Farm Accommodation, farm bunkhouse, Uncategorized

Hiding from the wind

The wind is still blowing tonight – chilling me through my clothes. The new calf has none – just rich red curls.
Highland cattle have two winter coats – the longhaired outer shedding the rain sheltering a tight thermal fleece covering of thick fine hair. The babies won’t grow the longer coat until next winter. They rely on maximum insulation to survive the dangerous early days of life.
The new lad has plenty of character, assisting endurance of early hardships. He is alone in the field when I walk round for my evening inspection- close to the field gate where I have been herding him and Demi Og for special treatment penned cosily under cover. I wonder if his instincts are confirming my intention to cosset him for the first week or two.
I have been cossetting myself today.
After my morning round with no new babies appeared, I head back into the house- and stay there.
My excuse is that I have to complete the changeover from last weekend’s guests; but really I’m hiding from the wind- in the roundhouse accompanied by the woodburner- and the Nog snoring on the sofa.
So I’m ironing – in a vigorous, manly sort of way, of course. Duvet covers, pillowcases, fitted sheets –O those fitted sheets! It’s done though, by lunch – so I have time to make up the bunkhouse before my evening round.
After seeing the little lad back to his mum (he ignored her – another sign of character) – I check up on Moira in the bottom paddock. She is gathered with Angus Halfhorn and Alice in a strange tight triangular clot by the fence- the kind of anomaly that is always worth checking. Cattle are highly inquisitive so their presence at an event or accident will be the first indication of something worth looking into, As it happens there is no drama – but Moira’s obsessive scratching probably means that she is getting ready to shed the living burden that is giving her so much discomfort.
Back at the yard Demi-Og appears around the corner of the shed as I open the gate, and then disappears like a Miss Marple curtain twitcher – she has lost her boy.
I find him before she does –
inside the shed-
-sheltering from the wind.


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