- Location
- Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk
- One of the things to bring peace to a ravaged old soul is watching the constant wheel
of existence, as new lives bring replenishment to the world around me. Seeing the
ewes begin to blossom as they’re starting to show a bit of belly, filling with next
springs explosion of life, makes the shortening dark days more bearable. A bunch of
autumn calved cows have bonny youngsters bouncing around the valley, although I’ll
soon want to fetch them in out of the weather. And as the spring calving cows start to
forget to bawl for their recently weaned calves, we’re picking out who’s carrying
again. This in its turn brings small pleasures. Without the vet rummaging around to
confirm it, I’d say the oldest cow in the herd, a hale and chipper 15 year old black
Galloway, is allowed to stay for another season. And that in turn suggests that a
favourite 10 year old bull is still doing his job. This latter news is very welcome,
although I don’t think I’ll be parted from him in this world, whether he’s working or
no. He’s done me so much good over the years I’m happy to give him a retirement.
Funnily enough, I recall his sire was permitted the same irrational luxury on a farm in
Scotland…it must be something in their nature. -
On this matter, we checked the breeding records of several fatties as the cows came
off the common for TB testing, and they’re all good bar one rotund bossy dun belt.
She’s been geld for some time, so she’ll be leaving Las Vegas in pretty short order.
And so the wheel turns.
As a rule, I don’t go in for too harsh, or quick, a judgment. To illuminate, consider
this. John and I weaned an off lying bunch of 20 last month, and noticed one was
markedly bigger than her peers. Some investigation that night revealed that she was
out of a young cow who’d reared a blinder first go, then slipped back a year before
raising this’un. I reckon her overall kgs/weaned per acre would be every bit as good
as her mates, but she works at a different speed.
Back to young lives then. We’ve kept a couple of pups of late. John has a collie bitch
to train- out of ‘Fly’, it’s been christened ‘Mag’-short for Maggot, and it lives
outdoors as befits such a creature. And Polly has been allowed to keep a Jack Russell
from a litter John bred, which resides in the kitchen. This latter is about the sharpest
critter you ever saw. Just 12 months now, Lola is fast becoming Queen of all she
surveys, winding everyone round her proverbial. She has been discreetly given
various dog toys, all of which she quickly disembowels. One had a label clearly
restricting it to ‘light chewing’- we’re not sure what that means to a terrier. Lola can’t
read very well though, so it too soon had its fluffy white innards spread over the lino.
A bit later, I noticed that I had to pick up Alison’s over glove whenever I came by the
kitchen. Hanging it back over the Aga rail, I just assumed it was being knocked off
when someone leant over to stir the cauldron of broth. That was until I snuck my head
in, and caught Lola gently tugging it off the rail…little sod. This wouldn’t have been
so bad, but then she disembowelled the oven cloth a bit as well. Alison discovered this
while taking something hot out of the oven…..something really really hot apparently.
Mind you, Lola’s intelligence in impressive too. I asked her, as she was about to
yawn last week… ‘Lola, who’s the surviving Castro brother?’ She looked me dead in
the eye, and correctly answered ‘Raul’!* Which in turn leads me to ask you….how
long do you have to be in power before you stop being the ‘Revolutionary leader’,
and become the ‘Tyrannical nutcase despot’?
- If I’m honest, I’m not allowed to repeat that Raul gag around the house, so I had to
- share it with you lot. Sorry. Although I don’t know why I should be embarrassed over
such a harmless bit of topical fun. I have to share the house with individuals who’re
watching the news carefully, because apparently there’s a national sprout shortage. I
believe someone who’ll remain nameless has an eye on his Christmas record again.
While Guy Martin can pedal across some Chinese desert in 2 hours flat, or whatever it - was, I’ve someone near to me who’ll sit down and eat 20+ Brussel sprouts in one go.
Never mind if there’s enough maize silage in the country to fuel all the anaerobic
digesters, the big question is whether there’s enough Brussel sprouts in Lincoln.
