RAM ON A DEATH WISH

... or how Norman turned yellow

STORMIN' NORMAN, one of two rams bought by my husband after I had said "never again" to having sheep, has really tried my patience over the last couple of weeks. 

YELLOW PERIL: Stormin Norman

with medicinal face pack 

 As regulars to this blog know, I'm convinced sheep only have two missions in life: One is to die and the other is to escape. Norman, and his smaller Zwartbles companion, have made several attempts to do both since their surprise arrival a few months back.

 So I suppose it was inevitable when the beehives arrived a few weeks back their occupants would inspire Norman in his pursuit of the dark arts of trying to top himself.

 Somehow he's managed to get too close to one of the beehives and was stung for his curiosity ...

 

YOU GRUNT AND I'LL GROAN: Hubby wrestles Stormin'
Norman into submission before commencing with pedicure

although why he'd choose death by bee stings as a way to peel off this mortal coil is beyond me! As a result his face bloated up, his eyes virtually closed and, to make matters worse, he rubbed his already raw skin on the wires and fence posts. Of course the flies added to his discomfort and aggravated his seeping wounds. Yes, Norman, pictured above, either side, looked really pleased with himself. After a trip into Hawick and some sage advice from a sheep person I received a yellow face pack treatment to apply to the bee stings every day; containing soothing medicated cream with all sorts of anti-biotics, fly repellants and other stuff known to sheep folk it would do the trick. Not only did this aggravate my psoriasis but my fingers are so discoloured the marks resemble the sort of nicotine stains sported by someone who smokes 60 Woodbines a day - and I was wearing gloves. So yesterday, when both he and his fellow ram started limping, I made it quite plain to hubby that it was time he stepped up to the plate. And today, under the watchful eye of his mentor, he set about giving Norman a trim and a foot bath but not before wrestling him to his woolly bottom and then using the support of a wooden fence post to try and stop him from wriggling about. 

It reminded me of the great Saturday afternoons me and my dad used to have infront of the TV watching the late, great Mick McManus throw various wrestlers around the ring.

 I'm not sure who won on this occasion but, ever hopeful, perhaps Norman will think twice now before trying self harm again.

SPUR OF THE MOMENT

..Or Napoleon takes my bones apart!

  ONE of my animals has attacked me and I am in a state of shock. Not because of the viciousness and unrelenting nature of the assault but because of the perpetrator.
 I half expected in an unguarded moment I might be rammed or butted by one of the sheep, or that Jack the gander might suddenly turn on me now that he has managed to scare off everyone else who comes within his eye line. I even thought Ant or Dec, or both, could one day launch an assault on me when I least expected it because turkeys are unpredictable creatures.
 But never for one moment did I expect Napoleon to turn on me, but turn he did using his razor sharp spurs with the deftness and skill of a Samurai swordsman. My left hand now looks like something on a butcher's chopping board as you can see from the series of picture below.

TAKE THAT - palm

AND THAT - below small
finger

AND THAT - thumb

 It all began when I noticed Edwina, one of the cuckoo-coloured Scots Dumpys had developed a limp and as I moved closer I could see she had a clip of some sort attached to her leg which needed to be removed as she was obviously in mild distress. I merely bent down to scoop her up and Napoleon emitted a weird screech and charged straight at me.
 Knocking Edwina out of my hands he then set about in three quick moves to slash and stab my skin using both spurs as he drop kicked me Kung Fu-style. It was like a scene from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and it really hurt causing me to emit a large, ungodly howl followed by several expletives I thought I'd long forgotten.

 The good news is I removed the plastic clip causing Edwina the pain but the bad news is my left hand has swollen and two of my fingers can barely bend. I ran the wound under a running tap and wiped it with an antiseptic cream but it is very painful. I reflected on what had happened because you can't take these things personally ... or I'd be having roast chicken for dinner tonight!
 But, as Alpha male in the hen pen, Napoleon was not being predatory but simply over protective towards Edwina who was already in some distress when I went to do my Good Samaritan act.
 In future I will always keep an eye out for Napoleon as well as the two other cockerels Jumpin' Jack and Horatio before stepping in to the hen pen and I'll try to remember to wear a pair of leather gloves.
 I usually wander around with a large stick but I put it down as I knelt to pick up Edwina.

 And I guess I will always remember the relationship I have with my animals ... we're not friends as much as I would like to be. I'm simply the person who comes around with the food and tries to look after their welfare. It is quite obvious after what happened today that only one individual can rule the roost and that is Napoleon who, I've noticed, is imposing his will more and more on the rest of the hens. If there's an outbreak of bullying he wades straight in and stops potential flare ups and he's always there to keep the other two cockerels in check. He's also taken to growling while prowling as the video clip shows.
 If something similar has happened to you, or if I'm handling this the wrong way, please give me your feedback.

PEDICURE, POLISH & TRIM, SIR?

.. Or how to cut the nails on sheep

AS YOU KNOW I don't like sheep ... awful animals that spend their time either trying to escape or perform some kamikaze act to end it all. After my last experience with these subversive creatures I told my other half that in future we would have no further dealings with them. I really put my foot down.

STORMIN' NORMAN Obviously 

contemplating his next mad mission 

 So, he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is, duly nodded and then went out and bought two Zwartbles rams from a friend's prize-winning flock!
 Sheep are high maintenance and I'm usually the one who has to bail them out of trouble, chase them around the field, unpick them from barbed wire fences, drag them from the roadside and generally save their lives at least twice a week. The latest woolly drama began when one of them started limping and so hubby decided what was needed was a pedicure.
 We went to a local shop in Hawick where they sell all sorts of things for farmyard animals and instead of buying a pair of trimmers the assistant readily offered to give the sheep a pedicure himself while showing hubby how it's done. Sheep need their toe nails clipped on a regular basis and if neglected they end up with all sorts of foot problems ... a bit like humans in that respect.

NAILED: Our 'foot doctor' shows how to perform

a pedicure on a reluctant ram.

 However, when the 'foot doctor' arrived hubby wasn't around and so he set about with the smaller of the two rams. The secret with sheep is to get them off their feet and balance them on their bottoms so they become entirely helpless and are basically unable to struggle. As you can see from the picture on the left, our expert did this with the greatest of ease and set about chopping off the overgrown nails with some sort of blade-cum-nail-file.
 He was about to start on Stormin' Norman, the larger of the two rams when I said this was a pity since my husband was really missing out on some hands on experience.
 The foot doctor agreed and said he would come back later and  teach him. I can't wait to see he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is wrestling with Norman trying to put him on his woolly backside. Methinks I will get the video cam on stand by so I can share the occasion with you.
 In the meantime while busying myself in the virtual reality world of Twitter (@yvonneridley) I was introduced to a neighbour who really loves sheep. If she reads my blog she will probably be appalled because she really appears to adore them. In fact Annabelle loves them so much she shares her own blog with another like-minded soul and it's called Flockable Lasses: http://flockablelasses.com/ There you can read about the adventures she and another young shepherdess called Sophie have as they give their life experiences of working with sheep in the Borders. There's even a ewe-tube clip! Here's a snippet about their blog:

We are two young, blonde, female shepherdesses that have the drive to change the future of the farming industry. We’re going to show people that it’s interesting, rewarding and exciting! We both love what we do and wouldn’t change it for the world as you will find out through our blog. Our love for sheep will be contagious and will inspire new entrants to the sheep and agricultural industry!

Despite the fact I loathe sheep, I really enjoyed reading their blog and was quite blown away by the passion and enthusiasm shown. I did feel a tad guilty for dissing the animals they so clearly revere - perhaps we can meet up one day and who knows, may be some of the enthusiasm for the woolly ones will rub off.

A NEW RECRUIT

..And then there were four (ish)

 THE goose patrol has resumed its duties
and there's a new recruit as you can see from
this video to the right.
 The turkeys got a little too close for Jack's liking while the subversive sheep looked on rather bemused.
 We now need a name for this new addition but please bear in mind it's going to take some months before we establish the sex of the gosling.
 Please send your suggestions in the comment section - many thanks.

BAA BAA BLACK SHEEP

...And one for the Master

Dark arts master: Machiavelli

He-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is has begun to assert his authority in a way which would win the approval of the master of dark arts himself, Niccolò di Bernardo dei Machiavelli, pictured left.

 Friends say it was hardly surprising given that anything with a heartbeat on the smallholding is winged and feathered and treats my other half with the sort of contempt we usually reserve for bankers and traffic wardens. The hens show a mild disinterest while the turkeys give him a hostile reception and the geese see him as live bait.

 He did moot the idea of getting more sheep which produced a spot of hyperventilating from me and a negative response in the extreme which could only be translated one way: No, nie, nicht, la, 没有, non or, as the Welsh say, "dim". I think you get the message, which is more than he did because several days ago 

Double trouble: Zwartbles rams

two shaggy black sheep (right) appeared unannounced, grazing in one of the pastures and as regular followers of Soho2Silo know, I am not the biggest fan of sheep. And if you need reminding, best read this sorry tale again: http://soho2silo.blogspot.co.uk/2013/02/woolly-jumpers.html

 I'm not sure how to deal with this clear act of defiance and I may just let it go for the time being in the interests of maintaining harmony - losing this battle can be turned into a tactical defeat in my favour. We shall see, in the meantime it looks as though I've got two new additions. I haven't given the new arrivals names yet, although the larger one reminds me of a boy from school called Stormin' Norman. He goes charging down the field every morning when he sees my other half as though playing out some long lost reunion - it's the same script every morning, a bit like the movie Groundhog Day. I've warned it will all end in tears and enormous vet bills but hubby won't listen. At last, he has two fans on the farm who respect his authority and, unlike the feathered occupants, they genuinely seem to like him.

 Watch this space ..

Woolly Jumpers

Subversive Sheep
 OVERWHELMED by the prospect of mounds of runny cowpats and more crap in the way of red tape, I consigned to the bin my ambitions to own a small herd of the magnificent long-horned Highland Cattle and so I began to think about what else I could stick in the pastures to give some credibility to my smallholding in the Borders.
 I needed something that was not going to create heeps of slurry but also something that wouldn't demand my attention 24/7; something that could withstand the ever-changing Scottish climate and be hardy enough to fend for itself.

Mary's fortified home

My Eureka! moment came during a shopping trip to the historic market town and former Royal Burgh of Jedburgh. Following in the famous footsteps of the likes of Bonnie Prince Charlie, Sir Walter Scott, Robert Burns and William Wordsworth I wandered down the High Street to head for the Co-op ... okay, so the town's sole supermarket wasn't trading for business in those ancient times, but those celebs did tread the same streets. Perhaps the most famous of them was Mary Queen of Scots who took up residence in Jedburgh, though not by choice - a trip to her 16th century fortified jailhouse just off the High Street reveals the full tragedy of the life of Mary Stuart, born 1542 and executed 1587.

 Worth a butchers: Learmonth's counter

As I ventured past the town's one and only butchers AJ Learmonth, the array of meat on offer was mouth-watering; beef matured on the bone for 21 days, locally sourced venison joints, burgers and sausages. Family butcher Allan Learmonth had more trophies and certificates in his front window than I've seen anywhere since the London Olympics. The only glittering prize which seemed to be missing was an Oscar. One of the young assistants looked slightly dumb struck when I asked if he offered a halal service (Islamically prepared meat and poultry excluding pork which is forbidden to Muslims) and on receiving a negative response I turned, slightly crestfallen, resigning myself for another box of Linda McCartney sausages in the Co-op's frozen food section. As I looked back wistfully at the window, I noted another sign boasting about the succulent locally sourced lamb. Texel, Suffolk and Continental Cross (the sheep equivalent of Tom, Dick and Harry for all I knew) available in a wide range of traditional cuts, or butchered to customer requirements. That was it, sheep it would be and if I felt like a leg roast or some lamb chops I would call upon the services of the local butcher. 

Sheep will go to extremes to try and escape

I immediately phoned he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is and he approved of my suggestion with equal enthusiasm. Sometimes I think he approves of most things as a refusal can often lead to complications and my husband hates complications in his life. However I do know he was listening this time because he mentioned Eid (an important Muslim holiday probably on a par with Christmas in the UK) was fast approaching and we could invite friends around and make a sacrifice. Full of enthusiasm I told a local gamekeeper, who told someone else who then relayed my plans in the local hostelry and within 24 hours I had two sheep in my field. It was a great sense of achievement and with glowing pride I went out every morning with a bucket of pellets to feed my new acquisitions. The first day I was bitten on the hand by one and the second day I was knocked over by the other as I stood between it and its feed. All minor set backs, I told myself. On the third day one of the sheep escaped while the other one had to be rescued from a Houdini-style upside down position it had managed to get itself in while knotting its wool on the barbed wire fence. By the time hubby came to inspect the new stock one had its head covered in a dark blue antiseptic cream from the vet and the other seemed to be playing host to thousands of flies despite the lilac-scented fabric conditioner I'd squirted on its rather messy nether regions the previous day. Furthermore, he took umbridge at the fact I'd bought a couple of ewes when he'd specifically asked for rams. I pointed out they were male sheep but all of their wobbly bits and horns had been removed at their previous home.

 Woolly jumpers - Zwartbles breed

 "I can't sacrifice those; they're not complete. I will be a laughing stock," he moaned. As a convert to Islam, I'm constantly learning on the job, so as to speak, and discovered that an animal chosen for sacrifice on Eid Al-Ahda must be fully intact and be the best of the best. I remembered something similar in the Bible and a Jewish friend told me the Torah states that a sacrifice must involve "an animal without blemish". I knew if I tried to argue the point that my sheep didn't carry any blemishes but were missing a few bits that I would lose the argument and so I had to go and find two more sheep with all their working parts. As it turned out a close neighbour (she lives three miles away) had just returned from an agricultural show with an array of awards for the prize-winning Zwartbles she had reared - I'd never heard of them but she told me they are bought by some of the best kitchens in Britain because of their lean meat and distinctive taste. We agreed a price and soon I had two new additions to my modest flock. I spent the next few weeks until Eid feeding the sheep every morning, chasing them around every afternoon and evening to try and get them back in the field. They made my life a complete misery and the woolly quartet appeared to be working together to make their escape. Feeding times became a nightmare as three would charge me in one direction while the fourth would sneak up behind and trip me up. 

Suicide mission using the well known
'bucket trick'.

Another time I went flying, as one deliberately rammed its head in the bucket, running off kamikaze style, no doubt trying to find the nearest busy road - apparently the bucket trick is well known to rogue ruminants, according to farming friends. In the end feeding time became a battle of wits usually requiring me to adopt the stealth and ingenuity of a Grenzschutzgruppe 9 commando. I had to sprint into the field, quietly empty the feed in a trough then leg it before shouting "come and get it". When they weren't trying to escape they were getting themselves into all sorts of jams - bearing in mind the average vet call out is £60 just to turn up this lot were really taking the mick. Were they my children they probably would've been taken into care but I swear, apart from cussing them, I never laid a finger on those sheep other than to apply medicine or a squirt of deodoriser or unpick them from barbed wire or rescue them from a ditch. And I don't even want to take you down the route of worm control, some things are best left unwritten.

 Only now, several months down the line, do I feel able to share with you my experience with sheep, possibly the most subversive animals in God's kingdom. I unburdened my sorry experience with a bloke from North Northumberland the other day after he revealed that he is a full-time sheep farmer. Full of admiration, I asked him how could he keep sheep and keep sane at the same time. He took off his cloth cap, looked at it silently for a few seconds and slapped it back on his head and said: "They are troubled creatures who only know how to do two things. One is to try and escape and the other is to attempt to kill themselves. Have nowt to do with them if you have a choice." 

 Wise words, indeed.

 Next instalment - being driven batty