all's well that ends well

About three weeks ago, I discovered my favourite sheep, Candy, lying in a field, in obvious pain. Closer examination through the thick fleece, revealed a nasty wound, that had become infected. I thought perhaps she had ripped herself on some barbed wire.

A visit from the vet confirmed that there were puncture marks around her neck, indicating dog bites. I suppose we were lucky that only one sheep had been attacked. People do walk their dogs past this field, so it is possible, that a dog could have chased the sheep, and was then called off by its owner. we shall never know.

I do know that it took two courses of antibiotics to get her well again. Candy rewarded our patience and 'nursing care' by being the first ewe to lamb this spring, and produced three healthy lambs in the early hours of this morning, 2 boys and a ewe-lamb.

(picture taken a few days later). The photo is not the prettiest one, but it shows the considerable scarring caused to the sheep's face, and this is several weeks after the dog incident.

The countryside is for us all to enjoy, whatever our interests, but Candy's story highlights a need for responsibility, and the importance of respect for the creatures, wild and domestic, who share the countryside with us.

donkeys are different

Donkeys are different to what? - well, ponies for a start (not that I know much at all about horses or ponies - I have never been an equestrian queen) and as I am finding out, they are pretty well different to any other creature I have come across!

Our two miniature donkeys are newcomers to the farm. I could call them an 'impulse buy' - certainly an impulse opportunity, but after some donkey networking, we decided to give them a go. Whether they remain the 'two and only' or become the founding members of 'Dove Farm donkeys' is yet to be decided. At the moment we are just getting to know each other, and it's a steep learning curve all round.

Dandy and Rusty are half-brothers, aged about 18 months and 14 months respectively. As donkeys can live into their 4os, you will understand that these two boys are just babies really. Although one is much bolder and bossier that the other one, they depend very much on each other, and get along together pretty well most of the time.

I love their spontaneity and openness, and am touched by their trust. it's no wonder you hear such bad stories of cruelty towards donkeys . They are inquisitive, curious and interested in everything new. Dandy and Rusty's favourite thing is the wheelbarrow - never fails to create excitement and grab their attention. I haven't worked out its attraction yet - scratching post, interesting contents, something to test their strength on, who knows?

What I do know, is that donkeys smell (surprisngly strongly) and so do I when I have been around them. Henry reminds me of this joyfully and frequently, taking his revenge for all the years I have complained about him smelling of cows and silage and muck - oh well, only 40 years to get used to it.

mother's day

how was yours?

my day started well before 7.00 am with 3 gifts and cards, promptly presented, all having been carefully made and equally carefully saved until the special day. Joshua assures me that the iced gems on top of his peppermint fondants, won't fall off, because he had to lick them to stick them on. I am persuaded to try one of these delicacies before my head is even off the pillow.

I then decide to get up and let out the chickens, to spare the cottages guests any further wake-up calls from the cockerel(s)- should only be one, and will be one again soon, but the three silkie chicks we reared, have turned out to be cockerels as well, and have now begun crowing. The plan is to go back to bed with a cup of tea. By the time I get back upstairs with cup in hand, the silkies have settled in our garage (even closer to the cottages) and are calling in unison to the large cockerel who is outside one of the bedroom windows. I go downstairs and outside again, this time with a watering can, and chase off offending birds. It works for about as long as it takes to drink my tea.

I'm in the shower now, having given up on the lie-in, and hastily get out, get dried and dressed, as I can hear the dog going beserk downstairs, which means someone is at the door. Turns out, one of the toilet pipes in the cottages has come away - water all over the bathroom floor, and there is no hot water in fact, in any of the cottages. We go over, to diagnose boiler problem - the gas tanks need changing over, (which I gratefully hand over to Henry to do, while I mop up water, and reassure guests that all will be well again) and all this is before second cup of tea and breakfast!

As the weather has been quite savage today,we have spent the day close to home, doing outside jobs with frequent 'recovery' periods inside, with more cups of tea and snacks. I make a mother's day promise to spend time with each child, doing an activity of their choice (I regret to say this does not happen very often) - so I play football in the yard with Joshua, fortunately everyone else joins in, to save me from sporting disaster, I write a story on the computer with Natalie, and Celine shows me how to create basic animation. I enjoy it all, and vow that I should make time to do this more often.

The day has a kind of poignant end for me, as I find that Celine my eldest, has cleared out some of her 'kiddie stuff' and passed down 'pink bunny' to her younger sister. Pink bunny has been everywhere with us over the years. I have washed and stitched her, and on one occasion, travelled many night-time country miles, to retrieve her for a desperate little girl who couldn't go to sleep without her. I wasn't expecting pink bunny to appear on the school bus or at disco parties, but I wasn't expecting to feel this kind of sadness and nostalgia either, at the 'passing down' ceremony of a cuddly toy - but that's all part of being a mother isn't it? I know these moments will come thick and fast from now on, so I'd better get a grip of the technology my daughters are trying to teach me, and improve my football skills, so I can keep up as they move forwards!

thank cake it's Friday

At my children's school, a new custom has been introduced through the PTA, called 'Thank cake its' Friday'. Volunteer mums put their names on a rota, and when it's their turn, they 'produce' a cake on Friday, which the children try to win, by buying a 20p raffle ticket. Apart from committing the first mortal sin (which is forgetting your turn - and suffering the unspoken humiliation at the school gate) there is the dilemma of how to 'produce' the cake. Does a quick trip down to Tesco, suggest busy, pre-scheduled, efficient parent, or is it a snapshot of lazy, can't be-bothered, kitchen-inept motherhood? Likewise, is a home baked creation, a symbol of earnest support for your child's education, in a domestic goddess kind of way, or does it suggest 'too much time at home with nothing to do after Richard and Judy.'

I survive the first part, by remembering - thanks to prominent fridge magnets since Monday. I then decide to opt for the home baked approach - whatever people want to think, and am reassured by the seal of approval from my children, when they see lemon jelly decorations. An accompanying card, stating the names of the hens who have obligingly laid the 3 eggs required for the recipe, and the offering is complete. I am slightly nervous handing over the cake, and quite relieved, to see a smiling child coming out of school at the end of the day, seemingly happy with their prize. I'm a bit happier again, later that evening, following my own custom of a glass or two of red (or white for that matter!). thank cabernet sauvignon it's Friday.

frogspawn

The ponds and puddles are stacking up with the familiar jelly clouds of frogspawn. Surprising really, that these squishy little promises of Spring, can evoke such a range of responses - from a resounding 'yuk!' - to an older generation's memory of school tapioca pudding - to the deliciously tactile reaction of 'cool... can I touch it?'

Times move on - and our children become more 'sanitised' and remote from their outdoor environment, (unless it involves an organised activity on a municipal area.) It becomes harder to recognise the faded storybook image of years ago, of a boy with tousled hair, short trousers and grazed knees, triumphantly holding a jam-jar, wrapped round with string for a handle, with a few tadpoles wriggling about in it.

My question and objection to this particular image, is why was it always a boy? - where were all the girl tadpolers? I prefer to describe myself as a tadpole rescuer - and indeed, spent many an hour as a child, painstakingly retrieving tadpoles one by one, from highly unsuitable, watery graves, to more plentiful ponds - no doubt leaving the little wrigglers, to take their place in the pondlife foodchain. I didn't think about that part - preferring instead to enjoy the feeling of wellbeing from saving so many tiny lives.

Nothing much has changed for me on the amphibian front. Of course, I see the bigger picture now, but I will be out there tomorrow with three little helpers, scooping, collecting and re-homing jelly bundles. I can even feel a mini-pond project coming on!

For more information on frogspawn, tadpoles and ponds, try these links to get started: www.beautifulbritain.co.uk and www.bbc.co.uk/nature/animals/springwatch