A Cosy Christmas

What I know about Christmas on the farm:

1. Cows still need fed. 
2. Ivie doesn't really switch off. 

"Will you have a lie-in on Christmas Day?" I asked Ivie.

"Probably not," he replied, "I like just getting up and out and then I'll have the rest of the day."

I can see the logic but there's something indulgent about lying there, waking up gradually and talking nonsense. To be fair, we manage to talk nonsense at all other times of the day so maybe it's not a major sacrifice. And since we got the puppy, a lie-in doesn't seem like such a relaxing proposition. 

I'm awake!

This is my first Christmas as an actual Spittal resident so it's made me think about starting our own traditions. Growing up, my Dad used to make us have tea and toast before we were allowed any chocolate on Christmas Day. I still do this (with an ounce of teenage grumbling) and it's a nice little way of remembering him all these years later. 

One of Ivie's suggestions was that we get the stove going in my shed and have a cosy cuppa in there on Christmas morning. Sounds good to me. 

Sunny Shennanton Sawmill Shed

It's not how I thought my Christmases would pan out, to be honest. In a past life, I imagined my future Christmases would be filled with letters to Santa, school concerts and early wake-up calls of, "he's been!". Things didn't turn out that way but, you know, I wouldn't change it for the world. 

I'm a firm believer in everything working itself out in the end and if I'd had a people-carrier full of kids, I wouldn't be living where I do with the wonderful person that I do. We're privileged auntie and uncle to six nieces and one nephew between us aged 8-26, who we love having in our lives. 

I'm sure everyone's 2020 Christmas is a bit different to what was planned. I hope that you're all starting your own wee traditions that will be talked about in years to come. 

Merry Festivities to you all! xxx

Giblin Christmas 1988-ish

Lambing: The Prequel

What I learned last week:

1. High numbers make Ivie happy.
2. I might have to roll my sleeves up in March. 

Last year, I wrote three blogs about lambing (imaginatively entitled Lambing: Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3. I'm nothing if not creative). As time went on, I got more involved but only as much as squirting iodine on newborn lambs' navels and occasionally feeding the pet lambs. I've yet to actually lamb a ewe and, to be fair, I'm not sure I'd be trusted. 

It's a bit of a responsibility as so much can go wrong (and they're also not my animals). The lamb can come out the wrong way round - in lambing terms, you want the front legs first, then the head - or it can get stuck on the way out. It's not all cute lambs gambolling around and bleating, sadly. 

Anyway, one of the things I'd heard a bit about before was scanning percentages. Every year, a man comes with a special ultrasound to find out how many lambs are due in the Spring. I haven't actually seen it in action but I like to think of it as the self-serve counter in the supermarket. 

Each ewe is scanned and the man shouts out the number of lambs - hopefully 1, 2 or 3 - so the ewe can be sprayed with the right colour. And then Ivie hands over his Nectar card. Or something. After all the scans, the machine tots up the numbers and comes up with a percentage.

You want the percentage to be nice and high as that means lots of twins and triplets on the way. This year, the Spittal percentage was 205%, making Ivie and his brother very happy indeed (no, really).

There are 48 sets of triplets due next Spring. This is good as it means lots of lambs but it also means lots of pets. This does not make Ivie and his brother happy. 

Ewes have two teats which means that twins generally fare better than triplets, although ewes with just one lamb can often be persuaded to 'adopt' (more on that in a later blog). 

The maternity ward lambing shed is going to be a busy place with lots of multiple births, adoption hearings and the like. I'm a bit worried that I'm going to have to get a bit more involved than in the past. Hopefully, this will just mean filling water and feed troughs and not getting in the way, rather than scrubbing up and wearing gloves that go up to the shoulder. 

Now I'm wondering if #lambing2021 will require masks. 

A Day at the Salon

 Things I learned this week:

1. It's not just male calves that have horns.
2. Now none of them do. 

Working from home these days means that I'm much more aware of what's happening on a daily basis. Whether it's watching the vet arrive to check out a new calf or a Fallenstock lorry leaving with its load, the sights and sounds of the farm are much more in my face. 

Last week was fairly noisy. Ivie and his brother were de-horning the calves. I must have looked horrified because Ivie explained that removing the horns keeps them from injuring each other when they tussle and also stops them injuring humans when they have to get up close and personal. 

I wondered if having their horns removed was a bit like having a pedicure, except they don't apologise about the state of their feet and wish they'd brought their flip-flops to change into to go home. As you can imagine, it's not quite as simple as that.

It involves moving all of the calves into a pen then taking them one by one down a sort of corridor called a race. The race ends in the crush, a metal contraption that locks as soon as the animal pokes its head through. Imagine a really strong baby seat. With a calf in it. 

Happy Hornless Calves

There are various implements involved, depending on the size of the calves' horns. Little stubby horns are lobbed off with sheers then cauterized with a de-horning iron, which is a big, hot, metal stick. Horny horns are removed with a de-horning wire, which is a hot, twisted cheese wire. A standard trip to the salon then. 

(They all have anaesthetic applied to the top of their heads to make it as painless and stress-free as possible.) 

It's a noisy business - and not just the swearing. The calves make it perfectly clear that they'd quite like to keep their teeny tiny horns, thank you very much. And Ivie and his brother make it perfectly clear that the ******* calves will do as they're ******* well told. 

The swear jar is filling up nicely in time for our Christmas night out. Oh wait...