The Anton Coaker Western Morning News Column

[TBFox]

I do follow this trend with interest and carefully cosideration ,as a retired farmer I vividly remember my grandfather relating freezing long winter months in 1930's and myself in 1963 with months below freezing night and day together with 1979 . This is a very complicated issue to understand and impossible to calculate by any academic as they can not be expected to know everything or what to do about it.
I will appreciate any information that you can send me. TomFox. Southport

 

[JP1]

Once more, we’re embroiled in gathering over 300 head of cattle from sprawling miles of moorland, to shove them through the race for yet another TB test.

The logistics of this operation take a lot more than the 4 days of actual testing, and are not especially welcome just now. We’ve had to fetch cattle back from places where they were happy, and now they’re busy scalping off the last of the grass about the in-bye. The breeding ewes were forlornly hoping this bite would carry them through until they were all safely tupped- but they’re to be disappointed. I suppose I should express my thanks to whoever it is organises these things that we had a time-served vet who didn’t miss a beat, and a dry-ish week means we might get stock sorted out again before the place goes completely pear shaped.

If all this were getting rid of TB, I’d happily oblige, but given that I can’t see any hope of things improving, you can imagine I’m a little fed up with the idea.

Still, at least the AHVLA –the state vets- are right on the case. With dazzling efficiency, just as we were finishing the main lot of jabs for the 3rd time in this year, a letter arrived explaining at great length how we are in a 12 month interval testing area.

The incompetence is jaw-dropping. It’s no wonder TB escalates, if this is how they run their end of things.

Would I do things differently? Well, since you ask, should I awake from this twilight loony land, where up is down, and left is right, and find myself emperor, I would take some steps.

First, and most urgent, I would draw a line across the country where the pox seems to be already in the wildlife, and take draconian steps to ensure that it didn’t continue its march up the M6. Then I’d set about locating and removing the infected wildlife. This might be by pouring resources into testing their scat, or by buying Bryan Hill a couple of metaphoric pints and asking him to show me how to tell for myself. While I was at it, I’d want some boffin to come up with a far better test for the cattle. Perhaps a couple of million quid bonus for whoever comes up with the goods would help em focus their minds. Alpacas and the like would be dragged into the testing regime and put under the same movement rules as cattle with immediate effect. Anyone objecting would be nailed to the wall by their ears, alongside anyone who mentioned the word ‘vaccination’ in the presence of El Presidenti Coaker.

There. I feel better now.


Like you, I’ve been vaguely amused by the continuing revelations regarding this ‘banker’ chap Flowers. Will it ever end? However, I want to turn the story on its head for a moment. Unless this bloke is the most extraordinary actor –and looking at him, I doubt it- how on earth has he been slipping through various interview/appointment panels? It beggars belief that he’s been managing to win over the people concerned for so long, and raises some rather bigger questions.

Flowers himself seems to be a scamster, conman and general sad act. Given some of what he appears to have been up to, the idea of him preaching as a minister for 40 years is pretty rich, never mind being put in charge of a high street bank.

I suppose the kind view might say he can’t help himself….he’s hardly going to own up to his peculiarities in an interview is he? Left to me, after the first or second transgression I’d simply have had him tattooed, or possibly hot branded, with a ‘wrong’un’ mark. But I’m not in the place to make this so, and reluctantly accept that some people think his ilk should be let off and helped back onto the road to righteousness.

Back to the bigger issue though, what about the systems and individuals who put him in roles of increasing responsibility? Aren’t they guilty of the bigger fault?

One man has already fallen on his sword over this floral debacle, but surely others must have questions to face, for which they won’t have satisfactory answers. Doesn’t anyone do background checks? Aren’t progressively searching questions asked as individuals seek higher positions? Trying to unpick the order in which his activities became apparent, it seems he could’ve been pulled up some time ago.

Good grief Charlie Brown.

Oh well. The affair gave us all something to chortle about for a day or two. Right, cattle in again.



New book ‘The Complete Bullocks’ outwww.anton-coaker.co.uk for details

 

[JP1]

I’m happy to say we’ve had a clear test. We’ve got to go through it all again in a couple of months, so it’s no good planning anything yet, but it’s good to have taken this step.
Because I’m a creaky and sneaky old bloke, I’d organised plenty of help, and the cattle were very civilised -as you know, I try to keep my bovines as quiet as is practical. One 2 year old however, let the side down. She’s a wild thing out in the field, setting off the rest of her group, and a nasty little dirtbag close up. Such behavioural traits will cause her head to fall off in fairly short order. I note that her sire went through a somewhat testy period as a youngster but settled very well eventually. Her siblings are as quiet as you like, and I’ve kept a half-brother entire, who is as biddable and dopey as they come.
After we’d done the main lot of readings, we started fluking the cows. I know it’s been a much better year for fluke –or rather, a bad year for fluke and a better one for the cows- but liver fluke has a fairly long cycle, so I’m assuming the build-up over recent wet years will still need addressing. I know this is also ‘official’ advice, but I never pay much heed to the warnings about parasite burdens, and how much you should be drenching… guess who usually funds such warnings? Why the wormer companies of course. Still, we are fluking again this year. Joe managed to jab himself for some reason – I’ve told him, it’s for the cows, not you. He bled pretty well, so I should probably have been a bit more sympathetic. I’m not sure whether to enter this in the accident book or the medicine record though.
The cows are looking a treat, and enjoying this dry weather very much indeed. It helps their mood that while I’m trying to make space to wean the remaining calves, I’m feeding everyone the lovely hay which is stored right in the way. Some of this is in huge great square bales, and with the ground dry I’m able to drop one in the landrover, and whizz about anywhere I want. Goodness, if the going was always as easy as this, winter would be a doddle. I have told the cows that, come Christmas, they’ll have to start on some rather less auspicious silage, but still, as an old pal used to tell me, ‘they can’t take away what you’ve already had’!
The feed passage up through the new shed is concreted, and I’m also stacking bales along there to make space, so some of the vast herd of youngstock careering about the place can come in shortly as well. I daresay this cold will intensify the minute that happens, stopping the water, but we’ll burn that bridge when we come to it.
Now I wish from the very bottom of my toes, to the shiny top of my bald noggin, and with every fibre of my being, that I could move away from the subject of TB. But it’s not to be.
Not only have we got to schedule another round of testing in the depths of winter, which will be a major problem, I also cocked up the timing of this test. You see, while some rules focus on so many days from the day you start jabbing, others hinge on the date you finish – I know it’s hard to believe, but really, they have somehow made the rules like this. I thought I’d got it spot on, but it seems that we were 48 hours late finishing our test. Given how far afield the cattle were when we started, and that I was busy clearing the common of sheep and wrestling them into the dip the week before that –and I’m afraid the timing of such activities are set in rather firmer stone than testing the cattle- I surprise myself that I’ve come through the last month sane and still on my feet.
The letter informing us about being late arrived within the 48 hours, by recorded delivery, and was ‘just a touch’ threatening – apparently the sky is falling and I’m to be shot at dawn. Alison is upset, not liking nasty letters by recorded post. Meanwhile, if you recall, the self-same department had just, 3 days previously, written instructing me that I must test my cattle every 12 months. I can only speculate how farmers less able to follow it cope. There are pages of rules and smallprint, and while they can make any paperwork error they like, we cannot.
Never mind Owens plan to cull wild cattle. It’s the owners you need to worry about son.

 

[exmoor dave]

anton is spot on about the departments overseeing the testing of cattle, we've been told 3 completely contradicting stories over moving cattle between our holdings and having to set up a isolation shed. none of the numbties seem to understand their own rules so what chance do we have!

 

[JP1]

The downside of feeding out the lovely midsummer hay I’m into at the minute is the chaff. Baled up all crispy in proper hay weather, there’s clouds of ‘fines’ swirling everywhere as I’m destringing round bales. If there’s the least touch of wind stirring, I get a face full of the wretched stuff. The worst are the 2-3 which have to be opened right on the brow of the hill, where there’s generally a stiff breeze at the very least. When I packed them away, they were so springy I applied masses of string to hold ‘em together. Now, this needs to be cut and pulled out. As well as the stuff blowing into my eyes, the shiny hard hay doesn’t ‘hold’ the string very well, so it slides away from the knife blade. All the while the recipients are pushing forward because it’s so yummy. They’re reluctant to give me a moment to get the strings pulled clear, and I’m forever chasing bullocks around ring feeders, trying to recover ends of blue cords. It tests both parties’ patience when it transpires some greedy oaf has somehow managed to swallow 4-5’ of cord in a 20 second window of opportunity. This has to be slowly withdrawn, all mangled up with chewed hay and slobber. Mmm. Knowing how cord can friction-burn its way through stuff, I live in fear of either cutting some bullocks tongue in half, or spooking it so it runs away, removing some of my pinkies. Yesterday, a couple of loops from the hank wrapped around my hand got tangled in a yearling bulls ear-tag. Yikes. Happily, although he was as wild as a hawk when I bought him, he’s quietened down now, and I was able to scratch his jowly neck with one hand, as I disentangled us.
And it’s nice to be so welcome, for the cattle are very happy with the fragrant gifts I’ve been bearing this week, and are thriving. Even if, by the end of my feed round, my eyes are smarting and irritated from the swirling ‘fines’, and the nocturnal ophthalmic goblins have their work cut out to remove it overnight. They must be busy, as I’m blessed each morning with lots of what the kids call ‘eye bogies’. You know the stuff, it appears in the corner of your eye overnight, looking like brown sugar, hopefully having somehow dragged out the previous days detritus.

Work remains absolutely intense. If I lose focus for a few days, or our ‘weather-luck’ turns, I could be in real trouble this midwinter. I don’t like sailing this close to the wind, preferring a safe margin to allow for my habitual cock-ups. There are still plenty of jobs to do in the new building, a lot more cattle sorting and fluking to attend, and customers chasing sawmill orders. I’ve already had to start planning a Jan/Feb TB test, which will involve some cows where there is currently no handling race. It’s high time I put a crush there but I didn’t want more building work to slot into January. Apparently, there is some kind of festive event later this month, although I’ll be happy enough just to see daylight increasing once more.

And briefly back to TB. I’m aware of several stories festering just below the publics eye level. A couple involve high profile landed estates I know, who are simply unable to do anything about the root cause of their problems, and suffer repeatedly. Neither are short of a few bob, and it would be easy to cast nasturtiums, and say the owners are wealthy, and able to take the hit –‘Yeah, power to the people brother!’ But that isn’t the point. Both employ cattle staff who take no less a care of their charges than the rest of us. One has, after repeated breakdowns, simply thrown the towel in, and given up cattle keeping. The other runs what I have openly described as the happiest healthiest mob of dairy cows I ever saw- and I’ve seen a few cows in my time. They live on very good ground, have the attention and care lavished on them that many of us can only dream about, and positively glow. The manager is a very sound man, and the owner clearly gives him rein, and the means, to maintain such an outstanding and much loved herd. They are, frankly, an icon of good management. Sadly though, they’ve also been down with TB for years. The heart-breaking annual toll goes on and on, sporadically losing lorry loads of otherwise perfectly healthy cows. Yet still, for all the care lavished on this herd, they remain unable to tackle the issue at its source.
This isn’t right.

Anton’s new book ‘The Complete Bullocks’ is out now –check www.anton-coaker.co.uk for details

 

[jade35]

@JP1 have finally read Anton's December NFU article and think you will have to talk to him about commission re the additional book sales that he mentions

Hope no one is buying his books from Amazon at the moment. Think that the prices quoted below are just a little too much.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/offer-listing/0957095309/ref=sr_1_1_olp?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1387067314&sr=1-1&keywords=anton+coaker&condition=used

May be time for Anton to sell his own books on Amazon.

 

[JP1]

It’s been an up and down year hasn’t it? While January and February opened in a manner which you could expect, and not on the worst end of the scale at that, the fallout from the previous wet year dragged on. The subsequent lack of spring then quickly took a heavy toll, and I don’t know about you, but it was only an easier summer which saved my bacon. I hear everywhere that many have struggled to get free of the damage, with 10-12 month old bills still lurking in the pile. I feel your pain.
Then, as the weather improved, we spent the summer teetering in and out of TB problems, having had 3 reactors in the spring, with lesions aplenty. While the world and his uncle got excited about a few badgers getting shot, we were still down with another reactor in August. The nasty realisation settled on me as summer waned, that with 97 calves born in the previous 12 months, and no realistic hope of selling them, I was going to be wintering a lot more animals than I’d wish. For good measure, a big mob of fat shaggy coated yearling Galloways might look fabulous at grass, but aren’t helping my fodder planning. It’s difficult to get it straight in my head, but a far cry from when a time when I saw herds of such roly poly glossy things as so much cash on legs. So, as evenings draw in, we’ve been shipping out a heavy handed draw of the 8-10 year old cows (before they can bear even more calves I can’t sell –which is hardly any way to farm), and renewing a tired old pole barn with a cattle shed to house the extra youngstock.
At least we’ve been able to trade some sheep, and the reasonable crop of lambs did pay for the additional grub I pushed through the ewes when the grass didn’t show up in April. We’d better not dwell on the labour costs. Like the cows, the ewes are looking pretty well, although we were equally heavy handed weeding them out last year, and pretty thorough with the fluke treatment. I might’ve had orange fingers most of the year, but at least we’ve kept on top of that problem.
Harvesting the late grown crops of grass proved quite civilised for once, and we’re going into winter with a good stack of fodder put by. From the smell, the quality is pretty fair if I’m any judge…………. but it’s all going to be wanted.


With all of this going on, I’ve not been short of things to do daytimes.
This leaves evenings, and to while away the time I’ve been putting together another book. It is, I’m afraid, mostly another compilation, with a few extras thrown in and some fresh photos. That rascal Egbert may well be featuring heavily.
Obviously you lot won’t be needing a copy, since you’ve probably read most of it in instalments already*, although I suppose you could buy one or two to send on to townie cousins who need guidance, or who have piqued you in some way. *Oh, scanning one of those web forum things, where some of my drivel re-appears, I notice one good lady is a regular reader…. even though it’s evident she also reads the same rubbish in hard copy. But then, the same lady also guesses that Egbert is a composite of various of my friends and relatives. Ha! Sorry Madam, I’m afraid the awful truth is far simpler than that.
Another curiosity that my ventures into publishing have turned up is the web sales. See, apart from various farm supply outlets and local bookshops, my grubby little paperbacks can be obtained direct, via the website my much put upon little wife maintains. With the aid of the interweb thing, it really isn’t that hard to track anyone down nowadays…. least of all someone with their own site. But for some reason, we shift as many copies via the 2-3 national trade book suppliers (who you probably haven’t heard of ). Presumably customers are tracking down copies via their local bookshop, and hence the book dealers. Goodness knows what it costs by the time everyone had had a drink on the deal, and several stamps have been bought. I’ve almost felt guilty about this, but my conscious was salved when I discovered that some wags have subsequently been trying to punt my books online at double the cover price. Good luck to em I say, although it did give me a nasty jolt, when it occurred that I might’ve died in my sleep –immediately becoming ‘highly collectable’.
Anyroad, the new edition ‘The Complete Bullocks’, is about to hit the shelves of various stockists, or can be got via [email protected]
Have a good one….Anton

 

[joe soapy]

It would be facinating to read how Alison turned a hard drinking, hard riding long haired hippie biker into a semi accomplished
author and responsible dad

 

[JP1]

It would be facinating to read how Alison turned a hard drinking, hard riding long haired hippie biker into a semi accomplished
author and responsible dad

Anton's reply:

She didn't. Time, and all the 'hard ridin hard drinkin' blokes in the
crematoria did.

 

[C.J]

For those that haven't seen the cover of Anton's book.

I asked my wife if she had seen my copy so I could lend it to a friend.

"Is it the one with the Camel on the front " she replied.

Her knowledge of rare breeds is a bit limited , but she should have known camels don't wear caps.

 

[JP1]

For those that haven't seen the cover of Anton's book.

View attachment 25070

I asked my wife if she had seen my copy so I could lend it to a friend.

"Is it the one with the Camel on the front " she replied.

Her knowledge of rare breeds is a bit limited , but she should have known camels don't wear caps.

LOL

That's the original book, there's a new one out shortly

 

[C.J]

LOL

That's the original book, there's a new one out shortly

Yes , he was signing them at M.V.F last Tuesday

 

[JP1]

Feel privileged to receive an early Christmas present from my friend Anton - a signed copy of book 2

Yours truly features (alarming as I didn't know this! ) and as I flick through it I see the last chapter is the dark year that has no name ie 2001

 

[JP1]

Privileges also carry a heavy burden

My Grandad never would tell me about his part in the last war

I always gave Anton the space and respect that he never spoke of 2001.

The last pages of book 2, pages 151-159 now contain just a semblance of that trauma

If Blair ever had a tiny smidge of respect before, he doesn't now

Those pages take some reading even now

 

[jade35]

Is Anton Coaker's article, re F & M and his farm, from the Western Morning News in 2001 or2002? (sorry cannot remember which year) in the book. It was a superb piece of writing.

 

[JP1]

Is Anton Coaker's article, re F & M and his farm, from the Western Morning News in 2001 or2002? (sorry cannot remember which year) in the book. It was a superb piece of writing.

No I think it was an original addition to the new book

 

[JP1]

The weekend saw raging storms and lashing rain up here came back, and I was out in it spending quality time with the stock. It’s been fairly busy, as I’m always shorthanded this time of year. See, about now, various of our rustic helpmates slip off to get together in small groups, and spend a few days undressing and cuddling birds in chilly outbuildings. In some of these sheds, they are getting to grips with white ones, other places it might be dark’uns. And before you get all huffy about racial segregation, and try to contact old Mandela on your Ouija board, the birds are of the feathered variety, for it’s plucking time again. I understand that those with birds to process try to make a fairly unlovable job a bit easier any way they can, to encourage the teams who turn up to help out. Failure to look after your pluckers might leave you on your tod the next year.
Enterprises locally range from a handful of birds reared in a hutch in the garden, for friends and rellies, through 100-200 as a bit of a sideline, up to many hundreds and a serious business. They’m funny creatures, and I can’t say I envy those who raise em up, although I’m prepared to help scoff one next week.
If I’m honest, I prefer a bit of beef mind, and was looking forward to testing a bit of steak from the fine dun Belt steer Alison distributed last week. I expect to snaffle a choice morsel from every bullock we kill–in the interests of market research obviously. And what did she come home with, after everyone had filled their freezers? 3 kilos of mince. Harrumph.
Sorry, back to Nelson Mandela –and I’m first to raise my hat to his gentle wisdom, ‘Cometh the hour, cometh the man’. I heard some Labour MP twit guesting on the wireless last week. The thrust of the radio show was questioning public figures who were now mourning Mandela’s passing, when they mightn’t have been so anti-apartheid back in the day. Never mind the crass idea of the question, this MP-and to a lesser extent the presenter- sailed straight into doing exactly what Nelson is legendary for NOT doing. Dragging up someone’s sympathies from 20-30 years ago, while discussing the legacy of the most forgiving man since that Jesus fella, seems pretty ironic. Vulgar even. The MP then went on to say something along the lines of how the South African regime at the time was the most racist regime ever. Hmm, I know he had personal experience of it, but from what I recall of history lessons, there have been regimes worse by quite a margin. One or two in the 1930’s come to mind. Perhaps we’ll gloss over that ill-conceived statement Peter old chap.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The boy has sold his terrier pups –or rather his mother has, although he’s expecting the cash. This involved an extraordinary number of timewasting twerps. They’d make a time to come and look, phone to say they were leaving, and then not turn up. It was nearly every other enquiry, and we ended up with a strict 1st come 1st served policy. The last one has been paid for, but left with us until the 24th to surprise the family’s kids on the 25th. They know this is the wrong way to secure a family pet, but seemed level headed enough. Anyway, the upshot is that we’ve now got the little hellhound back in the kitchen with us for a week or two, at its most adorable. When let out from its cage ‘neath the table, it scampers about, tearing up anything it can its sharp little teeth into, and winding the 2 adult terriers around its little paws. Even my rabid collie bitch, who has to be shut in the house daytimes to avoid her unfortunate little toothy incidents, adores it. The boy has broken up, and is home for the hols, delighted to still have one of his pups about for a while.
It was tri-colour, but it’s picked up a yellow/orange stain from the fluke dosing gun. Worse, so has Alison’s favourite sweater –the wretched stuff gets everywhere, and she’s not amused. Still, I say, better than not having ‘fluked’ the cows.

I could tell you about the weeks trawl of TB letters from the Ministry, but frankly, you wouldn’t believe the tale I would tell. Perhaps when we’re older.
Instead, I’ll suggest that, if the deteriorating weather has brought you back to earth with a bump…. grub out some tunes by that Nick Drake chap. He wasn’t around long, sadly cashing in his ticket all too early, but truly sublime.
With that, I’ll bid you a good one.
Anton

 

[JP1]

With various trials challenging me in recent months, something I’ve been watching out of the corner of one eye has been my group of winter calving cows. Although we’re mainly spring calving, I’m in the habit of letting the boys have a brief extra bit of winter whoopee, getting a few extra calves late in the autumn, through Christmas. After all, it’s a big ask to expect everything to get back in calf when the cows only see the bulls for 5-6 weeks in July/August.

Leaving these calves out of doors is a high risk strategy, when the sleet whistles out of the North on a January night, so I house most of them with their mum’s, and give em a bit of creep. This makes decent bullocks of them, and while the cost probably outweighs the benefit, it’s nice to have a few ‘gurt itchers’ to wean.

And here’s the thing. Although I culled several in a bid to reduce the overall stocking, I was still expecting 20 odd. We had 3 in early November, and nothing since. The respective bulls are all proven, and the cows seem to be in calf, but there ain’t much happening now.

I’m guessing Schmallenburg went through them last winter. There were some odd looking spring calves- without anything being badly wrong- and I know it’s been nearby. Still, after a logistically difficult autumn, overstocked and under restriction, I can’t say I regard it as a disaster. I’m scratching my head now about what is in these cows. There are some Belts wandering about fit too burst, but with no sign of any udder, which is a poser as they can’t have gone to bull once they were out the moorgate last May. There’s some of them cannot, cannot, go on getting bigger until the spring calving session- they’ll pop!



Now then, while we’re still a bit festive, and you can just faintly hear Santa’s sleigh bells atinkling, I’m going to take you on a little literary trail. Along the way your credulity will be stretched- it’ll be like asking you to close your eyes and hold out your hand…either you’re going to trust me or you’re not.

You may recall, I am acquainted with, through a venturesome intermediary, a Siberian lady, of the semi-nomadic reindeer herding type. When she was over here on a cultural exchange singing about reindeer and life on the tundra, we met over a bottle of whisky. Through a bemused interpreter, we discovered a whole slice of parallel experience arising from grazing beasts and sharing pasture. The comparisons were striking. We sporadically send cultural gifts and messages via our intermediary. Backalong, she sent a baby reindeer hide complete with ears, in case Anton needed a new hat. I’ve sent the hacksawed horn from a favourite Scotch ram, with pics of dressed horn-heid shepherds crooks. OK, scene set?

According to Tatyana, as a child she heard a strange noise, and looked out of the ‘chum’-a round yurty looking tent- to see an older matriarch reindeer showing the younger reindeer how to hunt, catch and eat lemmings. This happens in the depths of winter, when the reindeer are getting hungry, and a furry fluff ball of protein might be all that stands between them and starvation.

The old reindeer snuffled them out, flicking them out of their burrows with her nose and stamping on them with a hoof, before consuming them. Now lemmings bite, and hence what Tatyana saw was that the older lead reindeer ends up with a bloody red nose. Ha! You never saw that one coming.

I’ve got to wonder if it’s a tall tale to tell gullible foreigners, but it seems to hold up on research. Google it yourself.


And I’ll share something else you won’t want to buy. 3-4 times in my career I’ve witnessed my suckler cows deliberately chewing on bones.

You see, beyond the cosy world of rules and regulations, sometimes a beast falls by the wayside far out on the veldt, or deep in vast rocky thicket, or drowns in a bog. And sometimes, she remains where she fell, quickly being assimilated back into the landscape from which she sprang. I know this upsets certain officials greatly, but up here, there isn’t much we can do about it.

Anyway, a side effect is that I have occasionally come across cattle carefully gnawing on a leg bone of a long dead aunty. In each case, it has been a healthy middle aged cow, who’s been rearing big calves, and is presumably craving calcium. There don’t seem to be any side effects, and I daresay it’s been happening for a millennia or two. Certainly long before BSE, which is the specific alarm klaxon that’ll be whooping and clanging about now.

You will come visit when they throw away the key, won’t you?

 

[JP1]

There is a short gap in proceedings as lightning has taken out Anton's internet connection. We will probably get two pieces at once (the last ended up being dictated down the 'phone to WMN).

As they say, "Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible"

 

[JP1]

While the weather has been easier-merely gusty, with colds showers- my luck hasn’t improved.

The Belt cows have started calving again, after an 8 week gap. Or at least, one has. She’d been slow coming to grub for a couple of days, although there was precious little sign of bagging up, or getting bigger behind. The third day, there she was, up on the brow amongst the gorse. I got over to her sharp, as I could see from 300-400 yards that something was amiss. Sure enough, she was cast belly up, with a still-born lying behind her. First things first, I had to get her the right way up. By might and main-and ignoring pinging sensations in my lower back- I managed to roll her right over. This did involve her paddling her forelegs in my face as we got up close and personal. By Golly, cow’s hooves are heavy and hard when they’re smacking you about the face with them. Still, once over, she did immediately jump up, to try in vain to lick some life back into her baby. There wasn’t any hope there, and it wasn’t exactly the shape I’d expect either.

Oh well, I mused, as I took her a big armful of grub, she’d live easily for the rest of winter- unless I decided to send her down the road. She’s rising 10, which is getting up there.

The following day, Joe was feeding that bunch, and found her missing once more. She was quickly spotted, not far from where I’d left her, straining and uncomfortable. With the aid of mobile phones, 3 of us and a vet were soon easing her into a corner behind a gate, to see what was going on. And as the stockman amongst you will have guessed, it was another calf. This one was in reverse, with legs folded back. T’vet soon got the calves legs up, and he and I managed to pull it out. It was way too late for that one – and I didn’t like its shape any better than the last. So we filled mum with anti-botics, and let her go. She was quite chipper, and Joe threw another armful of best hay at her, so she didn’t have to get into the scrum with her argy-bargy sisters. Never mind. You either learn to accept it, or you find another way to pass your days.

I was back on duty the following morning and found her missing yet again, noticing that yesterday’s hay was barely touched. It took me a long hour to find her. She’d gone ½ a mile over the hill, crossing the river, and getting as far away as she could. And was quite dead, providing a perch for the ravens.

Was the fact that she’d been slowing up for a day or two prior to calving an issue? Did I twist her gut when I turned her over? Should we have filled her with calcium after the 2nd calf? (We’d talked about it, but she was a middle aged belt cow, in very good nick. Hardly a high risk for ‘milk fever’).

The uneaten hay is the best indicator that something was already wrong when we left her, but another thing you soon learn is that beggars can’t talk.





In the wider world beyond my gate –which I am vaguely aware of- I see the Metropolitan Police were in the wars last week. First was the decision that the bloke the Met shot was ‘lawfully’ killed. And since it sounds as if intelligence indicating he was a gun carrying gang member wasn’t far short of the mark, I have no issue with this. Whether or not the cop who pulled the trigger did the right thing on the day is another thing, the fact remains that he knew- or believed- he was facing an armed gangster. How many times could an armed response cop go into such situations hesitant and all ‘touchy feely’ before he got shot himself? One cop shot in such circumstances would be one too many. If you’re going to carry illegal firearms about the place, you can’t expect to be treated like a boy scout. Get real.

At the other end of the scale, a Met policeman has been in a bit of trouble for falsely accusing the then Government Chief Whip, and awaits sentencing.

From what I recall Andrew Mitchell had had a pretty much unblemished past, immediately apologised for being lippy to the cops manning the gates at Downing Street, and resigned in the face of the allegations. While he should be reinstated, there are some very ugly questions unanswered about the ‘political’ element of the Met behaviour in this which disturb me far more than the former incident.