Here's Tae Us

What I've been thinking about this week: 

1. 2021
2. 2022

Let's face it, Christmas and New Year haven't quite been what we're used to or expected. Without getting too maudlin, I think we all figured we'd had our Asda Smart Price version in 2020/21 and this year would be more Tesco Finest. Still, we're here and that's the main thing. 

For the last few years, I've done a review of my year. My friend sent me this link in late 2014 after my first full year in Dumfries and Galloway and I've answered the questions every year since. Yesterday, I spent a day in my shed thinking about questions, such as 'what was your favourite compliment?' (that people laugh at my blog) and 'what did you do for the first time this year?' (lambed a ewe). 

It's also quite interesting looking back at how things have changed (for example, from 2018 when Ivie and I were Never Living With Anyone Ever Again). 

Any excuse for coloured pens

To be honest, I was enjoying being on my own without the puppy bringing me her new favourite toy to play with or Ivie asking me what was for tea. 

Rudi and Ted (thank you, Fishers)

Sometime in the afternoon, Ivie appeared at the door of the shed. I was about to grumble to leave me alone when I saw that he had a bottle of gin in his hand. Not just any gin either. Delicious local gin, Hills and Harbour, which is distilled just along the road. 

I welcomed him with open arms. (It was a bit too early for open glasses but it was a start.)

Unopened. For now. 

If you're a regular reader (thank you), one of the things you might have noticed is that there have been fewer blogs in 2021 than 2020 (21 vs 44). Sometimes it can feel like the same things are happening on the farm as in the previous year (I know, no sh*t, Sherlock). But then something surprising happens...

I wondered aloud where Ivie had come across a bottle of Hills and Harbour at 2pm on a Monday afternoon in January. What I actually said was, "How have you got that?!" in a slightly accusatory manner. 

It turns out that a nearby farmer had borrowed a tup to introduce some new blood into his flock. He'd returned the tup and two bottles of H&H. Thankfully, that allayed my fears that there was only one bottle and we'd have to drink it all before anyone mentioned it to Ivie's brother. It would have been quite a challenge but we'd have faced it head on. At least until we were face down. 

Wham, Bam, Thank You Ram

What I've been trying not to think about this week:

1. Tups' love life. 

I'm pretty used to strange lunchtime conversations. There are often updates on hatches and dispatches, machinery issues and what jobs are coming up later that day. I think Ivie finds my job updates quite boring in comparison.  

Today, Ivie casually mentioned that they'd been getting the tups ready. My basic knowledge told me that this was them getting smartened up for their big dates. 

I can't decide if they live the life of Riley or a bit of a dull existence. One way of looking at it is that they get free bed and board for 46 weeks of the year in return for six weeks' 'work'; the other is that they wander around a field for 46 weeks and only get a month and a half to play. 

My mum's not sure who my Dad is.

I wondered aloud what getting them ready actually entailed. 

Ivie: we check their teeth.

Me: what, do they get their teeth cleaned ready to impress the ladeez?

Ivie: sigh. No. 

Me: what else do you do?

Ivie: check their feet.

Me: so they can chase the lucky gals?

Ivie: sort of. 

Me: do they get a wee scoosh of Lynx Africa?

Ivie: Naw!

It turns out that they get two weeks to chase them around and bring them into season, the ewes shake their bums and then about 4 seconds later it's all over and done with. There are two tups per field of 50 ewes and apparently that's plenty to be getting along with. 

I then wondered aloud if this knowledge informed Ivie's teens and 20s till someone told him it wasn't like this for humans. Guffaw. 

Meantime, I'm sure the ewes are all discussing the latest fleece-styles and how to lose the lockdown lard. Or is that just me? 

Here Doreen, is that one of thon Brazilians? 

Puppy in Training

 What you should know:

1. We've been putting it off for months. 
2. We are ridiculous. 

I saw a post on Facebook the other day. It read, "I've just completed a task in 20 minutes, that I've been putting off for 5 months. I will learn nothing from this". It sounded more than a little familiar. 

You know those things that you just hope will disappear from your to-do list but never do? You'd think that by this age, I'd have figured out that they just get bigger and bigger until one day your brain is screaming, "Just. Get. It. Done!". 

Yesterday was one of those days. On yesterday's morning walk, the puppy was paying a bit too much attention to the sheep on the farm. The pup usually has a bit of a look then gets distracted by a clump of grass she's never noticed before and moves along. 

"Oooh grass"

Yesterday she had her nose pressed up against the fence, making my brain leap from zero to catastrophe in three seconds flat...

"What if the puppy chases the sheep and gets shot and Ivie will blame me and I'll blame Ivie because we've been talking about putting her in with the tups since before Christmas and we'll fall out and I'll have to move into the spare room!"

Ever since we got the pup (in the first week of October), we've been saying that we should make her scared of sheep. Lambing is fast approaching and the last thing anyone wants is an over-excited dog getting in the way causing mayhem. The slight issue is that both Ivie and I have a tendency to think we've loads of time until we're in a mild panic about whatever we're supposed to have organised. 

When we should have done sheep training

There's a quote from the composer Leonard Bernstein that sums it up perfectly:

"To achieve great things, two things are needed: a plan, and not quite enough time."

So, yesterday afternoon we set off to the top of the farm to finally tick something off our list. We were quite the merry band - Ivie driving the quad, Drew sitting on the front, me on the back clinging on to a 10kg jumping bean and Isa the collie snapping at the tyres. 

Drew and Isa moved last year's remaining lambs into a pen and we added a six month old spaniel to the mix. I was slightly hoping that she'd get a kick or two to really put her off - but getting up close and realising how big they were seemed to do the trick.  

The good news is that this morning she didn't even glance at the sheep. A meeting with the tups is still on the cards, which should put her off good and proper. We've loads of time to get that sorted out, though. 

Gratuitous puppy shot

The Greatest Show on Earth?

 What you should know:

1. The Black Face Sheep Sale is a big deal. 
2. It should have been this weekend.
3. It still is. Kinda. 

One of the things I've noticed - especially since I moved to the Spittal and started getting to know more folk involved in farming - is the difference in my Facebook feed. Now, not a day goes by without a sponsored post about a big piece of farm machinery (that I have no interest in) or someone showing off pictures of livestock (that I have no knowledge of). If it wasn't for the occasional advert for niche stationery or the cute dog and cat videos, I'd think that the algorithms were way off. 

I had a vague notion that Something was Happening in black face sheep circles and had it confirmed by a friend the other night. Thanks to Ann Ferguson, I now know that:

• it's the biggest event in the sheep calendar
• it's usually a grand day out for the whole family and
• this year, due to covid restrictions, it's happening in Ayr (instead of nearby Newton Stewart) with only buyers and sellers allowed to attend.

I went to the market at Newton Stewart once when Ivie was selling cattle. We hadn't been together long and I was partly intrigued and partly trying to show willing to make up for my lack of knowledge. 

He walked me in and sat me down towards the back of the ring where I couldn't get in the way. It's a traditional hexagonal building (which is listed, apparently) and once you're inside there's a strange mix of hustle and hush as the sale takes place. 

Newton Stewart Market
Photo by Ros
(The eagle-eyed amongst you might even spot Ivie)

I stuck out like a sore thumb. I wasn't wearing wellies or a boilersuit, I wasn't carrying a crook and I wasn't related to anyone else in the room. I was also slightly wide-eyed as I was terrified of twitching or scratching my nose and going home with more beasts than we'd come with. 

I was aware of a slight flicker of, "who's that with Ivie Fisher?" but then everyone returned to what was happening in the ring. 

It was like the most tightly run circus where everyone had very distinct roles. The auctioneer was clearly the ringmaster and he ruled the roost with an iron gavel. 

I was captivated by the chap in the ring whose only job was to keep the livestock moving so that all the buyers could see; another man was responsible for opening and shutting the same gate all day; a young guy beside the auctioneer took a note of who bought what and passed slips of paper to the women in the office who updated the passports and buying records. 

Longtown Market
Photo by C&D Auction Marts Ltd.

Then it got confusing. I spent ages trying to work out who was bidding and who was winning each lot. I missed it every bloody time. It was like that Three Cup Trick where you have to keep track of which cup has the coin underneath it. 

Dumfries Market
Photo by C&D Auction Marts Ltd.

Ivie sold his cows, relatively happy with how the sale had gone. I'd been promised lunch at the hotel across the road so was getting ready to go (while not twitching or scratching my nose). I noticed Ivie shaking hands with a few men at the edge of the ring. 

He was giving all his buyers a 'luck penny'. Like so many things I've asked about over the last few years, he's never really thought about the whys and wherefores; it's just the done thing. So, as well as getting the cow or sheep or whatever in exchange for what they bid by winking or raising an eyebrow, the buyers also get something back. Depending on the type of animal and its value, it might be a few pounds or a short-term insurance policy. It's a way of saying 'thank you' to a buyer and hopefully means they'll look out for your animals at market again. 

I've just looked up the practice on a farming forum and there seem to be mixed feelings about it. There are those that treat it as a genuine tradition that they'd be sad to lose while in other areas, it's been distorted over the years and become something of a small bribe. I should know better than to look up farming forums. That's my Facebook algorithms buggered for another six months.

A note about the photos:

1. Thanks to a call-out on Facebook, C&D Auction Marts Ltd. kindly gave permission for photos of Dumfries and Longtown Markets to be shared. Please note that both these photos were taken before covid restrictions came into place. (I know they're different markets but for people who've never been it gives a good idea of what it's like.)
2. Thanks also to Ros Francis for the photo of Newton Stewart market. (Who knew she'd be the friend who had such a thing?!) 

How many ewes can a top tup tup?

 Things I have learned:

1. It doesn't take long.
2. The ewes probably prefer it that way. 

This week has been a bit of an eye opener, if I'm honest. Ivie was watching This Farming Life the other night (because, obviously, when he's not farming he's thinking about farming or watching other people farming). There was a segment all about tupping. 

[There's something quite pleasing about a noun that's also a verb. For example, a tup tups. And I'm told that a bull bulls. It doesn't work for all animals, though. An elephant doesn't elephant. But I digress...]

So, anyway I watched in slight horror as the tup on TV was let loose in a field of ewes and proceeded to do the deed. Or tup. Now, obviously I didn't expect him to take each ewe out to dinner, send her a bunch of roses and send flirtatious texts before getting to know her better but I did expect each 'interaction' to last longer than a couple of seconds. 

Form an orderly queue, ladies

One thing I did know about before this year was the rather fetching harness a tup wears during tupping season. (Think lederhosen from the Sound of Music crossed with the Village People). I was pretty confused the first time Ivie told me he was off to change the crayon.

For the uninitiated, a tup wears a harness when he's tupping. It has a coloured crayon attached to the front that marks a ewe's rear end when it's been on a date. It serves two purposes: firstly, it lets Ivie see how many are still left to 'do'; and secondly it lets him see when the lambs will be due, as each batch will have a different colour. 

Closer to lambing time, the ewes are scanned and get another colour sprayed on them, depending on how many lambs they're carrying. It makes the lambing shed full of coats of many colours and now I'm wondering what happens if you're a colour blind farmer... 

I was curious about how many ewes a tup can tup. Let's do the maths:

Number of ewes	220
Number of tups	7
Ewes per tup	30+

Jim Smith puts it better than I ever could....