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First, the weather turned and although the BBC was telling me it was ‘light’ wind, I disagreed and picking up bits of wood blown over fences would suggest otherwise. Then, the forecast stated gale force. I was suspicious. Would it really be more than the previous two days or were they thinking of just making it up for the low numbers? Everything by now was firmly tucked up so little required in preparation.

On the day itself I will admit it was a tad bit blustery to say the least. The dilemma: Mini Crofter’s naps are outside and if you bring him in, he usually wakes up (avoid at all cost). As to where he gets parked outside depends on what I’m doing, weather, and how much snow is on the roof. In this situation, normally the ‘west wing’ is the preferred choice as it is out of the hoolie that blows in off the hills behind and not affected by the postman. This wind was different and was being canny hitting all sides of the house. Various attempts at different spots showed the north side as the least blustery with the porch offering a bit more protection. And, it had a potential anchor point. The window boxes may not have been installed as a buggy tethering point but they worked pretty well to ensure buggy and Mini Crofter stayed safe. It did take a bit of problem solving as to what to use as two bungee cords were already in use to tether down his blankets, leaving only one. No more bungees? Graduate to ratchet straps.

Now, the weather may not have blown over the buggy but there is no mention in the instruction manual as to what wind speed is suitable for it. Note to all buggy makers: hooks for attaching ropes, bungees, Shepard’s crook wouldn’t go amiss and if you could tell me what wind speed would tip the buggy I would be most grateful.

My boots, my relegated walking boots, may have been made for walking but they, and little else in footwear, do not do very well on ice. Frolicking in fields of ice has been fine underfoot but the unpaved road from our croft to the council road has more been up to the standard for an olympic bobsled team to practice on. It’s been up to this standard for all of this year (thankfully it is still January and let’s hope this doesn’t still stand for much more of the year). Wellies have been the footwear of choice on ice but even then, the daily outing of the Mini Crofter and I has been challenging and we look more like we should be in Cool Runnings and drafted to Jamaica rather than Alaska. Nor do they make all terrain buggies with winter in mind. Swapping skis for wheels would have really helped in the snow, suitable snow chains for the ice, and why not add a husky to help pull it along for me would have been very gratefully received.

However, snow and now ice are not our only problem. The BBC would like me to believe that the howling wind, the clanging metal from who knows what is really all just a breeze of 3-5 on their forecast. And so, the not-so-all-terrain buggy becomes the less adaptable to gale force winds buggy. Never mind, a couple of bungee cords and I can be more assured the Mini Crofter’s blankets will remain at his side and not snagged on a fence three straths over. Because yes, come rain or shine there is work to do and I’m not good at being inside all day. But if I can dress for the weather, why can the buggy not be? Where’s the gore-tex? The wind resistant hood that you can tether down (think Force Ten tents)?  The rain cover is more suited for the gentle rain of Spain, not the sideways spray of rain in a hurricane. Well, I can dream of a buggy suited for the North Pole as I potter down the lane like a penguin, in crampons, but at least staying upright and mobile.

As the darkness slowly lifted I was slightly suspicious of something moving near to the byre. All was not well but as to what it was I didn’t know. As the sunrise continued I was confronted with one bewildered looking goose in the bottom field. Two problems: he should have been in the top field and he should have had his partner in crime with him. Partner in crime was nowhere to be seen. To get to the bottom field he would have had to fly and as they are domestic geese, they don’t. Why fly when you can waddle is their thinking. A retrieval expedition was planned on my part, not in the hope of getting the missing one back, but to see if I could trace the missing one’s last waddle and do some forensics to see how he met his end.

The search commenced but patchy snow meant it suddenly looked like dead geese everywhere (not something I normally think of when I see patchy snow but I do now). I soon gave up and went into the next problem to solve: how to get the remaining goose back to the sheep so he wasn’t on his own (these are geese that will sleep and eat with the sheep and have been known to change fields with them as well).

This was on my mind as Mini Crofter and I set off down the road on our usual walk. However, our walk soon came to a halt when I rounded a corner to discover said goose two crofts down and alive and well…and refusing to head home. The buggy was adapted as a sheep dog (a sitting one mind you) and between us we finally got the goose moving in the right direction, just very slowly and with many wanderings off the beaten road. My plan was to get the gander through the first possible gate so he would be reunited with his pal. And this is when he wasn’t having it. Out pops the neighbour from his shed upon hearing our honking goose wander by. With the three of us, my AWOL gander was quickly escorted through the gate and was reunited to his relieved friend.

The story doesn’t quite end there though. To get back them back to the top field I needed to open the gate, a gate at which I have the three stooges (a.k.a., three calves that bellow and run for a bucket). Which isn’t normally a problem but I’m herding the geese right towards highly sprung livestock a lot bigger than them.

With the geese within a few meters the gate was opened a crack and the geese saw their window of opportunity. The calves thankfully showed no interest in frolicking through to pastures new; instead, they stood a guard of honour as the two geese walked back with their heads held high.

Well Danny boy, your pipes may be calling you but mine are freezing! And not just any time and place freezing, occurring in the byre and while the Crofter is away. So, while giving the Mini Crofter a lesson in physics, our lab experiment involves trips down to the byre with a kettle. No, I do not serve our cows cups of tea while they have no running water. I merely lean into the byre via the locking barrier to empty said kettle over the metal join that is the last exposed point before water decants into the trough. And hence, the freezing spot. This is not the first time this has occurred, but as it didn’t happen while other half was home, no measure was put in place to alleviate the cows needing to share the kettle with me.

So, if anyone has sheep fleece that they never got up-lifted by the wool board and is currently lying in the corner of your shed/byre/home/pick up because, as a farmer, you are not going to throw something away, it may be useful one day; I can put it to use (as pipe insulation).

And before anyone checks their BBC weather forecast station and points out that it is currently 2 degrees, how could my pipes possibly freeze?!? I know, the cows got their singing kettle at the new year when it was cold, yesterday I was stuffing straw around the exposed pipe but the forecast for the weekend is another drop so hence the ‘begging you for sheep fleece’.

It may have taken several months but Fearghus (left) has finally learned some spatial awareness skills. That’s right, he has only just learned to put his head through the feeding barrier and I have the picture to prove it. Now, Renoir the bull (centre) and Dryope the matriarch (right) quickly learned this trick as soon as a bucket of nuts was placed on the opposite side of the barrier. Fearghus has a slight disadvantage in that the angle of his horns means he needs to turn his head a wee bit more but nothing that would make a circus act or the Guinness Book of World Records. Generally all our Shetland cows show awareness of working with their horns so no special feeders are required. Cue Fearghus. A muppet since birth when it took three men to teach him where his food came from after several desperate, unsuccessful hours of me trying (reflection showed I needed more brute force at the time). He has never shown the intelligence of his  counterpart Fionghall but he has always managed. Until, that is, we got a locking feed barrier in the byre and his lack of awareness shone brightly.

So, as the top two of the hierarchy chomped through nuts, Fearghus would do two things. He would either become the dancing queen behind them and thus ensuring the remaining cows became his back up dancers. Or he took his cue from the comedian Michael MacIntyre and would constantly pace back and forth ensuring no other cow got a chance of getting to the barrier.

And no, I did not gently wisper sweet words to him to show him the way of turning his head. I used an energy bucket, nuts and mutterings. My delight at him eventually getting his head through was short lived. He had to get it back out before one of the other two finished and demanded his bucket (pecking order definently exists in cows as well as chickens and the cows can be ruthless if they want to be). Thankfully, he remembered the head shake, back and forth we went several times before I decided he could defend himself if need be.

Guess the next thing will be teaching him to sit and beg for his bucket…