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Anton Coaker - Weekly Column
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<blockquote data-quote="B&amp;B Pig Man" data-source="post: 3451722" data-attributes="member: 576"><p>So, what’s fomenting the broth this week? </p><p></p><p>The somewhat mundane doings of my farming career mostly involve getting a lot of rain blown..nay…blasted in my face. If you sup from a similar vessel, you’ll be all too familiar with the phenomena, and if not, well, trust me it’s different when you have no choice but to grit your teeth and carry on. Still, we’ve had a very easy go of it so far this winter, and as Jan Cole used to say…‘They can’t take away what you’ve already had’. The week’s trials also included having to fettle up some ewe hogs in a hurry. Their grass was mostly picked up, but they were steadily taking blocks and haylage from their feeder, so I was expecting them to rub along just fine. But they weren’t, and in fact were going back fast. The dirty behinds on several suggested internal parasite issues, although they were drenched as they were turned onto the ground. So as John drenched them again, I lashed some netting around the stack of bales in the field next door, where there’s a good bite of uneaten keep. We all know the little toe rags will try and get over/under/through it, and nibble every other bale, but they need a fresh bite. If they don’t turn around, it could be I’m frightfully trendy, and have got a wormer resistance problem. I’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. I do rotate product annually, and don’t over use it anyway, but we’ll see.</p><p></p><p>Back around the yard, we’d housed a couple of South Devon cows a fortnight ago. One was a poorer young cow, who was making heavy going of being out in the weather. With a roof over her back, she’s immediately licking herself and looking elements. The other was PDed late in the autumn, when I was casting around for volunteers to go and graze celestial pastures. She’d slipped time, and is marked down for having a suspectudder, but was showing 7 months in calf again by the time we picked her up. Bother. It was too late to send her for the chop then. Once she started to bag up she too wasbrought back and housed, in case she had calving issues- she was wintering with access to 100 acres of steep gorse and bramble rough…not an easy place to keep an eye on.Once indoors, she’d eat her fill of a morning, to spend her afternoons lying like a beached whale, moaning and grunting loudly with every exhaled breath. Several times, walking past and hearing this row, we thought she must be in labour, but nothing was happening. Finally, on a stormy wet morning, I went out to find 2 soggy new heifer calves outside the building. She’d calved twinsright next to the feeder, and in the time honoured tradition, they’d both scrawled into it, and hence out the front into the rain. This break for freedom hadn’t bothered one much. It was soon back in with mum, found a functional teat, and was latched on and sucking like a good’un. But the other was flat out cold. </p><p></p><p> Fetching it straight into the kitchen, it was plopped onto a horse rug in front of the Aga for Alison’s tender ministrations. There was a stock of colostrum frozen, so it was soon being stomach tubed. The kitchen terriers –of which there’s quite a pack just now- joined in by licking it clean, and then perching on top of it to warm it up…or possibly to show off their prize. One of the collies snuck into the kitchen, and looked very interested in the new arrival, but the terriers weren’t having any of it, and chased her off their new cushion. A few hours later, it was sat up bright eyed, and soon thereafter, trying to lurch upright, so was banished to a loosebox before it turned all the furniture over. At time of writing, it’s beginning to take milk from the bottle, and might shortlybe allowed a name.</p><p></p><p>Anyway, in between this, and a few other little tasks around the place, over my cuppa I’ve been reading about badger-proofing my farm. It’ll stop TB apparently. The buildings will need to be shut up like a prison- no calves escaping from them- and I can keep badgers out of the pasture I graze by digging great trenches along the foot of my fences, and burying special anti-badger netting in them. I know I’ve said this before, but I find this idea that my farming operations can somehow be separated from nature ludicrous. Deeply offensive in fact. My cows and sheep and I live in and amongst the wildlife everywhere around me. Pretending it can be otherwise is folly. Ignorant folly.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="B&B Pig Man, post: 3451722, member: 576"] So, what’s fomenting the broth this week? The somewhat mundane doings of my farming career mostly involve getting a lot of rain blown..nay…blasted in my face. If you sup from a similar vessel, you’ll be all too familiar with the phenomena, and if not, well, trust me it’s different when you have no choice but to grit your teeth and carry on. Still, we’ve had a very easy go of it so far this winter, and as Jan Cole used to say…‘They can’t take away what you’ve already had’. The week’s trials also included having to fettle up some ewe hogs in a hurry. Their grass was mostly picked up, but they were steadily taking blocks and haylage from their feeder, so I was expecting them to rub along just fine. But they weren’t, and in fact were going back fast. The dirty behinds on several suggested internal parasite issues, although they were drenched as they were turned onto the ground. So as John drenched them again, I lashed some netting around the stack of bales in the field next door, where there’s a good bite of uneaten keep. We all know the little toe rags will try and get over/under/through it, and nibble every other bale, but they need a fresh bite. If they don’t turn around, it could be I’m frightfully trendy, and have got a wormer resistance problem. I’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. I do rotate product annually, and don’t over use it anyway, but we’ll see. Back around the yard, we’d housed a couple of South Devon cows a fortnight ago. One was a poorer young cow, who was making heavy going of being out in the weather. With a roof over her back, she’s immediately licking herself and looking elements. The other was PDed late in the autumn, when I was casting around for volunteers to go and graze celestial pastures. She’d slipped time, and is marked down for having a suspectudder, but was showing 7 months in calf again by the time we picked her up. Bother. It was too late to send her for the chop then. Once she started to bag up she too wasbrought back and housed, in case she had calving issues- she was wintering with access to 100 acres of steep gorse and bramble rough…not an easy place to keep an eye on.Once indoors, she’d eat her fill of a morning, to spend her afternoons lying like a beached whale, moaning and grunting loudly with every exhaled breath. Several times, walking past and hearing this row, we thought she must be in labour, but nothing was happening. Finally, on a stormy wet morning, I went out to find 2 soggy new heifer calves outside the building. She’d calved twinsright next to the feeder, and in the time honoured tradition, they’d both scrawled into it, and hence out the front into the rain. This break for freedom hadn’t bothered one much. It was soon back in with mum, found a functional teat, and was latched on and sucking like a good’un. But the other was flat out cold. Fetching it straight into the kitchen, it was plopped onto a horse rug in front of the Aga for Alison’s tender ministrations. There was a stock of colostrum frozen, so it was soon being stomach tubed. The kitchen terriers –of which there’s quite a pack just now- joined in by licking it clean, and then perching on top of it to warm it up…or possibly to show off their prize. One of the collies snuck into the kitchen, and looked very interested in the new arrival, but the terriers weren’t having any of it, and chased her off their new cushion. A few hours later, it was sat up bright eyed, and soon thereafter, trying to lurch upright, so was banished to a loosebox before it turned all the furniture over. At time of writing, it’s beginning to take milk from the bottle, and might shortlybe allowed a name. Anyway, in between this, and a few other little tasks around the place, over my cuppa I’ve been reading about badger-proofing my farm. It’ll stop TB apparently. The buildings will need to be shut up like a prison- no calves escaping from them- and I can keep badgers out of the pasture I graze by digging great trenches along the foot of my fences, and burying special anti-badger netting in them. I know I’ve said this before, but I find this idea that my farming operations can somehow be separated from nature ludicrous. Deeply offensive in fact. My cows and sheep and I live in and amongst the wildlife everywhere around me. Pretending it can be otherwise is folly. Ignorant folly. [/QUOTE]
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