Laddie Come Home

What I've been thinking about:

1. Dogs 
2. Holidays Wee calves (gettit?)

Ivie is fairly competitive when it comes to sporting endeavours. He'd rather score that try at touch rugby and not be able to walk the next day than shrug and save his joints. I'm pretty much the opposite in that I've never risked myself physically for anything (unless elbowing my way to the front at Bombskare gigs counts). 

Brain stretching is more my cup of tea. I get a certain sense of satisfaction from a busy day at work writing reports, planning events and managing projects. Or a good quiz. 

On Saturday night, Ivie and I went to a quiz at Rhonehouse Village Hall with some friends (I know, Ivie left the Shire. He will repent). Our strengths included fictional Scots and airport codes but we were let down by our lack of knowledge about Doctor Who's assistants and Beatles album covers. Our best fluke was guessing the price of a first class stamp (£1.35). 

Photo by Anstey

There was a whole round about dogs, including a question about Lassie's exact breed. Luckily one of our team mates knew the answer (rough collie) and the overall result was we were second. This is where my lack of competitiveness is shown to be a massive sham but I'd drunk too much wine to be disappointed for long. 

Fast forward to today and Ivie was in need of a rough collie. Sometimes wee calves go on wee adventures, you see, and become separated from their mums. Ivie and his brother spent the morning looking for a little Angus calf in amongst whin bushes, which meant Ivie was tired and grumpy by lunchtime and not particularly interested in a dog walk. 

Who's a good dog? 

Guess what the dog found five minutes into the walk? 

Ivie wasn't quite as happy as you might expect that Rudi had saved him from an afternoon of tramping through gorse. Maybe he was just crabbit that he'd missed out on lifting another first prize this week. 

Hope Springs Eternal

What I've been thinking about:

• Well timed long weekends 
• Hope over experience

I like to think that I'm pretty optimistic. I'm a glass half-full type of person with a healthy dose of realism thrown in. During lambing, Ivie tends towards the blind optimism. 

You might remember that lambing got off to an early start at The Spittal. Ivie convinced himself that this would equate to an early finish. Now, I know very little about very little when it comes to farming but even I know that's not a thing. Regardless of start date, things are usually winding up around the end of March, which is just as well because that's when my birthday is. 

This year was a big birthday and was beautifully timed around Easter weekend. Lambing had been a bit of a slog (for Ivie) and my work had been incredibly busy so four days off (my) work was very welcome indeed. 

There was a time when I wasn't sure I'd make it this far. Kidney doctors are very reluctant to make promises about how long your new kidney will last so I never thought too far into the future. A few years ago, though, they said that if you're 15 years post-transplant, that's a good indicator that the kidney will outlast the patient. I'm not sure it will be recycle-able by then but it'll have had a good innings.

Sales pitch: Home | Organ Donation Scotland

There's something about big birthdays that makes me contemplative. When I turned 40, I'd not long landed in D&G. I had a very part-time job at what is now Upland and was trying to figure out how to make a living so I could stay in this special corner of the world. Two weeks later, I received a call from Wigtown Book Festival asking if I'd like a temporary contract. Fast forward another six years and I bumped into a farmer I hadn't seen for a while at the opening party. The rest, as they say, is history. 

Now, at half a century, I have a job, a farmer and a life I love. I couldn't imagine that this is how it would turn out but I've lucked out all round. 

Anyway, back to the long weekend. We had our first night in the campervan since Nice in September. It was almost as warm in Sandhead and the dog was living her best life, tearing up and down the beach. We bumped into someone we knew (obviously) and I wondered how to explain that we're sort of related (my partner's brother's wife's brother - prizes for anyone who can figure that one out). 

It all makes me feel pretty rooted in D&G and at The Spittal. I remain optimistic that Ivie will keep me around for another birthday or two. 

The Lambing Report

What I've been thinking about:

1. FOMO
2. Niche Googling

Lambing is in the fullest swing at The Spittal. The ewes seem to want to get on with it and enjoy the start of Spring with their lambs dawdling along behind on unsteady legs. 

Ivie is on the nightshift, which is made easier this year with the addition of a camera in the lambing sheds. It's great. He can keep an eye on things from the comfort of the sofa, only having to get all his gear on when he's actually needed. 

Pre-camera, there were times when it took longer to get his wellies and waterproofs on and off than to glance into the shed and see there was nothing happening. This makes for a happy Ivie. And a happier me, knowing that he can doze a bit more and be better rested when he gets up and drives big machines near heavy beasts in the morning. 

That's the theory anyway. You know how they say that dogs and their owners end up looking alike? Well, in Ivie and Rudi's case they share a personality trait instead: Fear of Missing Out. I've watched the dog fight sleep on many an occasion, worried that she'll miss the party of the century if she gives in. It turns out that Ivie is exactly the same. 

Definitely not tired.

I've always known that Ivie is a screaming extrovert (remember this blog?) but I didn't realise that would get in the way of him getting as much sleep as possible during lambing. Last night it was the World Athletics Indoor Championships on telly he didn't want to miss. He couldn't possibly snooze through the women's 3000m or the men's 60m hurdles. And the women's pole vault? Front row seats for Fisher! 

I have resigned myself to the fact that Ivie would rather drag himself around like a zombie during the day than miss out on anything. All I can do is be supportive and not expect too riveting a conversation (no change there, I hear you say 😉).

I am constantly torn between wanting to be more helpful during lambing and not wanting to get in the way. As a result, I've only had one night-time visit to the lambing shed so far this year. I moved newborn lambs into a pen and sprayed iodine on their navels. And I watched as Ivie lambed two other ewes in quick succession, healthy twins and triplets the end result. 

I'd forgotten my gloves so the next day woke up to a mahogany right hand and tarnished looking rings. Thankfully, I found a tin of Brasso under the sink before I had to Google 'removing iodine from silver'. 

[My curiosity has just got the better of me and I've Googled it now. There are all sorts of complicated instructions from American websites involving silver foil, salt water and ammonia. It makes me slightly worried / in awe about what's in Brasso that it took it off no bother.]

🕱🕱🕱🕱🕱🕱🕱🕱

My hand still looks a bit like it belongs to Pinocchio, which could be an interesting talking point at the training course I'm going on this week. Which reminds me, I'll have to change my usual March topics of conversation. I'm not sure they'll be that interested in how many pets there are or receptive to me encouraging them to have a little nap. 

A whiff of victory

What I've been thinking about this week:

1. Smells
2. Narrow margins 

One of the things I learned early on about living with Ivie is that if I want to carve out quality time with him, I have to encourage him to leave the farm. A snatched cup of coffee here and chat over breakfast is all well and good. But sometimes uninterrupted time to hang out and talk about more than what's for our next meal (much as I enjoy that as a hobby) does us good. 

In case we forget who we are mid-cuppa
(thanks to Mairi Secret Santa)

As we're now fully paid up members of middle age, last week we went to the same hotel we went to last year for our pre-lambing 24 hour getaway. We already knew that the joys of Hetland Hall are many and varied:

• It's not far from home.
• They have good dinner, bed and breakfast deals in January and February. 
• We can both have a drink and not worry about getting home. 

Last Friday we added another plus to the list:

• They sort out any problems very quickly. 

They do say that if you have bad customer service, you tell one person, and if you have good customer service, you tell ten... 

Upon checking in we noticed that our room smelled a bit funny. As you can imagine, we've got a pretty high tolerance for less than rosy aromas. We opened the window, gave it five minutes but it didn't fix the problem. A quick chat with reception and we were instantly upgraded to a HUGE room with a HUGE bed and lovely views. As Ivie said, we didn't care how that one smelled, we were staying. 

It seems we got away just in time as we came back the next day to two lambs that had been born that morning. A quick turnaround and we were off out again for an actual night out with other people. 

Lorna and Dolly got engaged and were having a wee get together to coincide with Wales-Scotland in the Six Nations. You've met them in a previous blog here. There were quite a few farmery boots at the bar with farmery aromas but, as we've established, I can cope with farmers and their unique bouquet. 

Emotions were high (due to rugby rather than engagements) and the one point victory left many of us broken men and women, despite the fact that we were on the winning side. I've written before about the heroic efforts of Scotland rugby fans but this was a whole new level of torture. Luckily, more delicious food reduced the stress levels and reinstated some hope for the next game against France. 

So, now we're into lambing and rugby season where Ivie takes turns to shout at:

• endless sheep.
• endless referees.
• endless Gregor Townsend. 

While Ivie's blood pressure reaches dangerous levels, I'll be over here pretending I'm useful during lambing and daydreaming about king sized beds. 

Everybody Needs Good Neighbours

What I've been thinking about: 

• Doors.

The other day, Ivie happened to mention that he'd been working next door. Past experience told me not to assume I knew what he meant by this. I ran through the possibilities in my head:

• The farmhouse less than a minutes' walk from our front door. 
• The house a few minutes' walk along the cycle track in the other direction. 
• The 'next door' farm on the way into the village. 

It was none of these places. It was, in fact, the farm on the opposite side of the A75. Obviously. 

It's not the only confusing door in my life. The one that we use 99.99% of the time is our back door and the one that is the background to my online meetings is the front door. My brain has found this hard to grasp and regularly mixes them up. 

It made me think of other instances where what we say isn't quite what we mean. There's the definition of 'not long', for example (see this blog) or 'no dogs on the sofa'. 

Not spoiled at all....

At least I seem to understand more of the farmery conversations that take place around me than I did at the beginning. It was all a bit like being abroad and picking out the odd word of schoolday French in amongst incoherent babbling. I'd concentrate really hard but lose the will to listen when it got to sheep prices at the local mart or decisions around spread rates. 

La vache

Nowadays, I recognise a lot more names and places I didn't know before and I usually understand what Ivie has been up to when I ask him at lunchtime how the morning has gone. I'm still not massively interested in spread rates, to be fair, but I like to think of myself as a work in progress. 

It made me wonder whether Ivie had learned anything from me since we got together. "I know more about equality and stationery," he replied. Two very important topics, I'm sure you'd agree. 

I might not know where next door is or whether my back door is my front door but it's good to know there's still things to learn about the world and each other six years down the line.