Bloody Nora

God what a day! Had a lie in until about 9, which was just as well given the epic levels of activity that followed.

Morning doings: haylage all round, break the ice on the water troughs again. Angie out in her pen. Gather up chickens who have opted to take free range more literally than intended and return them to their run. Clean kitchen. Cup of tea. Scrambled eggs and toast. Nom. More tea. Clean meehoo room. Vacuum.

Weather forecast suggest that heavy snow is en route. Arrrghh. Must batten down hatches. Skip out/muck out boys and Angie, clean out field shelter and top up straw beds and wood chips. Sid chops industrial quantities of wood while wailing loudly and out of tune to his iPod. Do best to flatten poached area outside girls' shelter. Consider the need for girls to be confined to shelter, and the resulting need for further water buckets.

Trip to Charity Farm for supplies: water buckets, feed buckets for incoming goatages, wormers, broom. Stock up on supplies from farm shop. Stop by the hardware store for some metal brackets on the way home.

Meanwhile, Sid starts work on the goat shelter.More cutting of weatherboard to size. Afternoon preps: haylage all round, dinners, steam hay, water all round. Sounds easy when you say it quick but hoses and yard tap frozen so need to bring it all up from the house. Arrghhh. Bring Angie in. She makes a play for Sid's Belgian buns, but disaster is averted at the last. Put Angie away after she's wandered around the yard for half an hour helping herself to haylage, carrots, hay etc.

The final push on the goat shelter: board up back and sides. Sid makes a shutter on advice from Bob the goat man - they like to be able to see out so he made a flap which can be opened as needed. Put chicken in oven to roast. Gather in the meehoos and feed. Feed Puppy. Put roof on goat shelter. Attach metal tie rings to base to facilitate dragging. Yay! Finished.

 Lash the goat shelter to the LandCruiser. Put mares away. Dismantle temporary electric fencing to facilitate passage of aforementioned LandCruiser and lashed-on shelter.

The operation to transfer the goat shelter form its site of construction in the middle of the yard to a suitable spot in the field commences, with Sid at the wheel. There's only one shot to get it through the field gate, but this passes without incident. There follows precision driving at a snail's pace, a bit like those programmes you see when people put a house on the back of a truck and transport it to a new location, albeit on a much smaller scale. Begin to hum theme tune from Dambusters. Shelter is aligned as planned, facing away from prevailing winds and the worst of the weather. Sorted. Clean up, put away tools. Remove chicken from oven.

The job is done. Under cover of darkness, the goat shelter has been completed and transferred to its new location. The sense of achievement is matched only by numbness of arse and feet.

God what a day!

Needless to say, the boys didn't get worked again. Perhaps I should try wearing my knickers outside my jods and se if that makes a difference.

Current status: roast chicken dinner, demolished. Chocolate pud with ice cream: seen off. All that remains is lates and a nice hot bath to ease muscles which are uttering noises that sound something like "Jesus wept!", "sodding hell" and "bloody Nora".

Sanctuary visit

Thanks to the glory that is Knickers, I actually got a lie in this morning until about 8:30. Utter bliss.

At lunchtime we went to the local goat sanctuary to find a companion for Angie. Wow, what an unbelievable place! They have about 120 goats of all sizes and shapes, and an excellent setup; huge paddocks with big trees to climb on  - much better than anything we have at home tbh. We had a bit of a wait for Bob to show us the possible candidates he had in mind, during which time we very nearly froze to death on a number of occasions.That's because it is completely and utterly TATERS at the moment. Just as we were about to beat a path back to the relative warmth of the car Bob arrived and showed us two pairs he'd had in mind. Max and Millie first, small goats and very sweet but Max has horns that stick straight up and Millie is quite bumptious, so perhaps not best for us as first time owners. The other pair are an older pair of hornless girls about the same size as Angie, called Nadja and Grace, very docile and sweet. The upshot is that they're being delivered on Wednesday at 2pm. They came from the MoD, where they were used in experiments in pressure chambers :/

What the hell are we doing?

Sid and I went to collect some more Weatherboard, which we need to finish the goat hotel. We had an idea to try to flatten the area outside the girls' shelter as it was frozen into peaks and troughs. Not having a roller or similar equipment, we used the LandCruiser, back and forth, back and forth, with only moderate success. Lots of poo picking and such ensued, sorting of the field shelter etc, all in the stinking, freezing temperatures that made me feel like my arse was going to fall right off. I'm not sure it's defrosted even now, some hours later.

The ultimate irony about this time of year is that there is quite a bit more to do to tend to all the creatures, and only a few hours of daylight into which to cram it all. There's so much to do, I don't really know where to start sometimes.

Tomorrow, the plan is to finish off the field shelter and I really must do something with the boys. We also need to stat on a shelter for the chickens, on account of their reluctance to seek protection in even the worst of the weather. Certainly, it's never boring.

What a week

There are a small clutch of phrases suitable to describe a week like the one I've just had, but I think i will settle for "bleeding Nora". It's been a particular slog; packed with meetings and a great deal to be done wherever you look. On Wednesday I went to Roehampton Uni for a day with the suppliers of our helpdesk software, which was an excellent day, setting aside the 50 min trek along Roehampton Lane that was clearly advertised as a 20 minute walk but just as clearly wasn't. So whilst my planned arrival at Barnes for 9:40 to arrive at 10am seemed perfectly adequate in the inception stage, the actuality of it was rather different and I arrived at just a whisker before 10:30, perspiring moderately, full of bladder and desperate for coffee and breakfast, just as the seminar started.

That aside it was a good day and we all piled down to the pub afterwards for a well-deserved pint. I really like these guys and Roehampton is home from home now, so well beaten is the path between our campus and theirs.

Today I've said goodbye to a member of my team and taken in a new contractor for the intervening period, who has ingratiated himself very well actually by the simple expedient of buying me (a) some chips and curry sauce, and (b) a pint of Guinness in the pub tonight at the leaving do. Turns out the pub is like waiting for a bus; you don't see one for ages and then two come along in one week.

I know I've remarked on this already but it really is surprising just how many people seem to really like goats.

Extremes of activity, and new developments

It's been a very very tiring but rewarding day. Up at 7.30 again for lesson on T with Mandy. Most of this one was in trot and I really feel I'm starting to get to grips with lots of things I hadn't really got a grip on. Really thrilled with this and for the first time today, I realised afterwards, I didn't have the slightest of butterflies about getting on him. After the lesson he shared another pile of haylage with Angie :)

This afternoon Knickers and I decided to take Angie with us to poo pick T's field. At first she loitered near his stable but when we rounded the corner she came over at what can best be described as a fast waddle just as T wandered over, and they had their first encounter at liberty. He was ace, really sweet and gentle. She was a little bit nervous and butted him on the nose, which gave us the opportunity to see what he looks like with an exclamation mark hovering over his head, and that was that. She came with us to poo pick, just like a dog would. What a fabulous creature she is.

Next we had a visit from Bob from the local goat sanctuary, who came to assess us as a potential adoption site. We'd cleaned up the yard to make everything spick and span for the inspection, and of course there was the small matter of the capacious goat hotel that is currently under construction in the middle of the yard. Bob was great and the upshot was that we're going to visit next weekend to look at potential companions for Angie.

A couple of Angie factoids:
* everyone who meets her seems to fall in love. Even as goats go, she's damn cute. A couple of farmer friends popped in to help us shift a bale of haylage midweek, and spent a pleasant half hour completely and utterly taking the piss out of us for getting a goat, particularly when it emerged that we'd paid for her. Then when they saw her "oh she's sweet isn't she", followed by "can I go in with her?"
* we were talking to the lady who works in the farm shop in the village, who used to work at the farm shop from whence Angie came, and bugger me if she didn't have a photo of Angie on her phone - driving a tractor. I kid you not.        See what I did there?

Meanwhile the goat hotel "maison chevre" is coming on a treat.

Another quiet day at the homestead

Up at 7:30am, determined to get one of the boys done before Little Miss had her post-spay follow up vet check I decided to put Angie out in the pen behind the stables first, then off T and I went for our session, during which time I discovered that one way to get him to ignore the mares is to have a goat on her hind legs watching proceedings from the other side of the fence.

Afterwards when I put him out, he went to have a sniff at Angie and I decided to put out some haylage on either side of the fence. Shortly afterwards they were sharing the pile in what was possibly the cutest thing I've ever seen. I have high hopes that he'll be happy to share some space with a goat or two. He stayed there with her all morning!

Knickers and I took Little Miss to vitnery (all fine), dropped her back home then went shopping, which constituted a boot full of sacks of feed for the creatures and a bag full of veggies, some bread and local free range bacon for us, grabbing some unhealthy but yummy pastry thing from the bakery on the way through.

Raised the Kracken from his pit; he and Knickers went in search of a new chain for the chainsaw, only to find a complete dearth of them everywhere. Turns out Pheel has the facilities to make chains of any specification, so off they went to Pheel's to have one made. Is there no end to the man's talents? Sid now also has workshop envy :) and there is the small matter of the Springer x Lab puppies, just a week old ... Oh God.

Meanwhile I did some cleaning of the yard and a variety of jobs before getting Q in to ride. Hmm I thought, when we got to the yard, he seems uncommonly lively. In fact so unsettled and utterly "up" was he that I thought hmm, I know, I'll do some ground work. And as well I did, as the hunt was in the area (when I say in the area, I mean in the next property) and it set everyone off - the mares were charging around bucking, and Q ran and ran and ran. All I could really do was stand in the middle, watching. Not the most productive of sessions and all that could really be said of it was that it certainly dealt with any beans he might have had and, being unclipped, he was a complete sweaty mess by the end of it.  Good job they're supposed to let people know when they're in the area isn't it, otherwise they'd be a bunch of red-coated tossers with an unfeasibly large number of dogs and a dearth of common decency.

Next on the agenda: the reason for the chainsaw - our latest building project - the goat shelter. Oh yes! So far we've made the base frame and the vertical poles, and tomorrow we'll start putting up the walls. Might move it first before it gets too heavy, or risk it being marooned in the centre of the yard, for ever.

Our reward for these endeavours: a well-stocked wood burner, Indian takeaway and a nice bottle of Kopparberg. Splendid.

Bastards

After a torrid couple of days of commuting, constituting about a month's worth of misery crammed into two days, I feel I must issue forth in some detail about the experience. Before I begin I will however grant that ordinarily the service is very reliable and good, and only relatively rarely are there problems - this is one benefit of using trains that routinely do the entire Kent coast.

So yesterday we had delays and cancellations both in and out of London, so I wasn't really expecting any problems today because frankly that would be ridiculous. As a result you could have bent me over and buggered me sideways and I wouldn't have been more surprised than I already was to discover that the 6:50 to London had been cancelled. Again. Well - I say cancelled, but it was worse than that. Because it was delayed outside Ashford for more than 20 minutes, some middle manager somewhere took the view that in order to try to restore balance, what they'd do is **miss out our station altogether**  in order to make up some time. Right. So what they're effectively saying is that the thousands upon thousands of pounds that the village (and its collective) commuting community spends on its annual commute is somehow of less value than that of someone from, say, Tonbridge. That's bollocks, that is. The level of polite indignation among the commuters was quite extraordinary. One man even suggested people should complain!

There's a particular kind of irritation associated with this sort of thing when you've been up since 5:30am and attended to 4 horses, 5 cats, a dog and a goat, you've showered and ironed your clobber and still made it out the door by 6:35, only to be faced with a 20 minute wait at the station in the freezing cold when you could have been at home stuffing haynets or fussing goats. So we (the assembled throng) await the 7:10 and Jane, the nice lady at the station, keeps us amused with barely veiled cynicism about the whole sorry process, and we chortle gently, partly mollified at least by All Being In It Together.

Naturally enough, the 7:10 is late, and then crawls up the tracks in such  way that I idly wonder if things would proceed more quickly if I were to get out and walk, or attempt to pick it up and chuck it up the track myself. Eventually we arrive in London and there follows the inevitable loitering for a connection, and eventually I make it into the office, some two and a half hours after I left home.

The working day proceeds more or less as planned, except because of my late arrival at the office, I remain for the commensurate period and leave the office around 5. Get to the station only to see the 17:08 wafting out of the station, but don't concern myself because the 17:11 will be along in exactly 3 minutes' time. Or will it. It's only when I arrive on the platform that I become aware of the tannoy message informing me that, due to signalling problems at Cannon Street, the 17:11 is cancelled. And the 17:18, the 17:23, 28 and 33. Arses.

So I sit and make myself as comfortable as it is possible to be on a fixed metal seat on a cold night in November on an exposed railway platform in South London, and watch a procession of trains go through the station without stopping. 17:39 comes and goes; no train. It is advertised, but rather ominously with no time attached to it. I'd barely clung on to my good temper by consideration that with good luck and a dearth of further fuck ups I could somehow make it to London Brige in time for the 17:49, but that soon dissipated like the remnants of a fog on a sunny morning, to be replaced by gathering dark clouds and forked lightning. By this time the platform was heaving with bodies, the like of which has not been seen since the last signalling problem at Cannon Street. In the end it was 4 minutes short of an hour that I stood or sat on that sodding platform. Eventually the train arrived at a shade after 6pm and off we went to London Bridge.

Upon arrival I thought I know, I'll go and check the main board for the train times. I waded through the sea of bodies to the boards, only to find that the next train was in 1 minute. Arrghh. I already knew, looking at the mass of bodies that lay between me and my target, that there was no way on this earth that I was going to get there in time, but just for the extra piquancy of the moment I was permitted to arrive just in time to see the fucking thing pull out of the station. I almost lost it at that moment.

I, along with 50,000 others, milled about on the relevant platforms waiting for news and listening to the announcements, as advised. Luckily for me my sister Bulse called and restored my good humour, or I might have run amok at any moment. Thanks babe, that was a life saver.

The final straw for me was the rich lilting Caribbean accent of the staff member announcing the 18:36 to West Weeeck-ham (mon), in so doing drawing a near perfect image of sun, sand, palm trees, rum and reggae, the complete antithesis of a cold and miserable evening spent on a variety of railway platforms in South London. I couldn't help but smile to myself. At least I think it was a smile, but it may have been a rictus grimace.

The long and the short of the sorry tale was that I arrived home just after 8pm, some three hours after I left the office. That makes a grand total of five and a half hours' commuting today.

The only saving grace was coming home to a roaring fire, home made soup, the fact that Knickers had done the boys (including feet for the first time!), some new woolly socks and a set of lamb footrot shears for when vitnery comes to attend to Angie and the horses tomorrow.

Goatie goodness

Every day is a busy day here at Luso Towers, but some days are definitely busier than others. Yesterday was one such. Up early to ride Q, while T had a mad half hour charging around, bucking and doing caprioles for no apparent reason other than that he could. Poo picked (and for those who have never had the pleasure of dragging or pushing a wheelbarrow full of sodden poo through a mud bath, be glad that it's almost impossible to describe the experience), prepped a stable and then went off to the farm shop to collect Angie. She's a real darling, loves a fuss and I swear she recognised us from the last time we went to see her.

Rather than the sledgehammer/walnut scenario of taking the horse trailer to fetch her, we borrowed Karen's stock trailer. She loaded like a pro and off we went back home. Unloaded and put her in the stable, left Knickers with her while I took the trailer back.

There's a pen at the back of the boys' stables which we thought would be ideal for her so we took her in there to see what happened. Within seconds she'd put her head and a front leg through the lowest of the post and rail gaps, so back she went to the stable and we set to with a 50m roll of stock proof fencing. Within not very long at all (especially once we hit on the idea of using a large pair of pruning shears as wire cutters) we'd got the pen lined with stock proof fencing and were feeling pretty pleased with ourselves. 4:30pm and dark though so no chance to put her in there, and I had to go and run a few errands.

Sunday
This morning I had a lesson on T to look forward to. When I went to fetch him he came charging up the field doing a Big Trot (TM) which IMO is something of an achievement in such a wet field, apparently filled with the desire to urgently acquaint himself with Dan's horses, on the walker. Clearly a blokeish day. We had what can best be described as a dodge-off, with him wanting to charge off back down the field and me blocking him, which went on for a few minutes before he won. Off I tootled down the field to fetch him.

He hadn't been ridden or otherwise worked all week and was clearly feeling "well". What with that and the added complication of Angie's presence and her tendency to stand on her hind legs at the stable door, I was wondering how to minimise any potential surprises, particularly while sat astride half a ton of supremely athletic stallion. Put Angie out in her pen, or not? Tether her nearby? I'm not a fan of tethering tbh but there it is. In the end I decided it would be best to leave her where she was and introduce her and T before we went to the arena. T was ace - fascinated and pumped of neck for a while there but chilled and with a lovely soft look in his eyes. I have half a hope she could be a companion for him.

We had a good warm up with lunge and in hand work, and he was good as gold. Not fussed by Angie calling or indeed by me calling back to her to tell her everything was ok. Mandy arrived, on I got and he felt really good. We're working on him reaching out to the bit within a range of activities including LY, SI and transitions to trot. Each week I feel improvements which is quite a thing since I hadn't ridden him since the last lesson, but I feel he is more confident in reaching to the contact and we had some really nice transitions and sitting trot before the heavens opened and down it came. Lots of interesting feels to store away and think on. Really pleased with him. Even on a loose rein walking directly towards the girls he maintained focus so maybe next week I'll leave them in the next field. Or maybe not :)

The next order of business was to take Angie for a walk, once it stopped raining. Goats, you see, are very susceptible to bad weather. The immediate thing that did me in was how much better she was on the lead than yesterday. The mares came to the gate with that look of intense interest, to investigate. We went in the picadeiro, the mares came along and grazed apparently uninterestedly right by the fence. Then we went in their field and there followed a period of very interested sniffing on the part of the girls, and a study of standing still followed by huddling up to me for support on the part of Angie. Man, she's sweet.

We walked around the field so Q could see her and he was absolutely agog. He's such a drama queen. Big trots and snorting, then stopping, head right up on full alert like a big Portuguese meerkat, then trotting off to have a pop at T, presumably to reaffirm his manliness. He dursn't let us too near, and it seemed she was much less scary if she stood still than if she *gasp* MOVED! Horrors!

The plan for the afternoon was to build her a shelter in the pen, but we were stymied by a number of issues, not the least of which was the weather. So we will have to limp along for a while. But she does need a chum - she was bleating when Knickers went out first thing to feed, and also when I went out for my lesson, so this needs to be addressed asap. Poor girl. But as I said to her, better lonely for a few days than having your head chopped off.

Need to get vitnery to look her over as her feet are overgrown and need attention. Her knees already look better though.

I wasn't prepared for what an utterly charming creature she is. She loves a fuss, has bonded to us for reassurance and is just really sweet. The thing that really kills me is the noise she makes while munching - I've never heard anything so sweet. That's probably weird. Knickers suggested I record it and then use it as a ring tone. Genius! I bet noboy else on earth has the sound of a goat munching as a ring tone, and if they do I really need to meet them.

Otherwise, we did loads of yard doings in the rancid, pissing rain, cleaned the stables, cleared out the hay barn and had Pheel round to empty the muck clamp, before retiring indoors.

Doodads, literally

So today was the day that I'd booked in the meehoos to be castrated/sterilised, as applicable. I'm such a sap, I hate doing it and I particularly hate the hours leading up to it, when they mill around me with that particular aura about them: "Mom, did you forget to feed us?". A policy of avoidance only goes so far because they're there, tickling the back of your frontal lobe from a different room, sending out distress signals involving empty bellies and food. And I can't explain to them when they come to me saying "Mom, what are you doing, you definitely forgot to feed us" that I haven't in fact forgotten, it's just that they're undergoing a GA to facilitate the removal of their gonads in a few hours' time, for which an empty belly is an important prerequisite. And indeed, were I able to explain it to them, I'm not convinced it would be that much better from their perspective, when the obvious responses would be "OH GOD NO!" quickly followed by "but WHY?".

The hour came, I got the cat boxes out of the garage and in they went, easy as pie. On the 20 or so minute journey to Cranbrook, there was only minimal wailing, which was good. However, about halfway there I suddenly became aware of an unholy odour creeping stealthily around the car, only to burst with appalling clarity in my nose; the sort of stench which can only ever emanate from a cat's arse. Hmmm. Nothing for it but to engage mind control and Keep Driving.

Upon arrival at the surgery, they invited me to take a seat in the waiting room. I did so, with both cat boxes arrayed at my feet, hoping it wouldn't be too long. I sat and waited, and waited some more, and all the while the surrounding air became saturated with the unmistakable aroma of cat poo, while for my part my eyes started bleeding and my nostrils slammed shut. One of the receptionists walked by and remarked "Ooooh, someone's done a poo" which, from my particular vantage point, was a completely unhelpful and unnecessary contribution to the proceedings. Clearly such observational skills as she possessed did not permit her to register the fact that my face had gone green and my eyes had melted and thus had a better than average chance of being aware of this development already. Eventually the vet arrives and we go through to the consulting room for the pre-op check. "Oooh" she said, "someone's done a poo".

And there it was. My betrayal complete, I left them to the surgeon's scalpel and returned to Luso Towers feeling miserable and guilty. The only thing to do in such a situation was to tootle over to the farm shop to visit with Angelina, the new addition to our family, and to buy some produce whilst we were there. We discovered that we needed a CPH number in order to keep a goat and that this must be obtained prior to transport taking place. I therefore spoke to a very helpful young man at the RPA who upgraded my request to critical (woop woop!) and informed me that I should receive my CPH number some time later in the day.

Knickers and I went to McVeighs, purveyors of all farm equipment, whereupon we purchased a range of items suitable for constructing (a) a goat shed, and (b) a covered area for the chickens, whose talents do not include the sense to stay indoors when it is cold and wet and miserable, and who therefore leave themselves vulnerable to chills. The plan is to knock in four fence posts (necessitating a post basher), for each of the corners, then use weatherboard on the back and sides, with an onduline roof (necessitating sheets of onduline, a kilo of staples, 100 onduline-specific nails and some 2x4 rails to use as roof struts). We also purchased a 50m roll of stock fencing, which will be used to secure her pen against escape attempts of the cunning bovid variety. We can use existing chipboard to make a raised bed, for goats, it seems, like a raised bed. This will be much cheaper than buying something ready made. I had a cunning plan to create a goat hay rack out of some pallets after I found a recipe for one on the Internet, but was stymied at the last by the fact that there were no pallets to be had. Will have to develop a plan B for this.

The impluse purchase of the day was a an implement called a Wood Pekka, used to split large logs into smaller ones. This is timely because we have a lot of big logs, but less and less small ones, so we got one. Upon arriving home with said goodies and eating some soup (roasted butternet squash), Knickers and I amused ourselves by splitting enough logs to fill the log container thingie, in about ten minutes flat! Wowser.
We also added a layer of wood chips to Xacra's side of the field shelter, poo picked the shelter and the field and went off to get the meehoos, by now divested of their doodads and ready to come home. And very please to come home they were, milling about, gazing up at me in that glorious trusting way that they have, apparently bearing me no ill will at all for the day's events, but still wanting some FOOD.

I now have my CPH number and tomorrow we go to collect Angelina.

One year on

A year ago yesterday we moved all our worldly goods and chattels two miles up the road in two large removal vans, a Land Cruiser and an Ifor Williams trailer to begin a much anticpiated (not to say rather costly) new chapter in our lives on a small and only partly formed farm project.Getting to that stage was in itself a triumph of optimism and an eye on the main prize over a sustained set of setbacks, stresses and tribulations that would have tested the patience of a really rather patient person, let alone that of an irascible Frenchman and a woman for whom tolerance has been only recently discovered country.

The first order of business was to get set up for the boys to arrive on the day we completed ownership, and to that end,  once we'd exchanged contracts we got Pheel in to do industrial levels of post and rail fencing. This in itself required a lot of juggling and negotiation in terms of access to the land and the order in which things had to be done, but we got it done because we had to, and that's one of the best drivers I know to get something done.

The day arrived; we moved all our worldy goods and chattels as discussed... and then spent several hours waiting for the previous owners to finish moving out while people hung about outside and got increasingly jittery, not the least of which was the gaggle of removal men whose task it was to assist us and whose prime driver was to bugger off home asap, as the clock ticked on towards 5pm, dark encroached and for extra effect, it started pissing down.

Unfortunately the weather had turned consistently wet and rancid in the weeks prior to our arrival and the yard as a consequence looked something like this when we moved in:

The whole circumstance of the move took place under rather freakish conditions, in that the previous owners stayed on at the yard with their horses; the deal being that they took care of the boys in return for the use of five stables over the winter. This suited us fine at the time - it was a big help on the one hand but also awkward on the other, for all concerned.

Meanwhile, we faced the immediate choice of kayaking up to the yard several times a day or getting in some hardstanding, so we went for the latter option and beat a path with the aid of several tons of hardcore, thus:

You can still see the sea of mud surrounding the hardcore, but it was a start.

The next priority was to install, as a matter of some urgency, an area in which we could work the boys, so once again Pheel was called in and set to to build us a picadeiro on the cheap (cheap being a relative term), which doubles as an all weather turnout that pretty much saved (a) our bacon, and (b) the boys' sanity during periods of sustained ice and snow when it wasn't safe to turn them out.

The picadeiro under construction.

Winter came and went and with it a great deal of snow, during which coping was the main activity. Some days the weather was so bad that beating a path through the snow and wind to the yard was bad enough, let alone anything else, and we got through heroic quantities of hay, haylage and carrots. Not to mention road salt, beating a path to the picadeiro from the yard. This phase will henceforth be remembered as our Path-beating Period.

Spring
With the arrival of spring, we faced a number of dilemmas. Lots of things needing to be done but we couldn't get on with any of them until some significant changes took place. The previous owners still had a couple of mobile stables on the yard, which was to be the site for the new muck clamp, and it really needed to go before the rest of the hardstanding went in. A date was set for them to move their horses out; March 21st, the spring solstice.

This was a typical scene from the bedroom window prior to the departure date. 

The mobile stables are there on the left, behind the straw bales. Notice also the 

giant molehill that has appeared from the first batch of hardstanding.

Alone at last

It was always going to be tricky, sharing a property with someone who once owned it but no longer does. There were things we could all have handled better but didn't, so it was quite a thing when the date itself loomed and they began packing. It was surprisingly emotional for me and I did feel for them, leaving. It also meant that we could crack on with all the work that needed doing.

Also, the boys at long last started their 24/7 turnout, something I have wanted for them since time began.

First things first, the hardstanding. Quickly followed by...

...the muck clamp. Yay!

Spring Arrivals

Then there was the small matter of cats arriving on the scene, quite obviously homeless and hungry. Sid was adamant that he didn't want any more cats and I was adamant that I couldn't let them starve, so I started feeding them. There was a ginger tom, still with orbs attached, and a smaller black cat whom I initially took to be a boy but her swelling belly soon gave the lie to that and revealed her to be a pregnant queen. She was terribly shy while he was much more friendly; I named them Binky and Ted. 

One day while I was at work, Binky had one of her babies on the patio. Sid rang me all in a lather, wanting to know what to do. The upshot was that Binky and her new family were brought into the house so that she could raise them in a safe environment...

This is the sort of thing that happens when you take pity 

on a stray cat who turns out to be a pregnant queen :)

We've kept two of the meehoos (Jim and Little Miss, the latter who famously turned up mewling piteously in our kitchen roof one morening in late spring) and of course Binky and Ted are still with us, now suitably divested of their reproductive equipment, and we are back to being a five cat household.

Fencing, Round II

A second batch of fencing was needed to prepare for the mares' arrival. I did have a rare old time riding Q around the large paddock prior to this, but we could not postpone the inevitable and so the next thing was for Pheel, his giant Massey and bevy of helpers to descend once more upon the homestead and install the next lot of fencing. The stallion paddock was divided lengthwise into two and the mares' field was divided up into two decent sized ones plus a smaller one which would serve as an access point for Q between his winter and summer paddocks, the point being that the boys could always gain access to their stables for shelter, whether from summer or winter paddocks. 

Pheel hard at it with his Massey

We also had to do something with all that top soil that was scraped up in preparation for the hardstanding going down, and took the decision to spread it at one end of what would be Q's access paddock and the mares' winter grazing. We then spent some while considering that this might have been an error, but in fact nature takes its course and with a spring roll and reseed of the paddocks, things started to happen, grass began growing over it and all was well after all.

The boys enjoying their summer turnout

Summer work - the arena
The next big project was the much-anticipated arena, and a giant loan to fund it. It took approximately two weeks to complete and was ready in the middle of July. Noboy mentioned that I would have to then sit and look at it for two weeks while it settled, or that we would be waiting weeks and weeks and WEEKS for a decent shower to help bed it in. I can say with some authority that attempting to do this with a garden sprinkler is a fool's hope and no good can come of it. One thing we've learnt about having a place with land is you really need tools appropriately sized for the task at hand, or you mightn't as well bother.

One newly minted arena with flexiride surface

Raised beds
One idea we had to use up some of that top soil and also to add some much needed greenery to the proceedings was to create some raised beds around the car park and plant loads of hawthorn (by loads I mean 100) around it. Hawthorn particularly because it is one of the few hedging plants that is not toxic to horses. So we created a range of raised beds around the back and along the sides of the car park, one giant fuck-off bed along the side that borders with our neighbours, and three raised beds in the front garden which will be used to grow veggies, but which we didn't quite get around to this year.

One giant raised bed, with leylandi along the fence line.

This will be given over to wild flowers and grasses.

A small selection of the many hawthorn bushes, compost and 

railway sleepers that went into creating all the raised beds.

The mares arrive!
In the late spring we received the glad tidings that both Xacra and Alfama were confirmed in foal, so we could instigate arrangements for them to begin their journey home from Portugal. This necessitated the purchase and construction of a field shelter in preparation and a great deal of running around going "wheeee!". This was the third time I have been on tenterhooks awaiting the arrival of a John Parker lorry delivering its precious Portuguese cargo and I'm not sure the excitement ever gets any less, particularly as we hadn't seen them in a long time. The morning dragged on interminably but eventually they arrived, walked off the lorry calm as you like and settled down to graze as though they'd lived here for years:

Finally, all the horses at home together :)

One year on

So it's been a year of  quite phenomenal (a) activity, (b) expense and (c) excitement. We've undertaken more than I ever thought possible and the view from the bedroom window now looks something like this:

It's true that the trailer still needs a swill but hopefully we can be forgiven that minor transgression in view of the large amount of doings that have been done. It's no small matter doing all this in one's spare time (that and earning the money to pay other people to do it) while simultaneously enjoying (!) a more than three hour daily commute and a full time full-on job, but somehow we have been doing it for a year.

We've turned our hand to many things, from fence-fixing in the bitter cold on the darkest nights, to building a run and a shelter for the chickens, and all sorts of things that happen on a daily basis when there is land and horses to take care of. I can't pretend it's not hard work; it is. There are many sacrifices to having the horses at home and sometimes I am so tired I can hardly see straight. But is it worth it? Absolutely. There is nothing on earth that I have found so fulfilling as having everyone at home and being at liberty to manage them exactly as we consider to be the right way. If something needs doing, then it is up to us to do it and if it doesn't get done then we only have ourselves to blame. There's a lot to be said for that.

Looking forward
In many ways the adventure is only just beginning. Knickers is now living with us and proving to be a huge help, we have six chickens laying six eggs a day like clockwork, and next spring there is the small matter of our two new arrivals to look forward to, and decisions to be made as to the next steps for breeding. We're thinking, all being well, of breeding Q to Xacra and T to Alfama, and have some decisions to make as to whether this will be live cover or AI. We also need to start promoting the boys as stallions and I really, really need to get my arse in ear to get out there and do some competing. I'm having weekly lessons on T now and my dear hope and ambition for him is that we can develop our relationship to a state where I can take him out and compete him as well as Q.

So it's not as if having done all this work we can sit back on our arses and take it easy; no way!


To Dancing Green, and all who sail in her.

Nothing substantive

So Sid's out for the evening with his second wife (Rob) and may come home slightly the worse for wear and brandishing a bicycle tyre. If it's only slightly worse for wear this will constitute some sort of miracle. Meanwhile Knickers and I are home alone at Luso Towers and she has a new laptop, at which she is tapping away feverishly, much like I am, writing this. The philosophical question is, is this some modern act of communion or the ultimate in small bubbles of contemporary isolation? I can for example just as easily send her a message on Facebook as I can open my mouth and say something. The possibilities are endless.

Meanwhile, once more we have no hot water. Again. Even now the immersion heater is sat there in the cupboard, utterly inscrutable, keeping the secrets of its malfunction deep within. It's only two months or so since we last bussed in a range of professionals to inspect it and coax it back to life again, and it's sitting there again, resolutely vestigial.

That's really it. I did indicate that nothing substantive had occurred.

Christ on a bike

The last two days at work are best described as "bloody busy", interviewing for 3 vacant positions, with an associated procession of some 14 bodies. That's a lot of bodies. I've barely seen the boys but thank dawg Sid and Knickers have been feeding and generally ministering to their requirements. It's a complete arse being the only bugger getting up in the morning though while everyone else is loitering with student-like indolence or hacking away feverishly on a keyboard at home while I drag my weary, knackered carcass into town and back every sodding day. WHY is our institution so utterly backwards about flexible working?

I finally called Cats Protection today about neutering vouchers for Jim and Little Miss, and while I was at it I rang Rolvenden Cat Rescue to enquire about the two of Binky's daughters that they took to rehome - only to find that they are still there :( Bugger, I wasn't expecting that. The good news is they have been spayed and are in the house, but the guilt trip is just awful even though we've acquired 4 cats ourselves out of it with Binky, Ted, Jim and Little Miss. At one point they were housing **84** cats. 84! And I thought our feed bill was intense. The mind boggles about what would happen to all those cats if it weren't for these dedicated people. It makes me so sad. If I won the lottery I'd probably go wholesale into a large rescue place, and even that would merely be a drop in the ocean. It's no good having these thoughts; it's too big and hoary a problem to contemplate at an individual level other than doing what we can for the creatures we have, and supporting favoured charities. Sigh.