Dogs, dogs, dogs…

 

Our sheepdogs have brand new kennels thanks to my dear Mum, who was so shocked at them being chained up during her last visit that she deemed a ‘dog house’ a worthwhile investment for their overall happiness and wellbeing. Ours is fairly basic, although you can apparently opt for anti-chew or even bed warmers if you have a spare £thousand or so to spend. It’s a far cry from a chain in a draughty byre, anyway, so our working dogs are quite spoilt really. Having said this, I don’t think Jock – Uncle Hamish’s old dog – is too happy, as he can no longer get to (and eat) the chickens, a favourite pastime of his.

Swanky new 'dog house'

The downside of having kennels is that the other farmers are calling us toffs, a label probably not helped by our decision to buy yet another Labrador. Named Jura – after the whisky and Isle – the idea is that he will be Coco’s stud dog in a few years’ time. He’s already trying to ‘have his way’ with her, which I suppose is a good sign although a little worrying given his age (3.5 months). Having said all this, he does look like a little girl and is such a mummy’s boy; he hates going outside and loves nothing better than a cuddle on the sofa. Hopefully he’ll man up in due course.

Jura



Jura and Coco

Anyway, I digress. We spent an interesting morning trying to build these kennels, a task made especially difficult given the absence of diagrams/ instructions. Instead we were faced with a load of panels to be assembled using a ‘build by numbers’ method, which is far simpler in theory than in practice. Sure enough, after 3 hours trying to project manage the process, I let the boys get on with it and made the tea, something I know I’m good at.

Actually, since I last posted – I know, I know, almost 3 months ago – we have bought yet another working dog. His name is Joe, and we got him from a sheepdog trainer on the East Coast. Joe belonged to a family as a pet and was, by all accounts, trashing the place, probably because he was bored. Thus the family decided he needed a purpose and so shipped him off to sheepdog training classes. In the end they decided they couldn’t handle him after all, but their loss was our gain, as we bought him for puppy prices, not the ££££ you’d usually pay for a part-trained sheepdog. He’s a fantastic little worker, and a brilliant ally for Fraser on the hill. No excuses for not getting those sheep in, Fraser! We now have six dogs – Jock, Max, Chris, Joe, Coco and Jura – which some would say is ridiculous, but at least they keep us busy, and happy (when they’re not tearing off after another farmer’s sheep, that is).

Joe

Sticking with the dog theme, we entered Coco last minute into a dog show on Saturday. I was too embarrassed to lead her around the ring and do that silly trotting business, and so made Fraser do it, which was pretty hilarious. There were about 15 dogs in her category (gun dogs) and she was by far the most beautiful (perhaps I’m biased). There was a couple who had clearly dragged their Labs to these things before as they knew all the tricks, using treats to lift the dog’s head, etc, etc, and one of theirs came first which was a travesty in my mind, because Coco should’ve got it. In the end she got third, and a swanky yellow rosette! Oh well, perhaps I have found my calling – doggy pageant mummy? I think there might be something in it…
   

Proud parents - Coco's first rosette!!

   

 

There’s hope for my shepherd!

Fraser has a new border collie! His name is Chris, and we purchased him from a breeder/ trainer near Forfar on the East Coast. I do find it funny that his name is Chris; it always amuses me when animals have human names. I met a lady with a dog named Bob at a recent shinty match, and what really made me laugh was that ‘Bob’ is apparently female.

Welcome Chris!

Chris is proving to be a fantastic little dog already. Just two years old, he has a hardy look about him that some would argue is crucial in a decent sheepdog. Although friendly, he moreover has an air that says: “I am here to do a job, and I know exactly what that job is; you can pet me when I have done something well”. We can only thank his trainer for instilling this strong work ethic early on, as Chris clearly knows what his role is here.  Fraser is taking him to the sheep in short bursts two or three times per day, to get him used to having a new handler, as well as working with our rather stubborn Blackface sheep!

Chris is very calm when he works, not barking or making overt sudden movements; this in turn helps to keep the sheep calm so they don’t scatter, and also keeps Fraser’s blood pressure down! It’s still early days, but Chris has given us four positive signs that he’ll be a great worker: drive, determination, obedience and agility. Fraser is taking him up the hill for the first time tomorrow, so hopefully he will cope well, but it’s important not to do too much too soon, so at this stage, the exercise may be just to improve his fitness rather than to gather any sheep!

In the midst of all our recent dramas, I myself have discovered something of an avid interest in sheepdog training. As such, I’ve started trying to train two year-old Max, one of the border collies that was left here at the farm when we took over. Max is a lovely natured dog and keen to work, but hasn’t had any proper training, so he is excitable, jumpy, and rather disobedient. At the moment I’m simply trying to calm him down a bit, but mostly get him used to me as both his handler and his voice of authority.

As part of our obedience training, I’ve been walking him with a washing line wire looped around his collar, telling him to stay by my side and gradually releasing the tension on the wire when he does so. When he doesn’t listen, however, I yank the wire a little to jolt him into doing so. Whilst this is proving to be an effective method when the sheep aren’t around, as soon as he sees them, he largely reverts back to the disobedient “I’ll do what I want” Max, running around them under his own steam. He is clearly interested in the sheep and has a natural focus, but I need to get him used to me, so for the time being we’re taking it back to basics and then we can hopefully apply our training to the field. That’s the plan, anyway! 

Max

I find it intriguing how there is such a hierarchy amongst dogs, and even us humans have our own place in the ‘pack’. Simple actions such as ensuring a dog waits behind you whilst you go through the gate first and maintaining a strong, firm presence at all times, will go towards securing your place as pack leader. It’s all about one-upmanship and mind games, but what I now realise is that how we behave around our dogs outside of the field is just as important as how we do so within the field, when we’re around the sheep.

I will report on our progress in due course; in the meantime, I’m loving training Max, and get such a distinct sense of satisfaction when his ears prick up and I know he’s listening.      

Goodbye Flo

Today is a sad day, as we have made the very difficult decision to sell Flo back to the breeder we purchased her from. It’s a true head/ heart predicament, as although she is a lovely dog and works well when she’s in the right frame of mind, she is inconsistent, and Fraser needs a dog that wants to work all the time, and won’t scatter the sheep; something Flo excels at as she’s so aggressive with them. Over the next few months we will be gathering sheep off the hill, so Fraser needs a dog he can trust to bring them in. A good dog is worth its weight in gold on a hill farm, as it’s like another person working the hill with you. As Fraser’s uncle told us today: a great sheep dog will teach you what to do.

In my mind, this is the first time we’ve really had to make a difficult ‘business’ decision on the farm, and what we had to remember in doing so is that the dogs are here to work. The other day, in a last ditch attempt to install some work ethic into Flo, Fraser took her to a top sheep dog trainer. Unfortunately she did nothing right, and the trainer confirmed that dogs need that extra bit of intelligence to work a rugged hill – completely different terrain to fields – and Flo just hasn’t got ‘it’. Whilst she’s fast, fit and aggressive with the sheep, she doesn’t have that keen eye and determination to always want to work, and to work under her own steam.

And so it came that we were faced with the dilemma of either cutting our losses now, or persevering in the hope she might come good. Unfortunately, the head has to rule in this situation. I’m driving down South next Wednesday anyway, so will be taking Flo back to the breeder then. This will break my heart and won’t be easy; but we have to do what’s right for the business. In the meantime, Fraser is on the hunt for another dog – if you hear of any, let us know!

So all that’s left to say is we wish Flo all the best, wherever she ends up – we’ve no doubt that with lots of hard work and on the right farm, someone will find her a fantastic asset and companion. We will all miss her terribly here at Shellfield.

Au Revoir Flosy Wosy xx

Picnics, barbeques, beach visits... midges!

Firstly, I must apologise for having not written anything for such a long time; I’m particularly ashamed that my last post finished on such a sour note with the demise of poor Lucky the lamb. Well, since then, I’ve definitely become more hardened to the occupation of caring for lambs. As Fraser says, “lambs are born to die. In fact, they have a will to die”. Sadly, I do appreciate this sentiment, and thus try not to get too attached to my little charges. Having said this, I am looking after the three cutest lambs - Diana, Flopsy and Fuzz - and am very attached indeed.

Diana, Flopsy and Fuzz

We’ve purchased a little playmate for Coco – a tabby-tortie kitten going by the name of Pebbles. Well, Tiger Pebbles is her full name, as she uses her claws like a ferocious little tiger, generally on our hands. It’s been hilarious watching them get to know one another; although sometimes Coco doesn’t know her own strength, as she chases Pebbles around the room, trying to wrap her comparatively enormous nashers around her in a ‘playful’ manner, presumably to make the point that she is bigger. Pebbles is fairly unfazed by this, and either darts into a tiny space or retaliates later on by playing with Coco’s tail whilst she’s trying to sleep. Theirs was a tentative introduction in the first place, with the most incredible amount of growling, hissing and spitting coming from such a tiny kitten; but all in all, they seem to be getting along just fine.

Pebbles

Best buds - Coco and Pebbles

Over the past week, we’ve been experiencing a mini heat wave here in Argyll, so have admittedly been taking time off here and there to have picnics by the river at the head of the Loch. We’ve also had several barbeques, with one of our lovely neighbours donating us the meatiest fresh-caught mackerel I’ve ever seen – delicious on the barbie. We purchased some fishing rods this week, so will be fishing for more mackerel in the coming months – yum! 

Awesome picnic spot by the river!

Coco showing off her swimming skills in the river

We’ve also sniffed out the most amazing sandy beach nearby called Ostell Bay, which is a bit of a hidden gem, as you have to park up at the side of the road and walk 15 minutes down to it. The beach is clean, the water warm and clear, and it overlooks the faint hills of Arran; very picturesque. My friend Laura is staying this week, and we took Flo and Coco there on Monday, as it was a scorching hot day. It should be said that Flo is most certainly not a beach dog. She hates the water, and on my mistake bringing her along when she’s in season, she had several male dogs sniffing around her, so we had to tie her up which she didn’t like one bit. Coco, on the other hand, absolutely loves water. Fraser has been swimming with her in the river, so when I took her into the sea she was something of a pro! When you lift her top legs out of the water, she thinks she’s still swimming and so carries on paddling in thin air – very cute!   

Beautiful Ostell Bay

Coco the beach dog!

Unfortunately the midges are out in absolute force, and I’m feeling particularly sorry for my Dad and his friend Pete, who are currently cycling Land’s End to John O’Groats (LEJOG). We met with them for dinner last night in Crianlarich, which is near Loch Lomond. They’re scheduled to finish this Sunday, so here’s hoping they don’t get eaten alive as they zoom towards the finish line.  

RIP Lucky the Lamb

It's with great sadness that I have to report Lucky the lamb has passed away. She took a turn for the worst yesterday, and slipped away in her sleep last night. Sadly she was just too frail and weak for this world; the only consolation being we were able to give her a few days longer than she would have had if we hadn't have found her. This is very upsetting as you can imagine, but I take comfort in knowing we did all we could for her. We are burying her today, along with the four others that weren't so lucky. RIP little lambies...    

Lambing Live and a little Lucky

When farmers talk about lambing, it’s often spoken of as just ‘one of those things’ that happens around springtime on a farm. Don’t be fooled by their stoicism – we’re not even a quarter of the way through lambing here, and I already realise it’s a full time job. Nature only supports the strong, and whilst you can be on hand to help the delivery of lambs, there can be many issues such as deformity, suffocation, hypothermia, pneumonia, starvation due to lack of colostrum… all of which can severely impact the chance of a lamb’s survival. Whilst we’ve had just shy of 30 healthy lambs born – including three sets of twins in one day – we’ve also had a fair few casualties. It’s amazing to witness a strong new-born lamb take its first breath of fresh air, but equally heart-breaking when things go wrong.

A little newborn lamb

The other day, it was with a stroke of luck that Fraser was present to assist the birth of a pair of premature twin lambs. What I didn’t know before is that it’s generally best to assist the ewe during labour, as if the feet and head are in the wrong position there’s a chance the lamb could suffocate. The first lamb was unfortunately dead on arrival, and at first glance, Fraser thought the same fate of the second; but as he looked closer he saw the tiniest sign of life, the smallest spurt of breath against the cold morning air. 

Lucky - day 1

This was like no lamb I’d ever seen – the tiniest creature, resembling something of an alien, with barely any fur; just a thin layer of skin covering her tiny frame. As I rubbed her warm with a towel, Fraser injected a shot of colostrum into her stomach, as her head lolled lifelessly against her body. At this point, neither of us thought she had a chance, as she was so incredibly weak. I named her Lucky right away, as I figured she was pretty lucky to have made it this far, but I could never have anticipated her quick progress.


Having kept Lucky next to the aga overnight, in a hay-filled box with a hot water bottle for company, I wasn’t sure what I’d be faced with the next morning. She was still very weak, but her eyes were a little more alert, her ears more pricked up, and she could now support her head. Over the course of day two she was walking around the kitchen; at first guided by me, and then all by herself. Fraser’s uncle Hamish – the retired farmer of Shellfield – said in his 40 years of farming he’d never seen such a weak lamb survive, and he was astonished to see her walking around, tail wagging.

Looking more alert - day 2

I’ve been nursing Lucky for the past four days and she’s come on leaps and bounds. She’s now sucking from a bottle, and I’ve been taking her into the field every day, as I figure a little Vitamin D goes a long way. Her wobbly amble has progressed to an unsteady trot, as she follows me around trying to suck my nose, thinking it’s a teat. Coco is very intrigued by the latest arrival, but is behaving herself; having said that, her ‘gentle’ licking is practically knocking the poor thing over, so we’re keeping a watchful eye. Fraser has said that I can keep Lucky as a farm pet, so there will no doubt be many updates on this little survivor in the months to come. For now though, it’s just lovely to watch her grow stronger and stronger.      

Flo and Lucky

Coco and Lucky

A step back in time… 100 years on!

So, we’ve officially been up here for a whole month, and I’ve now had a chance to take stock of the situation. It feels like a whole world away from our old life already, which is not bad; just different. The Monday to Friday, 9 to 5 slog followed by weekend pub trips, has been replaced by lambing, house re-wiring, redecorating, cooking, cleaning, moving furniture around, burning old rubbish that we don’t want, getting guest bedrooms ready for people visiting, freelance PR work, saving the dustbin men from Mary the highland coo... and so it goes on. Thus when people ask what I’ve been doing with my days it’s quite difficult to pinpoint, as no one day is the same.

Interestingly, I can’t help but feel that we’ve taken a step back in time. Whilst men do the farm work, women do the cooking and cleaning, and bake cakes; which would be fine if I were slightly more domesticated and possessed even an iota of traditional gender divide mentality. It would also be fine if I wasn’t actually working myself! Mealtimes are different too – in my old life we ate a snack for lunch and a main meal in the evening, whereas here ‘dinner’ is expected to arrive at lunchtime and ‘tea’ is a snack in the evening. Well this is one convention I won’t bend to – in my world, dinner is an evening meal and ‘tea’ is something you drink. So admittedly there have been a few raised eyebrows when, at lunchtimes, I’ve produced cheese, pickle, bread, lettuce and butter from the fridge, followed by: “Just help yourself!”.

Lovely views...

So it’s Easter weekend, and what are we doing? Celebrating Fraser’s grandfather’s 100^th birthday – 100 years old, an entire century, and amazingly, he still has all his faculties. What dawned on me when Fraser’s mum showed me the photo album she’s made for him is that Fraser and I are the fourth generation here at Shellfield Farm. There are photos of Fraser’s great Grandfather standing in front of the house from the early 20^th century! The farm itself is over 300 years old, and whilst there’s a fair bit of cosmetic work that needs doing, it’s all in pretty good nick. It will be lovely when we restore it to its former glory, and every time I look out the window at the every-changing landscape I delight in the privilege of living in such a beautiful place. The weather could be better though – snow in April? Wouldn’t happen down South, oh no. 

More lovely views...

Just call me Brown Owl!

If you’d have told me three weeks ago that in the near future I would go to a wine, cheese and quiz night at the local village hall and end up practically volunteering myself as a Brownies and Guides ‘Leader’, I would’ve branded you stark raving mad. Yet here I am, the morning after the night before (I was driving, so unfortunately can’t blame the booze), wondering how this could have happened.

To retrace my steps and revert back to the cause, Fraser’s Aunt invited me along to the evening last week. Although quiz nights at village halls aren’t exactly my idea of a ‘good night out’ – back down South, a ‘good night out’ would suggest something entirely different, usually involving vast quantities of alcohol – I felt I should go. Actually, this one turned out to be quite fun. The quiz was well put together (admittedly I felt like a bit of a dunce when the section on ‘Scottish History’ came up, but was quite good on ‘flower anagrams’), and there was a raffle. I won precisely nothing, although wasn’t too bothered, since the most exciting prize in there was an assortment of jelly sweets.   

So I must admit that the night was a good laugh; that is until I caught myself semi-agreeing to ‘help out’ at Guides and Brownies on a Wednesday night. Apparently, as a ‘Leader’, you get to accompany them on camping trips, and supposedly: “I look like the sort who would enjoy it”. Not sure whether that’s a complement? I would even earn my own ‘camping badge’ if I played my cards right! In knowing this sort of thing isn’t really my cup of tea I should have smiled and politely declined. Unfortunately I find it impossible to say “no” and before long I was offering the kind of fob off that won’t wash forever: “terribly busy moving in, etc, but let me call you in a few weeks”. So, in the months to come, you might well be calling me ‘Brown Owl’, or something similar. Oh how the times change!

Angry coooos… is there an app for that?

There’s one thing to say about Shellfield cows - or ‘coos’ in local tongue - they’re big, grumpy, and occasionally confrontational (a bit like my fiancé). They have quite the reputation amongst the Glen folk, so one of our farmer friends should’ve perhaps known better than to corner Miss Prolapse and her calf the other day. On vet’s orders, Fraser was to give her a shot of antibiotic. Unfortunately, every time he tried jabbing her, he was met with head-down hostility; a fairly non-negotiable position to be in when sharing a confined space with an 800 kilo beast. So we called in our farmer friend for help. He keeps a large herd of cattle himself, so we figured he’d know how to stick a needle in her without getting violently booted into high heaven.

So there he strode, confidently into our shed, flailing his stick around to try and get her in a corner. He’s not without years and years of experience of farming cattle, but he’s clearly never dealt with one of ours before, or else I’m sure he would have advanced with a little more caution. Sure enough, a few seconds later, and much to Fraser’s amusement, our farmer friend came sprinting out 50 times faster than he’d ambled in - Miss Prolapse hot on his tail - and leapt up an 8ft high gate, which he ended up straddling. Yikes! Luckily, we were on hand to distract the angry coooo (see, I’m saying it now), or else he would probably still be there now.

I don’t want to put anyone off coming up here for a visit, but I would like to impart a little advice with regards to our cooos. If one of them charges at you, run to the nearest high place, and climb up it. You wouldn’t think it given their hefty appearances, but these beasts are very, very fast; however not great at climbing, or jumping. If a coooo was to chase you in a barren desert, you’d be, well, pretty much stuffed – not that you’d generally find one wandering across a desert – but theoretically, here in Glendaruel it’s OK as there are lots of trees.

I myself have had a few ‘close encounters’ with the beasts, as I have to run past a group of them and their calves during my morning run along the Loch road. Whilst I’m on the road and they’re on the beach, there’s still less distance than I’d like between me and them, and whenever I approach they all stop and stare (incidentally, silence and staring seems to be their preferred method of intimidation). I then press pause on my iPod and attempt to creep past them, very quiet and conciliatory. Brave I think, until I see Miss Prolapse amongst them, and so opt for the long way round – upwards onto the bank, and through a deep bog. My entire bottom half is wet and dirty, but I’m still alive. Hurrah!     

A prolapsed cow? That’s not what I signed up for…!

On Saturday, we got a call from the local shinty team asking if they could play their match against Glasgow in our field at the head of the Loch, since theirs was waterlogged. This meant Flo’s first proper assignment: moving sheep out of the field so lines could be painted/ goals erected, etc. Flo is still running doggedly - excuse the pun - at the sheep without really listening to instructions, but we got there in the end. She’s used to working in a confined space, so to ease her in we’re going to work her in the front field with just four or five sheep. When she starts taking orders in a comfortable environment, we’ll gradually introduce her to longer distance tasks with more sheep. It’s best not to do too much too soon.

Fraser and Flo

The shinty match proved a great way of meeting the locals, many of whom are avid supporters of the local team, shouting things like: “straigggght dooon th’ line, Hamish!”, and “drrrrive it, Jimmy!”. Coco had fun meeting the other local dogs, and particularly enjoyed beating up a little 10 month old Jack Russell. She certainly relished being the bigger dog for once. Shinty is a bit like hockey, except there doesn’t seem to be a height restriction when it comes to stick swinging, which makes it rather dangerous in my view. They don’t even wear helmets, so decapitation must be an occupational hazard! The local team is trying to rope Fraser into playing. I’ve said I value his face too much, though I fear I may be outnumbered – more on that in due course, I suspect! 

After the match, the shinty players jumped into the Loch to wash – the water's quite warm, apparently, though I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t be for us Southerners – and we all went to the local pub in Colintraive for a few drinks. Unfortunately, this is twenty minutes from home and muggins here had to drive. Saturday nights ain’t what they used to be! 

Yesterday, we had our first experience of a cow’s afterbirth prolapse. For anyone who doesn’t know what this means, Google it, as I’d rather not spell it out. The vet had to come out, and it was touch and go for a while as to whether the animal would survive. Thankfully, after an epidural, much manipulation and for want of a better phrase, ‘shoving it back in’, the cow survived and was reunited with her calf. Unfortunately, she’s been somewhat bad tempered since – understandable given her ordeal – and we have to give her antibiotics via injection every day. Here’s hoping we’re still alive to deliver the next blog!

Week one - rural life and puppy training

So here we are, our first week at Shellfield Farm, West Coast Argyll – and what a week it’s been! We set off from Surrey early doors on Monday morning, carrying all our worldly possessions and two just-purchased dogs – Coco, the 10 week old chocolate Lab, and Flo, the two-year-old Australian Kelpie working dog. We drove the ten hour journey in convoy – Fraser and Flo in the Isuzu, me and the puppy following behind in my Honda Civic.



Shellfield Farm - view from our front door

Having collected Coco the previous Friday and already knowing her proclivity for extreme hyperactive behaviour one minute and comatose sleep the next – not to mention her inconsistent toilet habits – I was fully prepared for a disruptive journey accompanied by interesting smells. Much to my astonishment she was a joy to ride with, and slept pretty much the entire way; plus, she never once did her ‘business’ in the car. What a good puppy!

Understandably, we were thus led to believe that she would be the most perfectly house trained puppy in the world – not so. As soon as we arrived at the farm, Coco decided to christen pretty much every room in the house. She also thought it would be a great idea to find a tray of rat poison and bring it to us as a sort of present, leading us to wonder if she’d eaten any; not a chance we were willing to take, and not the circumstances under which we’d wanted to meet the vet! After receiving an injection to regurgitate the entire contents of her stomach in the vet’s car park – much to the dismay of several onlookers obviously wondering what was happening to the poor little darling – there was thankfully no rat poison, but instead a tonne of chicken feed, which she’d apparently devoured that morning as well. Needless to say, after that little incident, we went on the hunt for anything potentially poisonous and ‘puppy proofed’ – our new favourite phrase – the entire house to try and prevent the incident from happening again.

Coco the farm dog

Coco is a delight, but a real handful; she’s very much a 24 hour job, which has slowed down our progress somewhat this week, in terms of unpacking and getting ourselves organised around the farm. She does however wake us up at around 6am, which means we’re up early to feed the other animals (c. 400 sheep, twenty cattle, thirty hens, and three working dogs – quite a smallholding really!). Flo the new working dog is finding it a little harder to settle in. Fraser’s doing his best to slowly introduce her to the sheep, but she gets very over-excited and chases after/ nips them, and she’s not listening to instructions yet. It’ll take time, but we think she’ll be wonderful when she gets into the swing of things.

We’ve had a great first week, and already met some real characters. For about twenty minutes, the Morrisons trolley man in nearby Dunoon proudly regaled us with tales of how many pound coins he’s collected over the years from shoppers leaving them in the trolley slots – £5 seems to be about the most in one shift. We’re off to a farmers meet-up tonight and then to the pub, so no doubt I will report back on who we meet along the way – I think this will be quite the adventure!