversize portions of dog food to the magnificent seven. I went past the ever diminishing hay stack again to turn off the anti aircraft lights. It made a noise.

Not the noise you usually associate with haystacks, as a rule bales of hay are fairly quiet. These weren't. These definitely went "Baaa".

Nothing looked out of place but after a cautious investigation that involved me prodding strategic points with my boot I discovered the culprit.

Hercules.

Given the weather it seemed a shame to evict from his cosy hidey hole. He really milked the sympathy vote as he stomped off towards the Cauldron to find the rest of the flock.

Now you see me!

Its been an incredibly busy day here at Rock HQ, the sun shone throughout the day and despite the antics of our animals (see Hercules above trying to hang himself) we managed to get a huge amount of work done. As well as the routine, the feeding, the cleaning and the making sure all inhabitants of The Rock are fit and healthy we set about a revamp of the kennel block.

The above is the view of our smallholding from the hill behind us, ours is the long thin strip in the centre, the kennel roof shining in the middle. Since it was built by Karl last March, and where Karl is no one knows, we think still tied to a tree in Thailand, the kennel block has been an absolute God send. Having housed the magnificent seven while we are at work it has also doubled as a maternity ward for the Ryelands, an emergency shelter for the goats and a temporary store for tools.

The only downside to the building is that when it rains heavily it can flood. A minor setback as it only rains heavily about twice a week (see here comes the flood in the archive) but it does upset the dogs having to take to the life boats every time the weather turns.

The major task of the day then was to prevent the flooding by digging a ditch alongside the building, a task I managed admirably thanks to my new shovel and my bionic arm, the space age metal work only jarred and groaned a couple of times. Soon a foot deep trench ran from the stream, across the ground uphill of the kennel block and down the side out into the lane. Ideally the trench will go up the hill to the spring but for now this looks like it will serve its purpose.

Tracey and I set about rearranging the interior of the kennels, and those that have read these pages from the outset will know that Karl and tape measures didn't get on so he tended to guess lengths and heights which led to us having a six berth kennel block that is twenty four foot long but each of the berths are different and interesting sizes. The internals were dismantled when the sheep were housed inside and trying to put them back together was more trying than a Chinese puzzle.

Faced with a variety of different sized tops, fronts and sides of kennels I eventually opted to make one size fit all by wielding my mighty saw, with liberal applications of five inch nails and by totally ignoring any gaps, holes and overhangs so within hours the job was done. Each berth now had a raised wooden floor (just in case the ditch system fails) a plastic bed and a front and roof that they can sit on and watch the world go by until we get back from work.

It has been mentioned that I have never appeared on these pages, well there are good reasons for that, the main one being that the Tales From The rock are about the animals, not me. I also take most of the pictures so by that very fact alone do not appear. However, Tracey had the camera whilst I was struggling to nail the roof down on one of the berths and rather sneakily she took my picture. As you can see below she captured my good side.





In case that's traumatised you here is a picture of William to take your mind off what you have just seen!

Rain stops play!

Weather really has an impact here. We got up fairly early as there was a lot to do, but whilst it was dry we walked over to visit our friends whose Berners we look after while they are away. The walk did the horses a lot of good, there was one minor upset when Trevor panicked because a car was parked at the end of our lane. It was under the trees, lurking, a harbinger of doom, for Trevor was right to panic, its Murpy's car, he is back on the hill so none of us are safe.

There does seem to be a link between his arrival and atrocious weather!

We managed to get the jobs done just as the heavens opened and we have seen some rain here but today was definitely the hardest ever, linked to the gale force winds it made being outside intolerable. Everyone and everybeast took shelter wherever they could find it, even Geisha thought twice about crossing the yard to steal food.

The rain has flooded the workshop, I moved everything into the upstairs gallery, well that that wasn't floating when I discovered the disaster area. It seems the roof over the black hole has given up any pretence of weatherproofness and the water is currently pouring in. Another job to add to the list!

You might think the video above shows that Geisha's has given up her raids on the haystack. Not a chance!

A.N.D.Q!

Despite it being appalling weather William and Geisha insist on helping themselves to the hay buffet.

Taking shelter wherever they can Hercules and Maude are hiding under the spare rabbit hutch, it might only keep their heads dry but at least its a start!