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.

Big girls and DIY

These are the pigs, they have grown very well, the one closest to the camera, Gerty, is trying desperately to achieve pet status by being the nicest pig in the history of sty's. They are big girls now, Gerty is clearly the biggest.

They currently gobble up four pounds of food a day given in two feeds and this will be supplemented by windfall apples as soon as they are ready.

The sun has shone all day on Rock HQ, this meant only one thing, the rabbits house should be finished, taking priority over all jobs. I was made to feel like a small child by the nice men at Kington Building Supplies, they have a knack of making you feel totally useless, which when it comes to DIY I am, but they pile on the agony. I rehearse what I want in my head so that when the knowledgeable one behind the counter enquires if he can help I can demonstrate my DIY prowess by asking for what I think I need without hesitation. He who hesitates in the DIY world gives himself away as one who is incompetent. Thus having measured, rehearsed the name and quantity of the corrugated metal sheet roofing, twenty six inches by seventy eight, four pieces mate and a bag of Dowty Spats, I fell at the final hurdle when told it doesn't come in 78's mate its 72's or 84's, whattle it be?

Damn! As I started the bunny penthouse I wondered about the roof size but was convinced they did 78's. The pressure was mounting, 84's and cut it he sneered knowing my ability with a disc cutter would, even if I found it intact after the Beagles have finished playing with it (which was why we cut up a static caravan with a junior hacksaw not a power tool) inevitably lead to another spell in casualty. Erm. Decide, decide, he who dares DIY's. The whole of the counter staff were now looking at me wondering which way I would go, bets were being placed, 72 and bodge or 84 and plasters.

Erm.

Four 72's mate and a I'll stick a bit of wood on the end. World order restored I left with the just too short roofing and on return to Rock HQ attached them to the bunny palace. Being as good as Karl at measuring the 72 inch pieces of metal roof were just a bit longer than my 72 inch rabbit house so it fitted no problem. Aside from smashing my thumb every other hammer blow it all went rather well.

We took a break as my back felt like it already had and as I sat in agony on the sofa, consoled by a glass of beer and a cheese and onion sandwich the phone rang. Our bales were being made, could we collect them.

I did the only thing I could do.

Finished my sandwich and hid. The bales will have to wait until next weekend.

Personality Transplant

This is Faith our gorgeous Gordon Setter, a very complex character who is happiest when she is careering around the hill chasing bunnies and foxes. Not that she ever catches one, but if there was a prize for effort she would win it.

She is quite a grumpy character, or rather, has been a grouch. For some reason she has undertaken a radical personality change. Several weeks have passed without a single grump from her. She spent most of yesterday racing around the hill or protecting the farm from all intruders, especially Blackbirds by endlessly running from one end of the track to the other. Most of the time yesterday we were gardening or working on the current priority project, that of building a new set of quarters for the rabbits. This may seem a bit of a pointless task, ours not Faith's, re homing the rabbits but it has become a bit more urgent over the last few days.

The rabbits are pets and sit quietly in their hutches not bothering anyone. The goats on the other hand quite often bother Sybil and Manny, quite often knocking the hutch over in their attempt to liberate the rabbits of their breakfasts. Sybil was so traumatised by yet another aggravated burglary that she took refuge in one of the goat houses currently home to the last batch of chicks. These are quite big now, not big enough to go out with the other birds but a good size. Unfortunately Sybil the traumatised rabbit sought comfort from one of the small chickens, she obviously wanted a special friend and the hapless chicken was smothered to death whilst Syb's gave it the kind of loving only a confused and traumatised rabbit can. A new house is therefore a priority to protect the virtue of the remaining hens from the unatural attentions of a marauding lovesick bunny.

By late afternoon we were running out of wood and I was running out of enthusiasm so we adjourned to the garden where I fought off the attention of an inquisitive shitland pony called Trevor as he tried to sample my cheese and onion sandwich and my glass of wine. For a moment I did consider letting him sample the wine, thinking the hangover might teach him a lesson, however the prospect of a drunk belligerent pony rampaging around attempting world domination as opposed to having just a belligerent pony rampaging around attempting world domination was too awful to bear so good sense prevailed.

The occupants of the garden settled down to a lazy Sunday afternoon once the food was gone and Faith continued in her quest to be nice to everyone by settling down to sleep by Daffodil the Ryeland lamb on the patio.

It was a blissful, peaceful afternoon.

Until the goats climbed the cliff again and chaos ensued.