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As normal I took the dogs for a walk this afternoon. We went down across Marymead, through the fields bordering the river and forest, past the two deer wallows, up and across to Bill’s chicken coop where I spent a moment chatting chicken-speak to the hens before crossing the small bridge into the pheasant cover, across a little stream into the smallest cultivated mowy mead (meadow) you can imagine. Almost across the meadow, it only takes a second or so, my head was full with thoughts of hens; wondering if I should get some more, what type I’d choose, going to have a look at a friend’s friend’s, or if I’d rather have ducks and geese…or maybe all three come to that, when I had an overwhelming desire to turn around…and there rushing full pelt towards me, her eyes shining bursts of pure joy, a grin to bust all grins, her tail going nineteen-to-the-dozen, and her whole body radiating unadulterated delight and excitement, was Jilly.
“Lilla? Lilla!” A whoosh of tingling pricklings rushed through my body one way whilst pure happiness flooded the other. Just before she could fling herself at me and explode with enthusiastic delight she evaporated…poof, just like that as fast as she’d appeared.
“Lilla, oh Lilla, Lilla.” I whispered. “Was that really you? Stay. Don’t go. Not just yet.”
And then immense, bottomless, black empty grief drenched and saturated every cell of my being. Hot tears welled up and cascaded down my face. I was looking through a dark watery lake. I felt the two hard panting bodies of Skye and Ness pressed close against my legs. I turned to go, not seeing, not caring, only aware of consuming sorrow and anguish.
Just as rapidly as the grief came it went leaving me exhausted, empty and shell-like-fragile to walk home. That’s when it came to me in a flash…it’s the exact day, the exact hour, the exact minute, possibly even the exact second, that Jilly had her fatal accident – six months on.
Checking the sheep yesterday I found green. Look! It’s just beginning…
Touches in the willows alongside the pond in First Rutleigh.
My wolf dog, Ness, waiting patiently whilst I looked for more signs of spring.
Amazing molinia - purple moor grass.
Lambing and calving is a strange time of year. It’s unsettling. I still have masses of routine things to do. But I avoid them. I can’t concentrate on computer work, I shun the phone - where are you? the messages demand; I wander listlessly through the house and wander back again.
Happier outside. I put on my boots, hat and coat; check the sheep, ewes and lambs, check the cattle, cows and calves. Carry hay, carry straw, muck out pens, scrub and disinfect, ready for the next occupant. I’m hungry; I’m yearning for something delectably delicious, though nothing tempts me. I pick at proper food and end up eating a whole packet of shortbread, cashew nuts and maltesers which make me feel sick.
Oh it’s time! On with the boots, on with the hat, coat, pockets heavy with knife, castrating tool, homeopathic remedies, iodine, surgical gloves, notebooks and pen, twine and hanky; out again to check sheep, check cows, check lambs and calves.
Each year I think I’ll manage to avoid my slip into no-man’s-land. Cook good food, rest after lunch, keep to some normal routine if at all possible and prevent the slide. Never works.
I’m in a lull. The first snow-sprinkling of lambs born and I’m experiencing a hiatus. Surely, you’d think, a welcome break before the intensity to come; time to recoup and recover? But it doesn’t work like that. Giving birth isn’t an exact science it’s unpredictable. So every few hours it’s out to check. Waiting, I’m out of kilter; jumpy, wondering when the bubble will burst.
In the nursery field I keep an eagle eye out for any problems that may develop with baby lambs and their mums. Post-partum mastitis, scours in either ewe or lamb, orf, inter-digital abscesses, pneumonia, clostridia, failing-to-thrive and, less serious, but very uncomfortable, scraping glutinous-glue-sticky colostrum-ochre stools which gum tails hard and fast to ballooning rumps (dogs’ delight!). The first few days can be critical. Energy required by a post-partum lactating ewe is huge and demanding, stress triggering all manner of nasty surprises. Baby lambs are tiny and vulnerable, dependant on the ability of their mothers and diligence of their shepherd. But I’m lucky; my sheep are motherly and vigilant.
Oh it’s time! On with the boots, the hat, the coat, pockets heavy…
plannin’ and dreamin’ that she’ll have some time to spare away from that lambing affair…
The dogs find this time of year a trifle tedious. Apart, that is, from the delicious morsels that come from multitudinous birthing and milk-sucking baby animal - more detail would be too much information. Read the rest of this entry »
When I walk I think and when I want to think I will always walk. I find it meditative, inspiring as well as organizing. My movement, the air, the rain, the wind or the sunshine, it stimulates my thoughts and allows them to gain form and sequence. Today I was walking and thinking about an article I was writing. I was totally engrossed, not fully aware of my surroundings.
Coming over the brow of a field I startled – I’d stumbled across the red deer, not just a few, but the whole herd, spread over two fields. I stopped with a jolt, the dogs and the deer too. We were all, so it seemed, completely surprised by one another. I waited as the realization of human and dogs sunk in and after a few stops and starts as one they moved in a rapid surging wave back into the forest. I walked on, across the culvert and along the stream bordering the forest. I felt a movement, turned and saw the outcast, moving slowly and hesitantly back into the forest, way, way behind the others. A fully mature ‘white’ hind though a murky dirty dun colour. She drags a withered hind leg. Perhaps an injury from a rifle shot or from being caught up in barbed wire. She seems to have no fear, watching us closely, staring intently. Is this because she hopes for companionship or because she wants an end to her sad life? I don’t know, I’m not sure. Eventually she moves slowly into the shadows…alone.
With the family are still clustered around the home fire, we were able to bring in the New Year together and even better celebrate Ben and Berengère’s engagement! Read the rest of this entry »
Yesterday was strange. Jilly was all about the place. Not weird, not spooky nor particularly sad – she just was about the place. I caught imperceptible flashes of her out of the corner of my eye, saw a glimpse of her moving alongside the bobcat by the cow palace, heard the rustle of her in some leaves on our walk and, strangest of all, I felt and heard her whiz past me into the truck, her most favourite spot of all. Read the rest of this entry »
It’s a week since Jilly died and I’m beginning to be able to remember her in a softer, gentler way without so many of the sudden punches to the solar plexus of raw pain and horror. Skye and Ness, though still clingy, seem chirpier too and are beginning to reinvent the pecking order between them. Read the rest of this entry »
All weekend the firmaments hurled oceans of water at us. The wind howled, shrieked, wailed banshee-like; crashing brutally, tearing viciously. I was as brittle and unstable as spun sugar; as transparent and fragile as old glass. I could at any second splinter into a million tiny fragments and dissolve into a small insignificant stream, disappearing and absorbed by the watery world. Read the rest of this entry »
I’m going away for the weekend.
I’m getting on well with things I have to do before I go.
I’m returning from having lunch with my mum, and choosing her some warm, cosy clothes. I stop at the top of the lane to let the dogs out, collect the post and say ‘hi’ to a neighbour who’s passing. The dogs are already making their way down the lane as I jump into the truck and pull away.
A soft thunk and the front wheel bumps. My stomach falls a thousand feet. An unearthly howl. I stamp the brakes, tear the door open…my dog, my Jilly, writhing in a small ball of frantic pain; she can’t stand she flails around and around in a macabre nerve jerking dance. I scream for help, hoping my neighbour will hear. Nothing. I try to still and calm Jill’s frantic movements, she grabs my hand and chews frenziedly…I’m yelling, shouting, screaming for someone to come, someone to help – nothing. Jill’s jerking subsides, she quietens, her eyes mist and plead. I lift her gently into the truck, sobbing. Skye and Ness look on in confusion. Read the rest of this entry »
My ‘hoarding and squirreling’ of nuts and fruits for cakes and puddings didn’t pan out as planned.
I was late setting off from home as several farm matters needed seeing to. Then road works slowed down any reasonably speedy progress into Exeter. Shop matters absorbed another couple of hours and when I eventually managed to start on my less and less well-planned shopping foray it was only to find that I was struck with ubaniphobia which had me wandering around in a semi-mazed state, wide-eyed, gormless and perfectly useless at making a single decision or purchase. To cap it all, the one shop where I knew exactly what I wanted (nuts and fruit) was completely out of stock and waiting for delivery… Read the rest of this entry »
I hate fireworks – whilst it seems that the rest of the world is going ‘oooh’ and ‘ahhh’ I would rather be anywhere else, which of course I am. I have no idea where this loathing came from, nothing bad firework-wise has happened to me (I don’t think), and I’m pretty sure I’m not nursing some hidden psychological problem (though others may disagree). Read the rest of this entry »
We have a dearth of fungi this year, but yesterday, returning home through a glade in Marymead birch wood I found the floor dotted with these glorious deep purplish-lilac fungi. The Amethyst Deceiver. I love the gothic implications. However my book assures me they are ‘quite edible’ and boringly ‘very common’ – but I’ve never found them there before…a deception? Read the rest of this entry »
A quick post to let you know that I have a large gathering of the clan happening from today and won’t, I shouldn’t think, have a moment of time to write. Read the rest of this entry »
Ness – my wolf dog…
Ness – a throwback… Read the rest of this entry »
I have three dogs – all bitches at the moment – Skye, Jill and Ness. Read the rest of this entry »
