I’ve ploughed through old posts from between 2008-2013
And picked four that were born on the field of animals I once looked after
I’ve enjoyed reading them once again .
I hope you do too
Ewan Saves The Day
I was just tucking into my first cup of coffee this morning when I spotted neighbour Ewan running down the garden path.Breathlessly he shouted that there was an alsatian attacking the chickens, and that he had fended the dog off once but it had come back again.
I grabbed a hoe and ran out to the field where the young dog from the riding stables behind the Church was bouncing through the fencing of the smaller run.I shouted and chased it through the graveyard, then went back to survey the hens and ducks.
The big buffs where hiding in their hen house safely and the turkeys and ducks all looked ok. Stanley had moved the larger flock behind the hen houses , so with a heavy heart I realised that the dog had centred his attack on the small juvenile flock in the smallest run. Two sides of the fencing had been knocked flat and I could only see one of the smaller white chicks (top of pic) walking in circles. Big piles of light feathers lay all around (with the quills pulled out by the roots) The smallest hen house was empty so I quickly checked the A frame ark where I found a rather shocked Rogo and the amber hen,Nonnie hiding there, Linda,Bunny and Susan were missing as were the three other small chicks (above).
Thank god, Ewan had spotted the attack ,even though he is not in the best of health, his prompt actions had probably saved many more of the hens and ducks.
I searched the field and found Bunny (a small black hooker chick) lying in a dust bath in the big enclosure. She was shocked and had been bitten but was alive, I placed her into her coop in the dark (hens can die very easily of shock and need quiet and warmth to recover) and after giving her some antibiotics and water went to search for the others.
After an age the smallest black chick (above) looking battered and worse for wear tip toed out of the long grass by the hedge and strangely allowed me to pick her up to rest in her own coop. The final "mottled" chick I found frozen and also injured up in the churchyard, but she certainly looked a little more alert than the others, and it took an age to catch her.There was something quite valiant, in the fact that all the smaller chicks somehow survived
There was no sign of Linda and Susan, and I suspect that the feathers I found was from one of them, but who knows?, I have been looking for them for most of the day.
The owner of the riding school was incredibly apologetic and agreed to pay for the damage that had been done, I just wish that she had properly invested in fixing her boundary fences, You may remember that I had already complained about the dog a couple of months ago
A Little Miracle
I was not going to blog again today. I have had to get on with harvesting beetroot and swede and the runner ducklings needed their new house to be cleaned and disinfected before they are due to be transferred outside next week, but I just had to share one of the Sweetest little victories I have been a part of in many a month!
Last night I switched off the incubator after "bobbing" the final few quail eggs. Non were "pipping" and none bobbed when immersed in warm water, so convinced the remaining couple of eggs were duds I shut everything down.
Today at midday, I remembered that I had left the last eggs in the incubator, so I removed them,(throwing them in the rubbish bag) and disinfected the dirty incubator out. As I was drying the equipment I noticed Albert digging through the rubbish bag and suddenly he stopped dead when the faintest of "peeps" sounded beneath a load of potato peelings and banana skins.
I dug through the crap and pulled out an egg with the smallest of cracks in it. A tiny beak was pushed through the gap and as I looked carefully at it, it gave the smallest of shudders. The egg was literally stone cold, so I cupped it in my hands and blew on it gently. The chick moved slowly and gave another weak peep, so I kept breathing on it willing the little scrap to survive.
The eggs had been cold over 16 hours, so it is unbelievable that the chick had found the reserves to hatch but hatch it did and half an hour later it kicked free of its shell, still hidden away in the palm of my hand.
I transferred the baby to the hastily re assembled incubator (you try setting one up with one hand!) and here he is 2 hours later!
Last night I switched off the incubator after "bobbing" the final few quail eggs. Non were "pipping" and none bobbed when immersed in warm water, so convinced the remaining couple of eggs were duds I shut everything down.
Today at midday, I remembered that I had left the last eggs in the incubator, so I removed them,(throwing them in the rubbish bag) and disinfected the dirty incubator out. As I was drying the equipment I noticed Albert digging through the rubbish bag and suddenly he stopped dead when the faintest of "peeps" sounded beneath a load of potato peelings and banana skins.
I dug through the crap and pulled out an egg with the smallest of cracks in it. A tiny beak was pushed through the gap and as I looked carefully at it, it gave the smallest of shudders. The egg was literally stone cold, so I cupped it in my hands and blew on it gently. The chick moved slowly and gave another weak peep, so I kept breathing on it willing the little scrap to survive.
The eggs had been cold over 16 hours, so it is unbelievable that the chick had found the reserves to hatch but hatch it did and half an hour later it kicked free of its shell, still hidden away in the palm of my hand.
I transferred the baby to the hastily re assembled incubator (you try setting one up with one hand!) and here he is 2 hours later!
What with everything going on in our lives......(Chris has a multi million pound research bid to complete! and the bloody coalition Government is still bleating on about the unemployed and benefit cutting) the saga of a tiny chick no bigger than my thumb is hardly of any importance.........but to be honest, as the tiny quail valiantly raised his head as I lifted the incubator lid, I literally could have wept.
I’ve named him Red
Grown Red
Baby Red
The Great Escape
We have this 1930's postcard stuck on the fridge! and boy did I wish that the pig enclosure followed these four simple rules!
Last night, just before I was to drive to Llandudno to meet up with Chris, I raced around the field locking up the turkeys, ducks and chicks. Hazel had agreed to come round later to lock the hens up, so after a bit of racing around , I was good to go!
Or so I thought!
Just as I was walking back up to gate, I heard a burst of hen clucking from behind me and Gladys and Nora pushed themselves through a hole in their fencing and shot past grunting and squealing! Nora dropped kicked the hen fencing and trotted over to the hen feeder to bolt down huge mouthfulls of layers pellets while Gladys, excited at her new found freedom, galloped back and forth in piggy hysteria.
Now, for those who don't know, pigs are notoriously difficult to round up; they need to be "guided" and coxed rather than herded and prodded back into their quarters, so after 20 sweaty minutes, I was no nearer returning them to their home.
It was time for more drastic action when I spied two passersby walking their dog in the lane and called to them to help me. To be fair both of them (two ladies in their late sixties), gamely agreed to lend a hand, and I asked the less robust woman to guard one path next to the allotments, to prevent the pigs from running in circles.
She looked a little nervous, so I "armed" her with a lid from the compost bins.
"What do I do if the pigs come my way?" she worriedly asked
"Look fierce!" I replied!
I gave the other lady (who I found out later was called Anne) a dustbin lid and we slowly cornered both pigs in my lowest vegetable patches, where they had chomped their way through some baby sweetcorn and parsnip tops.
After a bit of hard work and a bit of shouting,and dustbin lid pushing, we managed to get Gladys back into her pen and after waving a bowl of pasta at Nora (I had cooked some for Susan who is still not too well), we managed to get her in too, but the whole exhausting, messy experience had lasted 45 minutes!. The ladies looked a little fraught but somewhat exhilarated and after thanking them and fixing the fence I managed to drive to meet up with Chris and we had a nice meal out!
Poor Hazel!,
My rudimentary repairs to the fence failed soon after I left and Hazel (who is the size of Audrey Hepburn) was left with two escapee pigs when she called in to lock the hens up an hour later!
Bless her! without help, she gamely tried to get the girls back, and an hour later she was still battling away.....
This morning, all I have been doing is patching up the fence holes!
Animals are therapeutic? pah!!!!
Hazel and I are off to the cinema later.....my treat me thinks
Last night, just before I was to drive to Llandudno to meet up with Chris, I raced around the field locking up the turkeys, ducks and chicks. Hazel had agreed to come round later to lock the hens up, so after a bit of racing around , I was good to go!
Or so I thought!
Just as I was walking back up to gate, I heard a burst of hen clucking from behind me and Gladys and Nora pushed themselves through a hole in their fencing and shot past grunting and squealing! Nora dropped kicked the hen fencing and trotted over to the hen feeder to bolt down huge mouthfulls of layers pellets while Gladys, excited at her new found freedom, galloped back and forth in piggy hysteria.
Now, for those who don't know, pigs are notoriously difficult to round up; they need to be "guided" and coxed rather than herded and prodded back into their quarters, so after 20 sweaty minutes, I was no nearer returning them to their home.
It was time for more drastic action when I spied two passersby walking their dog in the lane and called to them to help me. To be fair both of them (two ladies in their late sixties), gamely agreed to lend a hand, and I asked the less robust woman to guard one path next to the allotments, to prevent the pigs from running in circles.
She looked a little nervous, so I "armed" her with a lid from the compost bins.
"What do I do if the pigs come my way?" she worriedly asked
"Look fierce!" I replied!
I gave the other lady (who I found out later was called Anne) a dustbin lid and we slowly cornered both pigs in my lowest vegetable patches, where they had chomped their way through some baby sweetcorn and parsnip tops.
After a bit of hard work and a bit of shouting,and dustbin lid pushing, we managed to get Gladys back into her pen and after waving a bowl of pasta at Nora (I had cooked some for Susan who is still not too well), we managed to get her in too, but the whole exhausting, messy experience had lasted 45 minutes!. The ladies looked a little fraught but somewhat exhilarated and after thanking them and fixing the fence I managed to drive to meet up with Chris and we had a nice meal out!
Poor Hazel!,
My rudimentary repairs to the fence failed soon after I left and Hazel (who is the size of Audrey Hepburn) was left with two escapee pigs when she called in to lock the hens up an hour later!
Bless her! without help, she gamely tried to get the girls back, and an hour later she was still battling away.....
This morning, all I have been doing is patching up the fence holes!
Animals are therapeutic? pah!!!!
Hazel and I are off to the cinema later.....my treat me thinks
Pigless
Walking through the village with the dogs a few minutes ago, I spied affable despot Jason ambling down Chapel Street with his daughter on his shoulders.
"Have they gone?!" he called over and when I shouted out that they had, he added with a chuckle
"Bet you feel like that chap out of Schindler's List"
Sweet natured number 12 and the killer-on-trotters number 21 left the 8field peacefully this morning. The Red Faced Welsh Farmer and his ever cheerful son Ed turned up exactly on time as did my farmer friends Eirlys and John, who had kindly agreed to give us a hand and after a quick chin wag and "plan of attack", we set up a whole line of hurdles leading a path up to the waiting loose box by the gate.
No 22 as a baby
I filled a bucket with corn, opened the enclosure gate and called the pigs out. Number 21 followed me immediately, with number 12 tottering up rather shyly behind, and within five minutes we had just about loaded 12 into the trailer where he peacefully scooped up big mouthfuls of corn with relish. The more sly number 21 played up just a little and tiptoed gaily around the field for a few minuteds, presumably searching for a spare hen to kill, followed by all of my helpers with their pig boards at the ready.
Neither pig was stressed, that's all I was truly bothered about, and when we eventually loaded 21, they both looked as though a trip in a trailer was the most natural thing in the world for both of them to be doing on a cold Tuesday morning.
Their calmness made me feel so much better, I just couldn't bare seeing them anxious and frightened.
It was the same story when we arrived at the butcher's abattoir, where a huge South African Butcher, gently encouraged them both into their holding pen. "He's a big friendly bastard" he commented when number 12 ambled forward to sniff at some tiny looking porkers in the next stall, and a second later I was off to complete the paperwork . It was as quick and as simple as that.. no time for "goodbyes....no time for second thoughts!
I was glad I was with the RFWF He would have stamped on any indulgent emotional romp if I dared to perform one.Things had to be matter of fact...that is the rule with farm animals.
"You are now a real farmer!" the RFWF said as we drove off......."welcome to the club "
