Daddy's little helper

Whilst we all love our equine chums, it has to be said that they are not the tidiest of creatures and there is a fair amount of cleaning up to do after them

I may have mentioned pooh-picking before but it is a recurring chore and when doing it alone can be quite time consuming. Rocky, ever willing to lend a hoof decided that the job looked pretty easy and came to join in yesterday;

"Right, let's get cracking"

                                           

                                                     "OK where does it go now ?"

                                         "Get out of the way Carly, I've got this under control"

A quarter of an hour later the scoop had been picked up (and put down again ) 6 times without any of the contents being removed. He'd still be there now if he hadn't got bored and sloped off to do some grazing.

The White Queen finished last week to the chagrin of all here at BC. Henry Tudor finally got to unleash his invasion host of eight men, a horse and an angry Welshman against the luckless Richard nomates and indeed no family by the end. Most of his clan would give a polite cough, which is Historical drama shorthand for "You are about to die" and canter off this mortal coil sharpish.

Our handsome, non-hunchback finally arrived at Bosworth for the dénouement looking a bit confused, as well he might as the battle was fought in a field in August not in a snowy wood in what looked to be midwinter. To make identification of the main players easy all the characters wore open face helmets, in Stanley's case because you would not be able to cram his head and his beard into one headcover.

"Treason " he croaked as the battalions who were cunningly hidden behind Margaret's chin piled into him before reserving him a season ticket in a car park in Leicester
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/history/9537600/Strong-evidence-Richard-IIIs-body-has-been-found-with-a-curved-spine.html

We will now have to wait for the return of the increasingly bonkers Downton Abbey

Bandits at two o clock

If you are a bird lover it is probably best to skip the first paragraph of this blog. Sharkey the yard terminator whilst being a very efficient mouser and ratter also likes to keep her claws in good fettle by catching birds to share with her disabled brother Furrgall.

"Look, it's what I do, OK?"

 

 

It is most regrettable I know but it is impossible to stop (No point in her wearing a bell as the furry ones will escape). However what she didn't realise was how Shropshire birds, the House Martins in particular don't take this sort of activity without retaliation  and when she walks across the yard she is regularly dive bombed by the, rightly, furious birds twittering in a most aggressive manner.

 



                                              "There she is ! Dive Dive Dive"

This was fine by me until the angry avians put together a link between me and their feline nemesis,. perhaps they have seen me feeding her, or stroking her. Anyway they have taking to buzzing me when I cross the yard, making me do a very undignified half crouching scuttle back to the house. It has to be said that my sympathy for them is running short now.

Onto a happier note and I would like to introduce a new character whom I was hoping would play a big part in my get rich quick scheme. Meet the racehorse in whom I have a minute share... The 3 Ps

                                                     Perpetually Poorly Poppy

She's lovely isn't she? Me and a couple of like minded barefoot horse lovers got together and purchased her about eighteen months ago unraced and a glowing future was gleefully planned out culminating in winning the mares hurdle at the Cheltenham festival

 She had a couple of outings on the flat back at the tail end of last year. Although she did not win (or even come close if truth be told) our Enthusiastic Trainer  ensured us that she would jump a house and was coming along really well.

 Then she slightly hurt her leg, then her tummy, one of her other legs and then her pelvis. ET broke the news to us last week that she will not be able to race until next Summer. Oh well.

Problems with Perspective

Ah the summer hols. Happy and carefree times, especially for young girls and their ponies. H has many happy, and indeed long, tales to tell of the fun she had with Jasper and all her many and varied chums on their horses. Anyway, last week Kavi and I were out for a stroll in the summer sun down the quiet and winding lanes when a couple of young girls on their ponies came trotting towards us.

When they were about ten yards away Kavi leapt in the air and whipped round heading for home. "What on earth is the matter ? " I asked once he had calmed down. "Small devil horses with pixies on, scary scary " He said. (Well he didn't because he's a horse but I could tell)

Further investigation revealed that he had probably never seen a pony before, having been in a racing stable most of his life before he came to us. We don't have ponies either so I can only think that he was waiting for the horses to become bigger as they came nearer but they didn't.

                                                              Small ? Or far away ?

Back in the spring the farmer who doesn't give a toss dumped about 50 sheep on the green by the stables. After ignoring them for the requisite 18 weeks he returned and took them away. Or so I thought. However two cunning ovine terrorists escaped his clutches and despite all our efforts to be rid of them have joined our herd. Many is the time we have shepherded (see what I did there) them up the lane only for them to be waiting in the field by the time we had returned.

It was not too much of a problem really until they started to invade Kavi's favourite nomming space and commenced grazing. A liberty too far he opined  and one of the offending ewes was chased around the field by the angry chestnut and cornered in a hedge. Proving for once and all that although he is fairly docile, he has boundaries that should not be crossed.

                                      "Go on , look away and I'll launch the blighter"

The White Queen was very exciting again this week with everyone swapping sides at least twice. All , that is,except the cunning Lord Stanley who stuck with the Yorkists. His beard, which has developed a life of it's own, however has stuck with the Lancastrians.

 Despite the luxuriance of his facial growth it would barely cover a tenth of the mighty chin of his wife Margaret. It is so large that she has to deliver all her lines through clenched teeth. The only respite she can get is in church when she can rest it on the alter rail whilst giving the Almighty his instructions for "my son Henry Tudor who is in France raising an army with his Uncle Jasper to overthrow Richard the Yorkist usurper" just in case the Good Lord is not all knowing. Meanwhile King Richard Nomates has taken to his bed having convinced himself that he was plotting to overthrow himself. I think.

Series 3

Ok I'll admit it, the loss of DJ made me lose a bit of interest in carrying on with these witterings. However time is a great healer and although quite a few things have changed I am prepared to take up the mouse and continue with the epic.

A final shot of the late lamented.

 

 

Well quite a few things have changed in the last eight months; Housemate is now The artist formerly known as Housemate (Tafkah) and has relocated. She has been joined by Darcey and Ari both of whom send their regards but have now been written out of the new series.

"I still hate virtually everybody"

 

     Still wowing the babes in Wales

 

 

 

Anyway Carly, Rooster, Rocky and our eponymous hero still remain here in Shropshire, although not for long as part of Devon has become  our Anschluss target and things are starting to get frantic as we try to sort out all our gear to re-locate

 

Most have summered well except Rooster, who was in the process of returning to the endurance world when struck down by injury again.

 

"Ref Ref, Get the Physio on"

 

 

He was turned out again today and celebrated by holding an impromptu Roll Call and rewriting four Risk Assessments.

 

I hope you have all been watching the White Queen on the Beeb, it's been great. For those who haven't it's been a cross between Game of Thrones and Eastenders, For those who watch neither that means, naked ladies, violence and lots of arguing abaht "famerlee". For hose of us who delight in pointless dialogue there has been plenty of joy as characters are frequently telling other characters things that they must surely know. Eg "I talk of your brother Richard, Duke of York who is married to Anne daughter of Warwick the Kingmaker".

 

This week the plot got serious, you could tell it was serious as all the main characters adopted ferocious whispers, leaving Mrs K and I looking quizzically at each other "What did she say ?" "Turn the volume up"

 

Next time, the Ovine invasion.



A memorial hunt

I hope you all had a good Christmas with all the presents you wanted and enough turkey, or the vegetarian equivalent, to satisfy the most jaded palate. Our sister site www.ancestrees.org.uk launched it's Christmas advertising campaign at the start of the month and, it has to be said, I was disappointed with the lack of response. I commented on this to H who told me that she was not in the least bit surprised. I had linked the page to all our contacts on facebook and when she showed me how it appeared, well I could understand the luke warm take-up. This is approximately how it looked; thank you fb for automatically choosing the picture to go with my caption (and well done me for not checking)

                                          The Ideal Christmas Gift for Friends and Family.

Horses are even more creatures of habit than I am as Kavi proved a couple of days ago. As you may have noticed it has been a bit wet recently so we have had to tailor our riding to when it is least wet. We normally head out after breakfast and Kavi is happy with this. However on this day it was nicer in the afternoon so we decided to ride then. After fetching them in.

                                                      "I think it's brightening up "

Kavi clearly thought that it was time for an early tea but when the tack appeared and he had his feet picked out and I got mounted a tantrum was well and truly thrown, there were equine toys everywhere,

 What fun we had alternately sulking and shying at blades of grass as we grimly went through Narnia via Stoat Corner past pitying glances from the locals. Still I stayed on and that was a bonus.

Many thanks to those of you who sent kind messages about DJ. As you can imagine Ari has been very subdued so much so that Housemate has moved him indoors, here he is in his new lair;

                          
We were worried that he had lost his mojo but on Boxing day he showed a glimmer of his old self. It was the big hunting day and as a special treat Cruella's daughter the Vowelstrangler was riding. Now she has previous experience with the hounds, in the summer she had come down to ride and had been confronted by DJ who bounded over woofing in her normal friendly manner "Eeek Mummy that doggy smells howwid" she squeaked beating a hasty retreat from our fragrant friend who thought that this was a fine game and chased her round the yard, one squealing, one barking.

She arrived in her full fox bothering kit as (the muzzled) Ari emerged from the tack room. He almost jumped for joy at seeing someone to chase and snarling happily he made the hunter the hunted, his view being to see how she liked being chased by dogs. I managed to grab him before anything drastic happened. He grinned and I'm sure he looked up saying "That one was for you DJ".

Gone but never forgotten

A sad sad day here at Barns Cottage as I have to tell you that our Romping chum DJ is no longer with us. She had been a bit below par for a couple of weeks now, but still got out a couple of times a day to potter around the yard and upturn any buckets that may have needed examination. She will be sorely missed by all of us but especially by her Kennel Mate Ari who came and stood morosely by us when we found her.

You would have needed to have a heart of stone not to laugh when she romped across the yard with her ears flapping in the wind, she even gave to people with visual impairment as her "perfume" meant that she could be appreciated by all.

She was buried behind the house next to the paddock with full doggy honours, and a few tears.

                                     
                                                RIP DJ, tonight she romps in a better place

Cheesey Bees

It was the time of year when we at Km decamp down south for the annual family Christmas and Birthday celebration weekend. This year Reading was the venue and H & I found our hotel in plenty of time to go into town for a couple of liveners before the family event started. We asked the nice receptionist for directions into town; "You turn left out of the Hotel and go past the Garage where you will see the main road. Cross it, when it is safe to do so " I could sense a certain horse nodding in agreement.

                                                 "What an intelligent lady she sounds"

Anyway after a quick half or two we all convened at the poor restaurant that had been chosen to have the ensemble alight there. There is always at least one of the family who will ask for something that is not on the menu. Saturday was no exception, one of them (and you know who you are) decided that four separate menus were not enough. "Can I have a small portion of pasta with a cheese and tomato sauce please ?" "I'll just go and ask chef" said the, shortly to become long suffering waitress. She returns "Yes that will be fine " "Thank you so much, so just a small portion... and I don't want any tomatoes in the sauce Thank You" "So pasta with cheese and tomato sauce without the tomatoes ??" "That would be lovely thank you"

So a fine night was had by all, sadly the next day it was time to take our leave and head for home. We usually travel the same route and have always been intrigued by the sign near Hartpury that advertises one of the seven wonders of Gloucestershire; the Bee Shelter. We had the time so we followed the thronging crowd down the side road agog with what it might be. H opined that it would be like a drop in centre for bees who were down on their luck, a sort of nectar kitchen, if you will. I erred towards it being where the bees stood waiting for the number 36 Bee bus.

                                      A day's entertainment for all the family

No, I'm none the wiser either.