Not a drummer boy, but a milking cow with no locking barrier. And, as I had promised Dryope that she would get grass as soon as she let Tilly on herself, she got her reward today. OK, it’s not in the massive field with the rest of them but in a fenced off area that I can just check up on them (think of going from ITU/HDU in a hospital to a ward before they would discharge you).
Surprisingly, it took a wee bit of coaxing to get Tilly out of the byre. Culture shock maybe? Do Shetland cows speak a different dialect than Salers? Do our fields look foreign compared to those in Aberdeenshire? Grass smell funny? However, once over the threshold and onto grass, she was dancing in the sun.
Birchwood Croft, Inverness-shire 