Unbridled passion and lust as lovers are reunited

Mrs Downs Diary
Mrs Downs Diary

Wham. Bam.Thank you Ma’am. And onto the next willing participant. It has been a scene of unbridled lust and passion in the sheep’s field from the moment the back of the trailer went down and long lost lovers reunited.

Think perhaps we should start a marketing drive for sheep nuts as the new Viagra as they certainly seem to fuel vigour, sustainability and performance.

Enough. We shall leave the fog of passion hopefully obscuring the action in the sheep field and return to Mr Bull, who only has a yard full of young bullocks to keep him company.

The heifers are in another yard well away from his seductive ways. No wonder he looks a bit sulky.

Clearly longing for the tender touch, he sticks his head through the bars of the feeding trough whenever anyone passes pleading for a scratch behind his ears. I have no problems with that.

As long as his one plus tonne bulk stays that side of the bars. You would be flattened if he decided to lean on you for a bit of support whilst you tended to that itchy bit just behind his left lug.

Despite all the herds’ calves, barring those born to the heifers in autumn, weaned and home now, no decision has been made as to when the cows come home.

The weather is relatively mild and dry. There is still grazing and plenty of bagged silage for them to go at, so we plan to leave them out until we get back from our holiday in Scotland.

If we brought them home as the loitering round the field gate opposite to the farm buildings suggests, it would be unhealthily warm in the fold yard with so many cattle in close proximity.

In the past we have lost calves to pneumonia, brought on not by extreme cold but by mild and muggy conditions.

As the calves born to the heifers will be spending most of the winter with their Mums in the yard, being too warm is something we need to avoid. I am also convinced that this is the principle John works on with the farmhouse heating.

The fire has been lit in the end sitting room where John claims the bit of the fireside sofa that is toasty and warm at night.

“Central heating on? Why? It’s far too mild.” All exclaimed just before he dozes off lulled by the heat permeating through his body, oblivious to anyone else in the room, house, or world even.

The dry weather has serendipitously established easier passage for a tractor over some of our heaviest land next Spring.

It has enabled John to travel over the ploughed field with the power harrow on to delineate sets of tram lines. Black grass, which germinates in the autumn, is already showing through.

It will need to be sprayed off before the corn is sown next year and the job will be facilitated by clear routes along tram lines.

So that’s one less problem to disturb his slumber.