Many apologies. I missed a recent 'event' on The Croft which really needed snapping up but I was engaged elsewhere - getting wet.
The Crofter was visited by The Vet. Some young whipper-snapper of a vet too by all accounts but got the job in hand done really well. The job was a pedicure for Tinga and de-flowering of two young bulls - now bullocks.
Twas a hard day too. Dad Crofter and Mr Crofter Sir, him of the grazings and all that, tooth maker and everything had to leave his nice warm tooth factory where he was extremely busy and venture outside. The bulls had to be brought from the borrowed apportionment along with the metal things that are used to coral the beasts on the croft. They built the newly relocated coral, captured the beasts and the job was 'done'. To be completely honest, I'm not sure if I was pleased to miss this to capture on camera or not.
The pictures are square and they should have been oblong! I know that. Only I went down with a bigger camera just to make them feel important. Only, I'm not even sure they noticed despite the fact that I waved the Hasselblad right in front of their noses. Oh well, someone might appreciate it.
Just to ensure they didn't get the idea that they are important of something, I snapped them up shovelling s..... smelly stuff from the chicken appartments - and later the pig hutches. And I used some cheap Chinese GP3 film just to keep their Chinese made tractor happy. The ducks couldn't have cared less whatever I was waving in their direction.
Look, I caught The Crofter smiling. At least I think it was a smile. It could have been trapped wind I suppose but I'd have thought by now he would have been over that phase. I shall have to ask Mum Crofter.
The chickens looked unconcerned all the same. Obviously the smile didn't last long otherwise all hell might have let loose in the barn as the beasties realised 'something was up'.
But it wasn't up. I think. Dad Crofter was crouching in a fairly normal way. Well, normal for Yorkshiremen anyway. Turk was strutting his stuff so probably I was barking up the wrong tree. Or maybe just barking.
I know this is Donald Four Tractors [now as it happens with a lot more than four tractors but unwilling to tell me how many]. Moseying my way down to The Croft I was passed by this very up-market machine, the likes of which is rarely seen about the place. It had a cab and everything. Not to mention a surprising lack of rust - and smoke. It was Mr Four Tractors showing off his latest love.
Oh how impressed I was. Smiled and all that. I think that might have been a smile back too - but I couldn't really tell. Donald was off down to see The Crofter to turn some earth with the aid of lumps of metal that seemed to be hanging off the back.
I followed Mr 4T in passing the lovely Number 1 with her splinted leg. apparently, it might be do with a lack of nutrients in the grass when mum as in foal or something like that. It should get better anyway Mr 4T tells me.
Oh look there's the posse that are causing havoc around the place. My fav is one of the little black ones - the Hebridean-Guinea-pig cross [ :-) ]. Well, soon Mr 4T and The Crofter were talking 'business' - potatoes and all that. So I left.
Not content with seemingly cross-breeding his Hebridean sheeps with guinea-pigs to produce wee-tiny black sheeplettes suitable for all mantle-pieces, The Crofter Sir has been trading with Toy Town to get more 'stuff'. Mr Crofter likes 'stuff' especially when the stuff in question bolts on the back of the tractor and wobbles about a bit. Doesn't seem to do much else mind you bar a slight movement of air out the pipe that was fixed to the toy-town pump that was, eventually affixed to the drive shaft at the back end of the tractor - once the old drive bit had been coaxed off, and that after a search for the right thing to hit it with.
Coaxing the tractor into life
Oh yes,and the tractor had to be coaxed into life before the 'stuff' could be attached and that required a puff of smelly in a can and a few changes of battery. Not forgetting a wipe down of the wet seat Mr Crofter Sir wouldn't sit on but, Dad Crofter had to after using the handy straw nearby.
Coaxing off the usual thing
Toy-town pump thing wobbling for all its worth.
While that was going on I, yes me, without so much as a todo but with lots of shuffling here and there managed to get the escaped pigling back into its hutch with mummy and siblings.
The sheeplettes were being kept in place by Mum Crofter who has a special favourite in Number 1. Number 1 is a bit wobbly on her pins so needs so special TLC.
"Come on boys and girls"
Then it was time to tickle Lucy into life. Lucy being the recalcitrant land-rover of a certain vintage. Apparently the thing that makes it go brmm brmm clunck is not working well. In fact it's not there at all after The Crofter took it off to look at it. It didn't stop him trying though. Well, perhaps the pimp-mobile will start today.
On the Isle of Lewis off the west coast of mainland Scotland lies a croft inhabited by an English off-comer. His Mum and Dad live nearby and help him run the croft. This is a photographic record of their lives as it unfolds.