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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…

While the festive season comes to a close, the tune ‘O Christmas Tree’  comes to mind while gazing at the back of our pick-up. Although our ‘plastic’ tree is red and decorated with green ratchet straps rather than tinsel, I can say ours came about as of necessity and not any cultural pressure.

A wee trip into church today turned into a white knuckle ride on the first mile and a half to reach the council road as control of the vehicle was lost at two points as it slid towards the ditch (don’t think little gutter at the side of the road but more of the drop at Niagra Falls). A ditch where the neighbour’s tractor spent several weeks after being taken too close for the view (to be fair, he was ploughing snow at the time which makes it very hard to judge edges when everything is under two feet of snow). I however, could visibly see the drop to the flowing water below as the pick-up cozied up to the edge and decided that the snow chains were a must to make the trip home. Snow chains that I have never used nor have I ever seen snow chains on a vehicle.

Upon reaching church, talent scouting was in order and with the help of two of the men, had seen the task completed. However, one of the men (another Crofter) pointed out that Icould improve it further by putting weight in the back. After swinging by his place and securing in six sheep energy buckets, off we head home with our festive green and red in the back (we being the Mini Crofter, his Aunt and myself…the Crofter is as usual away).

At the end of the road out came the tinsel chains (whoever makes snow chains must have a sense of humour making the inner connectors red and green). While putting them on I did mutter that no car better come down the road in summer tyres with all the effort we were doing. And yes, I was in a dress and boots, but leather brown boots are easy swapped and any clothing can be worn with waterproof trousers.

So, the ride home was more of a slow cruise than a white knuckle ride. I finally have some festive decorations that I will take down/return once the ice clears and I will continue always throwing in my wellies and waterproofs on a trip regardless of where I’m going.

Now, how many uses can I make out of an energy bucket in 2018?

Thought Tiger Mums were over ambitious? Just wait till you meet the Crofting Mum, similar but not in the same category as the aspiring Beethoven/Genius type.

That’s right, it’s December and Mini Crofter has been put into a t-shirt to help toughen him up for the Crofter coming home and turning off the heat.

While he shows potential in bouldering and climbing overhangs from the age of 10 months, his mother puts down no crash mats (life can be painful boy, learn it young) and makes him do it in tights (hey, if you’re the next Billy Elliot you’ll need to learn to pirouette in tights). Now, at what age can he be given the responsibility of checking the coolant and emptying radiators in tractors…?

He is picking up the basics of foraging (rice cakes from the floor are obviously tastier than the table varieties and are much more edible than the hay or chicken muck Mum traipsed in).

No, my ambition is not that he climbs Everest, just does he have the potential for crofting (sometimes seem very similar although I have no Serpa and I have no champagne bottle to enjoy at the end of the day).

Ahh, the poor boy; rural, over ambitious mother! If only he had a TV or a mother who could score a point on Radio 2’s Pop Master…

(N.B., I do realise that most people have already figured out my sense of humour although I now anticipate Social Workers at my door tomorrow, which is fine, I’d like to shift the calves and sheep to the rough field and could do with a hand. If anyone would like to report me can you tell them to pitch up with wellies…?

As the gentle flakes begin to fall, the mini crofter snoozing quietly on the decking, the gentle mooing from the byre, the rising smoke on a cold morning…and with the black smoke from the tractor comes the smell of burning rubber as I jump ship before getting and hay to the cows.

So the tractor is abandoned to look all Christmassy in the snow. The thought of heaving wee bales isn’t so bad compared to sitting in a smoking tractor (hopefully it is just a fever and not a cardiac arrest in motor terms).

Being a crofting wifie means being an expert in many things. Basics in tractors yes, smoking tractors no, I leave that job to the Crofter. Three days till he is due home. It’s going to be a long three days. Until then it will be tossing wee bales.