Killer in our midst!

We adjourned form our busy day just as it was getting dark, a very productive day at Rock HQ saw progress in the garden, Rene got cleaned for the first time in one year of ownership, all the animals were cleaned out and brushed/groomed/fussed. Poppy pictured above caught a Lion sneaking up on the horses. The pigs had a wild time running around the garden before being spotted when they high tailed it back to the pen and tried to eat my boots as we had a bonding session. We were asked the other day how our animals are so friendly and get on so well. Well they have to, we haven't the time or resources to solve disputes so they all bump along nicely and all come to us when called. Well usually, Trevor bucked the trend and demonstrated more Houdini skills jumping fences and racing round to the Technohermits pad. Trevor is not the only one to be sensing spring at Rock HQ, trying to mount Tracey as she filled the water buckets was definitely a bad move on his part, she is thinking of booking the vet to geld him and quell his amorous advances.

Back to the point, killer in our midst, we had finished for the day and the two punctures in the wheelbarrow wheel were fading into minor irritations as we reflected on the progress made. Delicious smells of a rabbit poaching on the rayburn added to the indicators that the day was over as far as work was concerned. But as any smallholder will tell you, you never finish, you just run out of time or energy or daylight. So while we had a a well earned cuppa planning future days, how the garden is going to be laid out and so on,Tracey heard something and told me to shush. Chickens. Noisy frightened chickens.

The only job left was to shut the birds away and as we came into the cottage just as it was getting dark there were still a few diehards wandering around refusing to go to bed. Experience has taught us not to try and get them to go to bed early, the more you try to get the last few to their roost the more come out to see whats going on. Our battle with the foxes of the hill continues, last Thursday night I got a few blank shots off against two dog foxes fighting over a vixen in the field opposite the cottage. For a few weeks now we haven't lost a bird.



The ominous sounds outside convinced us one or more of the birds was under attack. Tracey got outside quicker than I and was confronted by a sea of white feathers in the yard, to her left between the stable and house the sounds of a chicken in distress. Tracey went towards the sound and in the torchlight found one of the white hens horribly injured against the fence. Despite deep wounds it was still alive and a trail of feathers led from the hen house some fifty yards away to its current position. She was lucky, whatever it was that was going to eat her had missed its chance. Sat watching just few feet away from the critically injured hen was Kitler.

Kitler is a feral cat we always feed when we see him. Called Kitler because the black patch on his white fur on his head looks like Hitlers hairdo thus he is named Kitler.

We have always wondered how he is so fat. Until tonight we assumed he had more than his fair share of rabbits on the hill and that his diet was supplemented by a few soft touches like ourselves.

But the feathers were a giveaway. Kitler is a chicken killer.

Luckily for Kitler the only thing to hand was a plastic food scoop which totally lacks aerodynamic properties but somehow managed to hit the smug cat as I threw it across the yard.

Kitler will now be treated the same as foxes. No more free breakfasts.

Berner Breakout!

They are fantastic dogs but agility is not one of their strong points!

However, if they get an idea in their heads you have a hard job convincing them otherwise. So today Rocky and Reba were in the conservatory, the bespoke redwood effort lovingly built by the nice man who sold us Rock HQ and they decided that what they wanted to do was go for a walk. I personally think they were egged on by Poppy the Golden Retriever who was with them.

Anyway the dynamic duo shoulder charged the double doors leading into the garden and set off on a great adventure which was only curtailed when The Oracle spotted them harassing Mad Keith for crusts of bread.

The Oracle being the good neighbour that he is walked them back presenting three muddy dogs to Tracey and Bethan who were enjoying hot buttered toast for breakfast oblivious to the mass breakout.

Dog tired!

Unable to shake off this flu which has now developed into the sorest throat and worst cough I have ever had I could not face work today. So I spared my colleagues an opportunity of listening to me cough until I vomit or witness the sudden temperature fluctuations my body inflicts on itself so one moment I am wrapped in thermal mountaineering gear the next stripped to shorts and t shirt and looking like I am in a Turkish bath. The only positive I see of the last week of illness is that I have lost weight, and had I been able to prepare all the treats and goodies for the Christmas period would have been able to gorge myself back to full health.

Tracey is also whats technically known as in a right state so I insisted she stay at home as well, there was no ulterior motive as I am more than able to stagger to the kettle and make my own cold cures. On the subject of which the only one that has done any good so far has been a three parts orange juice one part whisky warmed up and sweetened with honey. After a couple you really do feel different if not better.

Being ill has made another rule of smallholding apparent, never be ill together, one of you needs to remain fit enough to deal with any emergencies, that or you have a support network close by. I can do the usual feeding round first thing in the morning in around twenty minutes, going slowly and allowing for time wasting such as tickling piglets noses it takes a maximum of forty five pre work minutes to establish that all the critters at Rock HQ are accounted for and have enough food and water until we get home. Today it took me an hour and a half what with coughing until I wretched, leaning on solid objects feeling sorry for myself and finding Reba and Poppy.

Perhaps sensing I would be unable to shout them, I find speaking in anything other than a raised whisper difficult at present they waited until I was suitably distracted by Apollo who for reasons known only in his tiny foal like mind had piled pooh all around his stable and had done diving forward rolls through it. His white bits were Khaki, all the way up to his forehead. As I tried to salvage the situation and chastised myself for getting such a feces obsessed horse I could see Rocky our male Bernese Mountain Dog sitting quietly by the wheelbarrow clearly adopting the stance of whatever happens next I wasn't involved. I shut the poohy pony away and approached Rocky who went from it wasn't me to being clearly guilty and out into fresh fields of please I tried to stop them don't shout at me. We faced each other over a barrow of pooh, tumbleweed rolled across the yard as the wind whistled through the bare branches of the trees. Rocky gulped and looked down the lane showing me where they had gone.

Great I rasped. Rocky shrugged, cocked his leg on the barrow and went into Rock HQ. He had been helpful enough in his book.

I tried shouting but a strange sound like Faith chewing a live chicken came out, the embarrassment of making such a noise coupled with the pain caused by trying to summon the missing dogs put paid to any further attempts. Incidentally Faith has chewed another live chicken. For some reason she feels the need to rid the world of grey hens. Her latest is currently converting into pate in the rayburn, it was destined to be coq au vin anyway but the poor thing didn't deserve death by setter.

Finally I found Reba and Poppy, flirting with a no eared collie called Ben down in The Oracles yard. He's no good to them having lost more than just his ears in an encounter with a vet a long time ago but he was as keen as they were. I mimed you put that away and get back home to bed you naughty dogs as Ben shot off back to his kennel and the two dog tarts set off at a brisk pace with their tails between their legs. They could tell I was cross with them as I didnt say a word all the way home.

I'm still not speaking to them.

I cant!

Its a Dog's Life!

There are many hazards facing a smallholder, goats lurking in dark corners to mug you for the feed buckets, Ryeland sheep rushing you from behind as they try to get to the food trough, pigs biting your legs as they mistake you for their breakfast, come to think of it many of the hazards do revolve around feeding time.

Aside from the hazards there are the emotions that you surf throughout the day. The highs, the knowing that you are so lucky to be here on this planet in this very spot at this very time feeling like you do, no one will ever experience it quite like you do and once you recognise that moment its gone. Forever.

Today I note a new emotion, not one I am prone to but as I am about to head out into the dark wet evening to check on the horses, to make sure the goats are shut up safely, to put the birds away before the fox takes another and all the jobs associated with the evening routine I am feeling jealous.

I must say I am not exactly feeling 100%, Ben is back on leave and has very kindly given me an irritating cough, runny nose and all the aches and pains normal for man flu. At least I hope its just man flu, not some weird tropical disease he has brought back with him, currently he is not being a very brave soldier lying in bed claiming he is dieing.

I have manfully ignored the symptoms and got on with the farm, taking the water up the hill by the bucket load to the horses who had the poor manners to drink it almost as fast as I could carry it really took it out of me though and all the while I was watched by the Berners.

Poppy busied herself with a toy lion practicing her retrieve by throwing it and then herself down the hill and then running down after it, running up and down to the point of exhaustion. The thought of putting panniers on the Berners to carry the water did cross my mind, they were after all used for such jobs in Switzerland. Eventually all the jobs done I got back inside to a hot drink and got on with house jobs.

So why jealous, well after all their hard work watching me today the Berners have crashed out around the fire and are stuck there like limpets while I have clearly indicated that they should join me again outside. Everytime I walked past Rocky he really concentrated on being asleep.

And as for Reba!

Does Reba look like she is interested in going out in the rain?

Brass neck

Given that the magnificent seven were on patrol seconds before we were surprised to hear the very worrying sound coming from the copse at the side of our lane.

Now for those new to this site the magnificent seven are a pack of dogs who enjoy the life of luxury here at Rock HQ. Here they have everything to meet their needs, from stagnant ditches to sit in to a choice selection of pooh to eat or roll in. Poppy the not so golden retriever pictured above having rolled in the very freshest fox pooh had been in the cauldron at the end of the lane, the two Bernese Mountain Dogs sat and watched as Tracey and I, illuminated by lights with enough power to pick out enemy bomber formations in the night sky, cleaned out the horses latest offerings before providing them with their dinners, Faith the Gordon setter ran at 100mph from one end of the farm to check if all was in order to the other to check to see if anything had changed since she had last been there some 30 seconds before while the two ancient Beagles grubbed around trying to find anything to eat that the other animals had overlooked. Pip the mental collie cross chased her tail, cats, shadows, the wheel barrow and Faith. All in all it was a normal night time routine taking place at Rock HQ.

With all this mayhem and activity taking place you might have thought that the most reviled animal of the smallholding would have kept well away. But no, within two seconds of the lights being turned off and the dogs running through the front door a female fox called her mate from the copse not fifty metres from where I was standing.

Five shots from the gun and all went quiet. We knew we hadn't hit it, they were blanks, but Mrs Fox doesn't know that, at least I don't think she does.

Walking in sunshine

Today was supposed to be Kington Show (see www.kingtonshow.co.uk ) but unfortunately due to the rain of the summer it was cancelled, the showground more suited to an aquatic show rather than an agricultural show. A real shame, especially as Rocky and Reba our Bernese Mountain Dogs were entered in the dog show, the first time for Reba and the first time they had been entered against other Berners.

So with a "spare" day we were able to get to grips with jobs on the smallholding and as luck would have it after days, no, weeks of rain it was a bright and sunny day.

It has been one of those rare days where it all went so well, it was all so easy and a day that makes all the bad ones fade into distant memory.

The sheep were moved to The Ghost House gardens, the lure of the lush green grass and about a ton of free apples about to yield to gravity thus supplementing the dietary requirements of the rampaging Ryelands overcame any superstition associated with the property. The two Gypsy Cobs in the field watched as the intruders fanned out and explored their new surroundings. Moving the sheep is usually an exercise in patience but today they fell for the follow the bucket routine and walked halfway around the hill to their new pasture.

Tracey walked behind making sure no stragglers bolted for the hills, she has been very poorly the last two weeks so it was good to see her out and about in the sunshine enjoying the role of assistant shepherdess. Having collected two large buckets of apples we fed the pigs and watched them for a while. We put the boys out in brilliant sunshine, they all behaved and William only bit Apollo once and only nearly stamped his brains out in the first five minutes. After that they settled and when we fetched them in this evening Apollo was grazing just behind William so they seem to have bonded.

The poorly sheep, see strangers from a strange land, was turned out today, she has put on weight but still has ribs like a toast rack and a strange lump on her jaw. She is happy enough and was soon grazing alongside our magnificent Ryeland Ram.

The day went so well we got all the jobs done that were on the list, a first.

I went back just now to check the sheep and was pleased to see them all contently lying around chewing the cud, bellies full of apples and grass. I made sure they had water and collected some more apples for the pigs breakfast. It was getting dark. I was in the garden of the Ghost House.

I must admit I didn't look at the windows and as I left I didn't look back as lore dictates. Neither did I start running when I heard something running up behind me. Faith our setter sped past, Poppy on the other hand saw where I was heading and had sat waiting at the lanes entrance not wanting to go into the garden. Once I was sure I was out of sight of the house I turned and looked behind me, a full moon rising over the trees silhouetting the hill beautifully. Right on cue an owl hooted, which really did sound like a howl. The legend of the Black Dog sprang to mind and I headed home, I didn't run, but I did walk very quickly.

Keep smiling

There are days when despite all the good things in life I just feel like slamming the door of Rock HQ and staying inside.

The day did get off to a good start, the morning rounds were completed with no real problems, save for the fact the pigs have finally worked out how to open the pig pen door and were waiting in the passageway for their breakfasts instead of by their trough. After I fought my way through several hundred pounds of pork they sampled the savoury delights of my boots and trousers and because I am not the most organised smallholder my right boot still has no lace so at one point I was doing a traditional one boot ceilidh, which is similar to Riverdance but quicker, with the ripest pig pooh in the county squishing between my toes. When I finally extracted my boot from the pig toilet I managed to coax the pigs back to their rightful spot and barricaded their door with bales.

Amongst the bales a Black Rock hen was sitting on some eggs, one of which had hatched. It might seem cruel but I took the chick off her, for two reasons, primarily she was perched on a stack of bales in the barn and without doubt the chick would have found the only gap in the hay stack, fallen through and would have made a tasty snack for one of the cats or pigs, more likely it would have got stuck and the prospect of moving a hundred bales to rescue a Kamikaze chick was not a pleasing one, secondly Olivia a chick in the conservatory hatched a week or so ago is lonely.

On return from work I set about the tasks of the evening with enthusiasm but this was soon knocked out of me by Geisha the goat who made it her mission to annoy me, trip me up, jump on me, knock buckets over or jump into buckets I was carrying at every opportunity. She got into the garden while I was watering the plants and despairing at the slug damage. Last night I killed over 150 large slugs, some were the size of small rats and squeaked when terminated. They are devouring everything, tomatoes, potatoes, onions and all things green. When I got her out of the garden she then climbed into Rene in a further bout of attention seeking behaviour, once evicted from there she caused a near riot in the kennels by claiming Faiths bed and Poppy's biscuits. Poppy was blissfully unaware of this theft as she had taken it upon herself to disappear creating another job for her owner and his failing sense of humour which really did fail when on opening a shed door a Muscovy duck that had been hiding did a fantastic vertical take off hitting me in the face..

Despite there being another half hour or so of daylight enough was enough and I sought refuge in Rock HQ.

Still I console myself that my day wasn't as frustrating as Ben's has been. He caught the train to Penzance as the first stage of his End to End cycle ride. Penzance station is 12 or so miles from Lands End and at half two I received a picture of a rain lashed Lands End on my phone, the trip was about to start. Except he couldn't, in cycling to Lands End his chain had broken and he was now waiting to get a bus back to Penzance to get it fixed. Not the best start to an epic adventure.

Still one day we will look back and laugh.

Country Cousins

We get lots of visitors to Rock HQ, all are welcome, especially if they want to have a look around or better still help out with the jobs!

Everyone who makes the perilous journey up our track enjoys their time here and go away promising to return, no matter how dirty they get while here!

Not so sure about this pair though. My lovely mother-in-laws dogs seem a a bit agoraphobic to say the least. Holly and Zak are townies you see, the countryside scares them. Whilst the magnificent seven career around looking for stagnant ditches to sit in, fox pooh to roll in or chicken eggs to steal, full of the joys of life this pair seen sat in the yet to be dairy hide until they are escorted to the cottage front door where they seek out the safety of the sofa.

They went missing yesterday as I was feeding the pigs. They had run with the rest of the pack down the lane to the barn where the pigs are housed. Once their dogsitter was otherwise occupied fighting off the enthusiastic attentions of four hungry porkers they took their opportunity to scarper. Worried that I had lost my mother-in-laws precious babies I returned to the cottage to raise the alarm.

In the time it took Tracey to don her boots I had located the missing mutleys quivering in their beds. Ours have to be asked, cajoled, threatened with sticks and ultimately carried back to their beds. Not so these two, totally unlike their country cousins they cant wait to curl up in the safety of their pits away from the perils posed by the great outdoors.

Poppy's last stand

Here we can see Poppy our heroic Golden Retriever mounting a last stand defence of the dog food bins. Totally outnumbered she battles on against an enemy that seeks to overwhelm her position. Despite there being no chance of reinforcements she bravely battles tries to stop the enemy stealing the food. Agianst such numbers it is a lost cause.

This clip illustrates yesterdays post very well, the marauding gang of Ryelands stealing all the food once again.

More Pocket Rocket Mayhem

Anyway all was calm in the garden tonight so the magnificent seven were lounging around and I was doing important stuff like standing around and looking at stuff. This was not, and I must make this quite clear an attempt to stay out of the way of Tracey and Bethan. I had not, and I stress this point, I had not overheard a conversation that involved the words "sping clean." Nor had I seen a bottle of window cleaner and cloths placed on the windowsill for my use. My activities in the garden were not linked to any avoidance of housework.

No.

Partly I was making sure the dogs didnt get up to any mischief in the garden, listening to the birds and planning a menu for the weekend when we have friends over for dinner, but mostly I was pottering around and therefore unable to clean the windows of the conservatory, my household task for the evening.

The Berner's we sitting on guard as only Berner's can, ready to run and hide at the first sign of danger. Pip was gnawing on her dog chew (sheep skull), Faith was bothering the chicks in the A frame, Poppy was diligently guarding the feed bin making sure no marauding goat took liberties, the fact the bin was empty had no bearing on the matter, Preston and Passion were beagling about in the brambles at the top of the garden. All was well in the canine world.

Until Trevor made his presence felt.

He is a true Shitland.

But we adore him.

The Hills have eyes.

I don't know who was more surprised, me or the fox.

I was putting the birds away so it was dark and I was alone and armed only with a torch. The dogs were in their kennels as they are a bit of a nuisance when trying to persuade geese, ducks and chickens into their houses.

Terry the Turkey is obviously suffering post traumatic stress after the fox attacks last week, he was perched in the Black Rocks house. He is so subdued he even lets you stroke him now, until last week he would have launched all thirty pound of his carcass at your face. He wasn't really aggressive but like many of the animals at Rock HQ he has a certain attitude. His was "get near me and I will kill you". Now he is seeking comfort from any source and that includes human contact, the first since he was an egg.

Tracey is so worried about his change in attitude she has contacted a Turkey dating agency on the internet and asked if they will sell us some new wives for him.

Anyway he was safe and well and tucked up for the night with the hens. I went to the other end of the smallholding to sort the rest of the poultry. We had already discovered that Apple, one of the Pekin Ducks, was missing probably victim of the fox. The birds were all accounted for except Apple. Tracey joined me by the duck house and suggested that we look for her. We both knew this would be pointless but we did it anyway. (Shes the one in the middle in the picture)
I climbed the steep bank of Willow Rise and shone the torch into the darkness of the Cauldron.
A pair of bright yellow eyes reflected back at me. There, sat under the hawthorn tree at the head of the stream in the Cauldron, sat a fox.

Typical.

No gun.

No dogs.

I shouted.

It stared at me, the eyes tinged orange, it looked quite evil.

Tracey shouted should she let the dogs out.

Yes.

The fox blinked and lazily loped along the track towards the top of our field.

Now our dogs usually when they are released from the kennels set off like unguided missiles in all directions. A sure fire way of startling the fox.

Not tonight. They all wanted to play, they stayed close by or fell at our feet. The fox looked on with yellow eyed indifference. I threw a stick in its direction to encourage the dogs to defend the farm. Poppy the retriever brought it back. I could not believe how dumb our dogs were being.

The dogs romped around the field while the fox approached our boundary. I led the charge. They took the hint and charged, straight back to the kennels.

The fox ran up North Face Gully and stood on a rock looking back, its eyes glowing in the torchbeam and then he was gone.

He will be back.

It is a war.

He is winning, he has cunning, stealth and surprise on his side.

I have a gun, and when the fox gets close enough the gun will win.

It's a dead fox walking.

Just when you thought the day was over!

Sleep is quite high on the to do list after spending all day messing around in the garden and looking after the animals. We had quite a busy day, building the creep feeder, turning out the horses, cutting down all the nettles, bracken and foxgloves on Oak Bank, collecting a huge pile of dead wood that had blown across the field, the usual Rock routine regarding the animals and the household chores.

So by half ten we decided to turn in, just two more tasks to do before climbing the wooden hill, shut the birds away and put the dogs in their kennels. The birds have got into the habit of sitting outside the duck house, goose house and shed until they see the torchlight, then they do one of two things. They either calmly go to their beds or they run to the hills. As it was a still, calm, warm night they went to bed without any fuss, obviously theres no fun involved if your owner isn't exposed to hypothermia as he tries to round you up, so they tend to save running off for blizzards or hurricanes, within seconds all the birds were accounted for and safe.

The same could not be said for the dogs. We are used to them taking off at full cry when they suspect a fox is in the perimeter. Faith even came back one day with a six inch piece of tail from a slow fox. What was different about last night was the missing dog was a very ancient beagle, some fifteen years old called Passion, shes on the right in the picture next to her mental brother Preston. She never wanders off, and is a bit deaf now so perhaps she was still in the house, not having heard the call to go to bed. A quick check established she had gone out with the rest, I retraced my steps and checked I hadn't locked her in with any of the birds, no sign. Neither had she got into any kennel other than the one she shares with Preston and Pip the insane collie.

Tracey now joined the search and we split up keeping in touch via radio. I set off down the track while Tracey went into the Cauldron. After fifteen minutes we still hadn't seen her. I thought I had found her but it turned out to be "Ducky" one of Poppy's big soft toys she hides on the hill. She has to do this as Faith cannot stand any toy with a squeaker so destroys anything that has the audacity to squeak in her presence. Within minutes she can render toys sold as indestructible into a pile of stuffing and non squeaky plastic components.

Just a bit further on I saw a small white thing cross the track in front of me, I tried to keep it in the torchlight as I called Tracey on the radio, I was pretty sure it was our dog but whatever it was was now halfway up the hill and intent on putting as much distance between me and it. I stuck to the track not wanting to risk a tumble over the rocks and bushes that adorn the hill. I lost sight of whatever it was and began to doubt that it was Passion, perhaps it was a badger. We have lots of those on the hill, when we moved to Rock HQ we had a set in the garden but I think they decided sharing with the magnificent seven (our dogs) was just too much. They found quieter lodgings elsewhere. There have been clashes though, Preston got caught by a big male badger one night as he went to do a number two in the gorse bushes. He was left badly bitten and so traumatised that he refused to go outside for a week.

I was now on the track leading to Mad Keith's, I wasn't sure how he would take to me wandering round his shack in the dead of night shouting for a dog. I was glad we hadn't been watching a horror film before having to search the hill, my imagination is fertile enough without having to contend with the possibilities of flesh eating zombies stalking the hill or that every rustle of a bush is a werewolf waiting to pounce on me. Brave as I am I have been known to let Tracey put the birds away in case the foul demons that haunt the night get me.

I picked up the dog in the torchlight again, she wouldn't come anyway near me. This was unusual, I don't beat her, well not often, so couldn't understand why she was behaving so erratically. Tracey called me and told me to turn the torch off, perhaps that was scaring her. Great. Being on a hill next to Mad Keith's without the comfort blanket powered by Duracell was all I needed. I tried it for nearly five seconds before deciding she wasn't scared of the torch. Back in the spotlight she sat still about fifty yards up the hill by a pile of boulders. I could see Tracey's torch down below, she watched my progress as I stumbled over the aforementioned roots, branches and rocks to get to the daft dog.

She did at one point head back along the hill, much to my annoyance, but then sat and stared into space. Which is how I found her, just sat staring at nothing. She didn't seem to recognise me so I sat down with her for a few minutes gently stroking her and talking quietly. Rocky joined us and at that point she seemed to remember who we were and began to wag her tail. There was no way I could carry this fat beagle down the hill to the track, fortunately she followed me and soon we were with Tracey who made a big fuss of the old dog, not the brave one armed heroic rescuer. I know my place.

Soon we were back in Rock HQ, Passion was allowed to sleep in the conservatory instead of the kennel. She seemed fine but we are going to keep a close eye on her in case she has more senior moments. What had earlier seemed like an early night was now very late, actually an early morning. Animals have more of an impact on the love life of a smallholder than kids ever do!

So we went to bed, exhausted.

I slept, but had a strange dream. I dreamt I was a physiotherapist working in a town, I think it was Wolverhampton. But I wasn't me, I was called Ed. To make matters worse I was a vegetarian.

Nightmare!

Rock's Golden Retriever

Today is Poppy's Birthday, three years old, pictured on the sofa tired out after her unsuccessful attempt to catch dinner and sat in the doorway of the stable. By the food bin. She likes to keep an eye on it.