Them's coowlettes are growing and everything. Although Sandwich, or whatever she is called is having to be fed by Mr Crofter as she's not too keen on Mum. Can't blame her, The Crofter is nicer.
I checked them sheeplettes too - the little curly black ones and they, the ones that have been bornded already anyway, are looking most splendid. I do suspect Mr Crofter has been brushing their coats though as they do look very tidy. Must be he mood The Crofter is in.
Mr Crofter Sir is happy. Very happy. Very happy indeed.
In fact I've not seen him this happy since I fell in the muck near the piggy hutches some years ago. Perhaps I have never seen The Crofter THIS happy. I mean, he smiled at me this morning. I checked over my shoulder and everything to see who he was smiling at and it was me. I knew at that point something had changed. Something was up as it were. Shook me to the core I can you you. Wandered out to look at the coows to get over the shock I did. It didn't help.
Mr Crofter was still happy when I went back into The Factory to see him again. Talked about strawberry custard and chocolate cake. I'm not sure I have had that sort of conversation before - with anyone. Particularly with The Crofter - him of the committees and everything.
Must be something afoot - apart from the custard and cake that is. I'm very happy Mr Crofter is very happy tho.
An Un-smiling Crofter
No more sheeplettes to report yet. And the coows are doing well. Turk is turk and Mr Crofter is happy - or have I already said that?
Dear reader. I took a liberty and called the new coowlette Pestilence or something like that when in fact her name is Tolsta Nott. That's Nott with a little hat over the 'o' - but that is far too complicated for me and a pooter.
Talk about pretentious! It's not even Gaelic but something Nowayish or something like that.
There was 'stuff' lurking on the fence as I arrived and then came crashing down to earth as I moved past. It was the wind I tell you.
I'd gone down to The Croft to see young Persistence, the newly foaled coowlette of Ms Tinga, the stroppy coow of the village - trust me. Nearly had me this morning she did. Rushing at me and everything. If it hadn't been for the fence and byre wall I'd have fallen full length in 'it'. As it was, it will wash off. Hope so anyway. Persistence is so called because of her late arrival on the scene. Everyone but The Crofter and TBS were beginning to despair of her. But no, there was the little one yesterday morn all bright eyed and wet as the rain came down. Persistence is back in her byre now so you can stop worrying.
And Mr Crofter was making late breakfast. So he won't starve.
The Boy Shaun was around this morning as I took my regular stroll down The Croft way. Moving things metal from one place to another so that the sheeps will have somewhere to hide behind when they come back to The Croft to foal - or whatever it is they do. Mr Crofter Sir was there too - i a great mood. Must have been the sunshine.
Still no sign of a little one from Tinga. Either she has got her legs crossed or else she hasn't been seeing the bull earlier in the year - and who could blame her?
But the other animules have to be sorted and despite it not being anywhere near Christmas, The Crofter drove his tractor thing backwards up the road to No. 10 croft where some of his sheeps were waiting.
I know that's not normal. But for here.....
Apparently the big potty on the back of the tractor thing had water in and coming up the slope frontwards meant the front wheels lifting off the ground which rather compromised the steering a tad.
So the potty was put in the croft and a 'arrangement' made that involved a piece old guttering and a 'thing' so the sheeps could have a wee drink.
They were waiting you know so a bit for the 'arrangement' had to be found.
The day has dawned damp. It hasn't put off my dearest from cycling to work again but I have not managed to get down to the croft yet on account of the wetness and no doubt the mud and poo stuff lurking about the place.
I will do soonish - if only to see if Tinga has pooped a little one yet.
There was a familier and no altogether pleasant smell coming from The Croft this morning. Either The Crofter had a real problem or, he was moving sh.... stuff around. Thankfully it was the latter.
"I need that bit there moving" said The Great Man to The Boy Shaun. TBS smiled and then set to work with a fork and wheelbarrow - with wheel attached - which must be a first.
The mechanical noise making device for flapping the soil round a bit is kaput at the moment. The last few years enjoying the outside climate has finally seen to the racing handlebars which have all but fallen off. A new pair are required. In good time.
The Crofter was in particular effusive mood when we last spoke. Had plans and everything. Can't tell you them all since they embargoed till Easter.
I can tell you though that The Croft is going to be rid of his stroppy coows - and not before time. The number of times I've nearly had my arms ripped off as the gooses cackle with delight escapes me. A lot anyway.
The coows will be replaced with a ratite beast of better or at least different temperament. Fences are going to have be a tad higher but sure to be a grant available for that. And the ground may have to be drained a bit more but the Ostrichs will be very happy to shelter from time to time when we have some damp, breezy weather in the new soon to be built barn. They can produce huge omelettes, meat - obviously, feather and hides which could make the project quite sustainable and possibly even profitable. Which would be a first!
Mr Crofter Sir seems has been thumbing frantically through his copies of BDOA booklet - an online copy which can be seen here. I only hope Hector the Vet is ready for this.
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.