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Yes, we have a cow that I think could stand for a political seat (and who came up with the terms; should they not sit for a seat or stand for a place? If they could sort out the terminology it might help some from being so confused).

Dryope is our oldest cow and she wasn’t making up her mind yesterday. Should she have the calf or not. Back and forth across the field she trundled, just humming and hawing as the sun shone softly and the smell of spring was back. But no, she would have sat on the fence is she could (she was eying it up too at one point). And so, I decided she would make a good politician in the current age. Shall she stand or shall she sit? Negotiations with the calf seemed to be hitting a brick wall. Did they want to be joined together or separated but needing to create a new trade deal? So with her tail half hung (didn’t realise Westminster thad so much in common with our cows), the sun slowly set and out came the stars. And we entered the murky era of nightfall and the forecast was bleak.

First thing this morning (hmm, a Micro Crofter may have been up four times in the night so first thing is the one nearest to dawn); and lo and behold, one bull calf next to Dryope at the gate. A decision to break all ties but remain together was decided upon. If only it hadn’t taken her so long to figure out a solution as today was driech to say the least. Another boy to join the current two. Now, their new trade deal is not going as well as it could be. Let’s just hope it’s the teething and the calf gets his act together.

N.B. Although mention of the current political situation has occurred in this post, Dryope will not run for any seat. Or if she did, it would be independent (she’s the matriarch of our herd and gets top of the pecking order). I also think she’s already eyeing up some grass and would prefer that to London.

‘Need any help putting the shopping away?’

‘No, I’m good, thanks’

Four days later…

Not a supermarket shop, to be sure.

ABBA really do have some cracking songs. I just don’t think they thought ‘Ring, ring’ was going to be whistled in the context of castrating bull calves. But hey ho, most top songs can always lead you back to the farm! Two calves so far this year and both are boys and it’s a job that needs done. On a side note: predictive text wanted to change ‘boys’ to ‘joys’; ur, no, calf 2 hasn’t been a joy. His mother hasn’t made it easy but he is still alive (with many thanks to many people; not least Farmer Ian).

Now, the calf has survived his first week and was let out into the field with his mother, warm sun and space to run. But he did get the full ABBA song played to him (literally) so that he’s now a steer. Most males on our croft will have a strong dislike for ABBA’s cracker!

More like a prancing cow. A very pregnant, pacing cow who is due tomorrow. And today’s weather: a wee bit of a stiff breeze and spotted showers (aka, hold on firmly to the double buggy to stop it getting blown over and wear waterproofs, you get drenched otherwise). Why, oh why do the ‘hardy’ cows seem to pick days like today for having their calves? Visions of a cold and wet calf come to mind. Not a relaxing image to have in your mind. Particularly when you are the sole carer of a toddler and baby who are currently on their naps so this is the only chance during the day of nipping round to get jobs done. Such as checking up on a newborn calf. But no, she just keeps prancing back and forth.

So just hold on Luv, tomorrow’s forecast is much better…

As I went down to the byre for hay,

Studying the snowfall on that fateful day

And what do I find, looking around

Good lord, not a good day

O Lugs, you calm down,

You calm down, bafooning clown.

O Lugs, don’t go down

Down to the field to play

As you take off through the gap to play

Studying the calves, giving off a good display

And who will get you back inside

Good lord, show me the way

O Lugs, you come back

Let’s get you back, give some slack

O Lugs, time to back track

Get you back to the old hay rack

O Lugs, do what I say,

Leave the cows, go on, get away

O Lugs, you will pay,

You will pay with your own fateful day

And in answer to the new lyrics, yes, Lugs is back inside (I never knew cattle could squeeze through smallish gaps). See, with the Ren-gate scandal and Hilda being due last week, I turfed both her and Breena into the field as the Crofter was away. No calf appeared. Great, Renoir must not have been successful on his gate hoping day and she’ll be due with the rest. So, decision was made to stick them both back into the warmth and dryness of the byre. Wrong! A near riot broke out. Lugs took off like a bucking bronco once he got through the gap. So with that the two soon-to-be mothers were given back their field. And who knows if she is really late or really early, but Hilda’s calf arrived today.