A Christmas Heroine

As with many parts of the country the weather here in Devon has been a bit wild in the last day or so. The winds have blown fit to cheer King Lear up and it culminated this morning when a tree blew down in the horses' field.

This was the moment for which Rooster had been training all these years. He leaped into action and cantered three times around the field, followed by the others, before collecting himself and heading to the Major Incident plan. A 534 page document that he had been preparing for just such an eventuality , pausing only to don his "I'm in charge" surcoat, he had all the rest of the crew lined up and started taking command of the scene. 

 "Do I look authoritative enough in this ?"

His first instruction was for Kavi to notify the relevant authorities, he was less impressed when he heard that the chestnut nomulator had contacted the Woodland Trust.  He then instructed Rocky to take the roll call and was horrified to find out that only three of the horses had been accounted for, after a recount Rocky ensured him that he had personally seen three horses. This was worse than Rooster had thought. He turned to page 67 of the plan entitled "What to do if you lose someone". Sure enough paragraph 4 subsection iii b had the drill.

He sent Carly off to the emergency phone to contact the only help that was available for such eventualities 

                                            Ta-Da, It's Wabb the Search & Rescue Cat

After a lengthy briefing the feline heroine was deployed to search under the fallen tree, but to no avail, there was no-one, equine or otherwise, trapped. It was time for an emergency meeting and the OIC called Rocky over to confer on actions to be taken. Firstly however , he needed to find out who was missing. After a thorough debriefing it was agreed that Rocky had seen Carly, Kavi and Rooster, that was three? right? At this juncture Wabb sighed, shook her head and said "You stupid grey pillock, you forgot to count yourself".

Stand down everyone.

Being interviewed in his stable later Rooster opined that he thought the whole excersise had been a great success  and showed that the 24/7 cover he provided every day was a worthwhile investment.

No cats or horses were harmed in the making of this blog.

 Happy Christmas everyone from all on Lowerdown and at S.C.

Of stallions and brandy

The weather has been remarkably clement for the time of year, or it could just be Devon, so Kavi has been getting plenty of time out recently. H has made sure that we have covered plenty of miles so he  has been getting fitter and fitter. On Tuesday we ventured across the moor, he was very excited by this as he clearly thinks that there is plenty of room to show his quicker paces. We have a kick, a buck and a fart every time he sees a patch of green in front of him (well he does at any rate). I merely grit my teeth and wrap my legs around him.

                                  "Come on Rocky, we'll soon be there and then we can go for it"

After a typically fun hack to Smallacombe Rocks we were making our way home when in the distance we could hear the hunting horn and hound calling from the local Fox-bothering pack. Deciding that discretion was the better part, Rocky and the ginger lad nipped into the Nature Reserve, suspecting, correctly, that the hunt would not be welcome there. The hounds were not there but, however, there was a small herd of Dartmoor ponies hanging around on the path home. The stallion was, quite rightly, very defensive of his herd and was less than keen to see intruders on his manor.

 

                                                           A pony of the Dartmoor variety

He strutted after us to ensure that we were seen off and were going to present no threat to his posse, Rocky, being the friendly creature that he is wanted to be friends and possibly join his gang. Kavi on the other hand, was less than impressed at being pushed about when he was returning to his stuffed haynet and after a minute  turned on his vertical challenged pursuer and said to him  in no uncertain terms "Look, Pal, you may be the stallion but I'm three times your size. Now jog on before I pulverise you". This had the desired effect and we were able to return in our own time, which is pretty nippy when Kavi is on his way home.

You will be all aware that the festive season is approaching quickly and H and I repaired to the local hostelry to see what delights awaited us in the next couple of weeks. The talk was of the Pickled Onion Selection contest. (No I've no idea either, but it appears to be the big event). The pub doesn't appear to make a Christmas punch either, this will come as bad news to Carly who is particularly keen on visiting his fans on Christmas day and necking gallons of the stuff. Here he is on the verandah of the Rose and Crown a few years ago being fed his favourite tipple by his friend Kate  whilst  modelling his festive antlers.

Dual Identity

Wabb and I were pushing a wheelbarrow around the field a couple of days ago, well one of us was, she was holding forth on the Trendlebeere leyline that she believes runs through the field while I was doing the grafting. Apparently in ancient times it was the thoroughfare used by ancient Devonian kitties who, on Midsummer's day processed down the hill to Manatton to welcome the dawn and rejoice in the new year and a bumper crop of small furry things to eat.

 I have to admit this was all news to me and although sceptical, was starting to wander how I might make money from this festival. Wabbstock perhaps . Pussy Riot headlining when they come out  their Russian jail, supported by Cat herine Jenkins and "Tom" Jones

 I then espied the lady who owns the next door field also doing a spot of pooh picking. We exchanged greetings and were passing smalltalk when she said "Oh Hello Whiskers" I thought that was a little rude as , although I hadn't shaved I don't look like Santa. I then realised that she was not looking at me but at an embarrassed feline. I have never seen a cat blush before as Wabb turned on her paws and trotted off.

"No idea who you are talking about"

 

 

It turns out that she doesn't rough it in the stable as we had surmised but spends plenty of time in next door's boiler house living off the choicest titbits and living under the alias of Whiskers. I'm going to have to have a word with that young lady.

 

 

Yesterday Kavi, Rocky and I accompanied H on a long hack up to the huge rock formation known as Haytor, which we thought was just up the road.

 

                                                        Yes, that's how far away it is.

 

Not the way horses go it isn't and we went up and down bridleways, up the Ladies Mile through 4 bogs and an ancient tramway, (Devon really needs to get out of the fifteenth century) until we were in the foothills. Amidst much sighing Kavi plodded on alternately slipping and tripping. I was trying to steer him and convince them that we were on our way home. "Look" he said "I'm a thoroughbred racehorse not a flippin' Dartmoor pony"

 

This was about how sad he looked