A blog from a decade ago.....

I wrote this when I was on fox watch a long, long  while ago, and have only just remembered I saved it on the laptop...

It was written ten years ago

I hope you enjoy it

........It is 8.30 and the evening remains warm, dry and quiet. I am sat under the elm which borders the Churchyard and from this advantage point I can see every corner of the field. No sightings of Mr Fox as yet!

George is sat quietly in Maddie's old spot at my feet and the Welsh terriers are tied up next to the water butts and look asleep in the evening sun. Everything seems calm and serene.

The pace of the animals is slowing down in preparation for the night. The four female turkeys have separated from their daytime meet up and in two groups of two are ambling slowly towards their respective stags. Jane and Lizzy (the slate and Bourbon girls) make their way down towards Bingley in the far pig house and Gloria and an almost bald Theresa wait patiently just a few feet away. They know I will be shortly moving them into their shelter with Boris, who is still huffing and puffing away in the back ground.

The indian runners stand uncertainly just beyond the turkeys. They are eyeing me nervously and are also waiting for me to direct them into their duckhouse. I am late tonight and they know it............. and I am just that little bit amused that it seems to bother them.

The hens are all gliding their way to their own hen houses in groups of two and three. The buffs swinging their fat bottoms as they walk heavily home. The only birds that don't move home wards are the six battery hens in the furthest coop. They remain still and silent in a sad looking flat group in the warmth of the sun, yet the very fact they have all taken the chance to leave the safety of the hen house proves to me that at least the natural light and heat they now feel is in fact healing.

The two new foals in the field beyond the stream are galloping around is silly circles together and I can see Albert sitting on top of the Church wall watching them with some interest before he jumps down into the grass and rubs his head against those of William and Meg waking both dogs up.

The guinea fowl totter past and leap the 6 feet to enter the old Graveyard. They chatter noisily when they spy Albert, then move on to sit under their roosting tree, muttering to themselves like grumpy old people 

I take a long measured breath in, as one of the roosters crow

I am home