There's no rest for the wicked - or The Crofter. In the dying light of the day The Crofter tootled up to the apportionment to feed the coows a bit of 'snap' - out in the dark damp 'field'.
I tootled along too, cadging a lift in his shiny big blue four wheel drive toy.
Aye, the coows were there all right waiting for a bit of attention. So the good Crofter lifts the bag of food, climbs over the fence, trudges wearily through the soft ground and fills the coows' trough. Nice eh?
I think they probably all lived happily ever after but we have to wait and see won't we boys and girls?
No, didn't go and get them. We, The Crofter and I, were on the local closest beach, walking the mutts. They, Rob [mutt 1], Gemma and David, have been out on the hill behind today looking for the rest of the sheeps. Actually, that's not them. It could have been- same number of legs each, same coulour sort of thing. But it wasn't.
I have no idea as to whether they found the sheeps escapees as it's been hailing outside and I'm not about to go down the road to find out.
Yes, you have missed loads of posts. But then so have I. Life eh?
Still The Crofter is still doing well and more beings have moved into the wee house.
There's Gemmima of course; the wife2b busily painting everything pink, sorting out The Wedding and leaving the PoR to further deteriorate in the rain.
Then there's Jill, the barking dog and Roy the quiet and intelligent dog.
Dogs you say?
Yep, two of the things. Only, one barks it's head off when you arrive and sets off the whole village canine inhabitants. That's Jill, the supposed house dog - on account of it's, it's .... no idea actually since I prefer Roy, the 'working' dog who was meant to live in a specially constructed housey in the 'garden' but seems to spend most of it's life curled up on a chair by the stove. No doubt when there is work to be done, Gemmina will get The Crofter out of the dog-house where she had sent him and Roy will spring into life. Jill meanwhile will be barking!
It wasn't all easy you know, getting them coows into the corral. Lots of arm waving, dancing, entertaining them holiday kids sat on the wall ["get off and milk it mate !"], coows going in, out, through and pooing. Mr Crofter cursing, running, smiling and complaining. I've heard it all before mind. A few times and all that.
Partly in. Mrs2b patiently waiting her orders from The Great Man.
The wondering what to do after an exodus on animules from the corral, bucket of tempting food in hand, dancing stick ready.
Some in, some out, Mr Crofter 'throwing a shape' as another coow or three look on from down the croft. "The vet'll be here in half an hour, then they'll be trouble" Mr Crofter warned.
The coows came in and the vet came a couple of hours later!
It's that time of year again - the Tolsta Rodeo. The Crofter was in fine form with Mrs2b as they chased the huge animal round the croft, putting their kneecaps at grave risks of getting a nasty nudge. Luckily, Mrs2b has seen the videos an was ready with her Morris dancing stick an the little thing jumped for its life.Oh what fun they had. Got the steps down on paper too for next year I shouldn't wonder.
Not all the coows wanted to play or watch The Crofter's new dance.
Don't tell me I forgot you. Just giving a bit of space to the newcomer - the fiancée and everything. The One who paints things pink.
I took a snap or three just for old times sake and came up with a near masterpeice! If this what's in store I shall keep the camera on the crofter some more.
Mrs 2be was found hard at work dismantling the whatever-it-is no doubt to aid the application of the pink gloss paint.
Looks handy with a spanner - must get her started on the Pile of Rust before the year is out.
Love is - sharing the dismantling of the cow thing!
Dad Gemmima has been up recently. Came up as chaperone to the very lovely Gemmima who was visiting her fiancée. Turns out he is a dab hand at semaphore or something like that so soon he was sending signals across the island from the unpolyed poly-tunnel. And I have no reason why. Still, seems a nice chap.
While The Crofter has his feet on the mantelpiece with Gemmima stroking his brow and whispering sweet nothings into his ear as they watch Euroviosion song contest for the seventh time, Dad Crofter is moving feed from the Pimpmobile [now with recharged battery] to the place where the feed is put.
Oh, I'm loving this snap. Very JR don't you think? Anyone who wasn't in the know would think the kind Crofter has placed the junk there just for me. He hadn't, he was too busy in the Tooth Factory for that.
Yes, ahhh. He's ok. Had triple man-flu / double Pneumonia [aka a cold] for the last few days but he is pulling through you'll be pleased to hear.
Found enough time and energy to pose for a snap for me though. I mean, I didn't ask him to pose he just does - sort of unconsciously. Just in case his fiancée looks in here perhaps!
I know there's been a break. My nose started running, a cough racked my lungs so I took to my bed - which was just dandy as my dearest Eve was away. And I didn't want to give my snivels to the sheeps anyway. Mr Crofter already had double man-flue so there were no worries on that part.
The other calflette - whose name escapes me on account of my ageing self, was looking expecting me to play whilst Mum lurked behind. I didn't play. I didn't feel like to be honest.
When I snook down to the Big Shed yesterday in the sunshine, The Crofter et all were just sorting the place out after the recent lambing. Little sheeps all over the croft, in the small barn, in the house and still, three mummy to be sheeps in The Big Shed. There's over thirty of the little Hebridean- guinea-pig crosses this year. How's that for nooky eh?
Meanwhile Doonray/Doograe/little coow was running all over the shoppe like an oversize strange sounding lambette. Not surprising really since twas his first day in the big world. Not sure what he thinks about the world today as the rain hoofs down.
At least Mum was calm although I don't think that's the same Mum who tries to take my arm off. At least I hope not.
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.