Thank you Rocky

We have for about a week been driving Rene our Rx4 around wondering why we can smell germoline.

Our trusty Renault has transformed in the few months since we took ownership of him from the pristine concourse vehicle with shiny bits and plush leather seats into something that resembles a crash between a rubbish skip and a compost heap. Whereas Rene's previous owner spent his weekends polishing paintwork, hoovering the interior and giving the upholstery nourishing polishes, we spend our time ferrying animals, animal feed, animal bedding and all the accoutrement's essential to the health and welfare of our charges. As I type Rene is sat in the yard waiting for me to unload the four sacks of pig nuts, two sacks of horse feed, two sacks of rolled oats and a bale of wood shavings for William's bed. It was only due to the fact that they misunderstood our order at the farm supply shop that Rene's suspension was saved from further abuse as six bags of dog food were missing. I haven't unloaded Rene as it is raining, for a change.

So we are used to Rene looking less than showroom. We are used to wiping the seats clean of mud after an enthusiastic dog has jumped in when we open the door, in fact that was why we chose Rene with his leather and therefore wipe clean seats. We are used to the foot wells being lined with straw or hay, used to the clink of jam jars donated by our friends rolling around the back seats, used to strange handling characteristics as it barrels around corners overloaded with animal supplies and very used to strange smells emanating from a variety of sources.

Most noticeably was the aroma of onions caused by our dog Rocky developing a taste for onion as he was travelling in the back where he discovered a nice bag containing our onion sets. After chomping through several dozen he hid the rest in cracks and crevices that are a feature of the RX4's interior design thus allowing them to rot in peace. Once that aroma dissipated it was replaced by a nice smell, initially, of bananas. This welcoming smell soon deteriorated which prompted a search which uncovered two bananas I had forgotten I had concealed in a secret compartment under the rear seat.

We had a few days without any real olfactory problems but the last week we have detected a medical type whiff which has grown stronger and named two days ago as germoline. Thinking it was a final assault from the rotting bananas we tried to ignore it.

Today I can reveal what the cause of the smell was. Rocky, bless him, had found the bottle containing the potion to be used as a lubricating gel for when we, I say we, I obviously mean Tracey, clean William's todger of smegma. He had accidentally opened it and it had soaked into his cushion and the vinyl cover in the back. Tracey had been looking for this potion so we could tackle our horses tackle earlier in the week unable to find it the job was put off for a few days.

Rocky might have wasted £5.99 by knocking the top off but he had temporarily saved me from a grisly task and consequent nightmares.

One more reason why I love Bernese Mountain Dogs!

Long Weekend

It's been a very long weekend here at Rock HQ, the wedding Friday night was just the start.
Saturday I should have been narrating at a dance show but work commitments kept me away from making a fool of myself in front of several hundred strangers. Tracey on the other hand had no such excuse so was busy most of Saturday marshaling children stage left and pushing them out into the spotlight right on cue. The show was a charity event raising money for Prostate Cancer Research. Unfortunately the shows organiser's father has this, as does Tracey's Dad. The show was a great success and raised a lot of cash for a very worthy cause.

The jobs have been piling up here so it is vital that we get them prioritised. I spent six hours cutting back the bracken, it's finally looking like I am winning the war against this invasive plant but it really is a struggle. The stables have been cleaned out, the pooh that the sheep produced and trod into the concrete while they were incarcerated awaiting shearing stuck to the floor with the tenacity of a limpet. So great is its adhesive quality I am seriously thinking of sending a sample to Loctite to improve its super glue. When the floor was finally cleaner, not clean, but cleaner and covered with a fresh bed of straw Trevor showed his appreciation by urinating all over the fresh straw on his bed. I was sure he was smiling at me when he did this. (You can tell we are all tired this weekend I even managed to catch the pocket rocket asleep this evening! See above )

On the subject of Horses I am told that tomorrow is the day that William has to be cleansed of Smegma again. Not keen on sharing this experience again I might find a crucially important job the other end of the farm when the bucket of soapy water appears tomorrow. Once was definately enough for me.

The garden is doing really well, not producing any food yet, other than the odd bit of salad and some highly dubious leeks that had a wood like quality that even I couldn't eat when I served them with dinner. Potential food abounds though and when I get a moment I shall have quick read of my "How to grow vegetables book" which unlike the "How to.." animal books seems quite accurate.

My main argument against these "How to ..." genres is that they seldom tell you what not to do. There are no bold italic warnings saying under no circumstances don't do this at this point or this might happen scenarios.

A case in point.

I am quite interested in keeping Bees. I am so interested in fact that I have several "How to keep Bees." books by several different authors. If there is an agricultural show I can often be found loitering around the Bee Keepers tent hoping a Bee Keeper will spot me as having potential as a Keeper and will impart years of wisdom in an easily understandable soundbite.
I am drawn to the arcane workings of the hive and watch with endless fascination the inevitable sample hive display with a glass side showing the busy workers attending the Queen.

Bee documentaries have held my attention as I gasp with awe at the complexity of the inner workings of the hive, the air conditioning provided by workers wing beats, the magical production of honey and the brutal race to be Queen. I have even gone so far as to phone local bee Keepers and ask the odd question about broods.

This interest in Bees has led to a quest for knowledge! I read and re read the "How to..." and I know for a fact it does not at any stage ever say, do not take the top off a hive.

I couldn't help it, I was curious. Beth and I were walking through an orchard owned by Bulmers, a well know cider producer and there were dozens of hives with Bees humming lazily in and out. Having already sampled a glass of the famous apple beverage I was perhaps less than cautious in my approach to the hive. A few Bees buzzed past, not unduly causing me concern, they were less than interested in me. All was well. It was late evening I rationalised to myself, they will be tucked up in their little Bee hammocks after tiring themselves out collecting pollen all day. Surely they wouldn't begrudge me one little look, a quick peek at their secret goings on.

I gripped the sides of the top and quietly lifted.

Things happened very quickly.

Beth shouted "Run" and disappeared from view through the avenue of trees with remarkable speed. I was suddenly the centre of an explosion of Bee's who seemed quite cross that they had a new sunroof. I couldn't chase after Beth as I was still holding half the hive. Ignoring the Bee protests, and that I was about to get more stings than the time I put the brush cutter through a red ants nest, and most of the ferocious little insects ended up, or down rather, my boots, I put the lid carefully back in place, as carefully as one might when the centre of a Bee whirlwind. I even managed to overtake Beth as I ran out of the orchard pursued by a few of the fitter workers intent on sacrificing themselves to ensure the hive is never bothered by me again.

My quest for knowledge regarding this matter is over. I now know what happens when you remove the lid of the hive.

You get stung.

Secrets of Animal Husbandry

There are things in the world of smallholding that you find yourself doing or accepting that had someone explained to you before you took on the farm you might have questioned or dare I say baulked at the idea.

For example your tolerance for dirt increases, whats the point of clean trousers when you are likely to be kneeling in one of nine forms of excrement that morning as you attend to one of your beasts or birds. You accept extremes of temperature and weather, bravely trudging along the lane carrying vital supplies to starving animals in blizzards, hurricanes, hail storms, torrential rain, biting northerly winds and very occasionally hot sunny days.

You get used to being tired, having a full time job and then working full time on the farm does take it out of you and it is a battle now and then to get out of your warm armchair in front of the wooodburner, leaving your nice cup of hot chocolate, beautiful wife and loyal Bernese Mountain Dog who seconds before you moved was lying at your feet looking adoringly into your eyes promising to defend you to the death should the need arise and who is now cowering under the kitchen table as you don your sou'wester and cheerily give the "Come on Rocky" the signal that he should join you on your epic trek to round up the geese for the night who will invariably scatter when your torchlight appears and be all over the place like a mad woman's shit rather than snuggled up in the goose house safe from predators and the elements, you get used to that sinking feeling as you stand by the door looking at the dog looking at you giving the "Are you mental, I've seen the weather mate I'm staying in here where its warm" signals, and you know full well that you are about to go out alone.

There are lots of things you get used to, and there are lots of things about animal husbandry you are never told.

For example, if you knew that goats climbed like monkeys you might reconsider having one, or two as we do. If you knew they eat everything other than what they are supposed to eat you would probably invest heavily in electrified fencing, the type capable of keeping King Kong away from your precious garden and fruit bushes and trees.

Any new animal at the Rock means a steep learning curve for the human residents, the type of learning curve NASA uses to launch rockets.

So no one told me, no one ever mentioned what I found myself doing whilst standing in the evening sunshine at Rock HQ. Had they done so I, without fear of contradiction, would have told them to "Sod that for a game of soldiers" or perhaps similar sentiment expressed in fewer words, mostly of four letters and undoubtedly one at least beginning with the letter f.

I was involved in a task that still makes me shudder at the thought and my brain now contains images that are most unpleasant. The worst thing is we have to do this again, several times a year for the rest of our lives, or for as long as we have a male horse.

We have to clean Williams penis.

With a special lotion purchased form the equine equivalent of Ann Summers, the instructions for use are enough to put you off your dinner, yet alone the process. Apparently the horses thingy gets covered in dirt and when it withdraws back into the sheath it drags this dirt inside which over time converts into a black tar like substance called Smegma, the name alone is conveys terror, this Smegma hardens and can crack (OH please God no more) creating razor sharp edges which cut the poor horses widgey (How have they survived this long!) and create an infection which in extreme cases makes your pony very poorly and need the vet.

Not wanting to be the owner of Mattel's diseased dick my little pony we had to take action. Warning signs were there that there might be a problem as Williams sheath had fly bites on it so perhaps his todger wasn't smelling so good. Smell is another aspect of smallholding you get very used to, there are some ripe smells around animals, particularly goats when they backfire.

So armed with buckets of warm water, sponges and pony love potion we fetched William to be cleansed. He stood quietly, gently munching his hay from the net while Tracey and I considered how to go about this task. With one of us on either side of William we bent down and inspected his John Thomas, it was, as mine would be if this was going to happen, hiding. It had to be coaxed out. I knew I would never be the same after this evening.

The guidance on the potion said an ideal time to lasso his willy to clean it was when he had a wee. Anyone witnessing a horse taking a leak and the gallons they produce would know that this is not the time to be anywhere near without total waterproof protection. Ben tells a story of the horse at Sandhurst, Warrior, who on the Commandants parade in a a very high wind took a leak which instantly vapourised and the pissy mist landed on the wives and daughters of the senior officers who were all dressed in their best.

There had to be a different way to coax it out. Tracy gave it a quick rub, I really didn't know where to look or what to feel as I was dragged into what seemed like an equine threesome. As I watched her trying to provoke a reaction from the flacid horse I suffered a curious mixture of feelings, revulsion, envy, bordering on jealousy. My wife's hand action prompted no response so with the words "Cover me, I'm going in" or similar Tracey put her hand, suitably oiled, inside Williams foreskin.

The next few seconds passed in a blur. William definitely reacted, his eyes bulged, he almost choked on the hay and quite possibly the wax shot out of his ears as well.

Tracey triumphantly waved under my nose a lump of evil smelling black stuff clutched in her lubricated digits. She dropped it on the floor and I looked away as she reached in for a second handful. William was to my mind showing to many signs he was enjoying this and was definately giving me leery looks. Not wanting to ruin the moment for them both I looked out across the Radnor hills and found somewhere safe in the sunset to park my shattered mind.

Animal husbandry couldn't get any worse than this.

As usual I was wrong.

Pip the collie was sat watching the show. She is a strange dog with severe attachment disorder and behavioural problems.

She ran over and sat under William.

She ate the Smegma.

Find somewhere safe.