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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.

In my car, I’ll be the driver. Or so it is according to Twain. But I don’t think Shania lives on a croft and writes her songs in regard to preparing tea with supervision from a toddler and a baby not sleeping. But when you realise 30 mins before tea that your kale is still in the veg plot, the carrots are still in the raised bed, and you have two hungry boys to try and feed, what do you do? You take the quickest and safest route (really, believe me; it honestly is the safest solution when you don’t have enough bubble wrap, any baby monitor or prison cells for a two year old).

Answer for the kale collection? Two boys bundled into a pick up, driven the short distance to the veg garden, and then left in while I nip out to cut kale while humming something more attuned to a Christmas Carol than Shania Twain due to swirling snow (or if I was a newspaper journalist, a battling blizzard).

And yes, while doing that I had a Minj Crofter/wannabe world’s quickest button pusher/driver. Picture F1 pit stops, but the guys need to learn to collect a bowl of kale and nothing to do with wheel changing. Because for me, speed is of the essence. Not to do with the value of the veg, or the raging snow storm (hello snowflake Stanley), but because, the longer you are gone the more buttons have been utilised. Air conditioning at full blast, radio on maximum volume, hyperventilating wiper blades, oh, and don’t forget the hazard lights are on. Grand, just grand. Restore calm before explaining that all buttons are for the driver; because, in my car, I’ll be the driver!

Last year, some may remember that Renoir attempted to jump a gate; he wasn’t successful. As you can see.

Welcome to the Ren-gate scandal of 2018 and the consequences.

An unturned water trough and several bricks helped lift his back legs up enough to get him over and succeed in woeing Hilda.

And his romancing seemed to have worked as Hilda has been showing signs that he was succeful. I just would like it if she can hold on until the Crofter gets home.

The count down is on.

The Micro Crofter’s arrival coincided with the byre getting mucked out. Aromatic whaffs slowly drifted down the glen as the cooler, winter air inhibited some of the more pungent smells that have been laying dormant under a blanket of fresh straw. Never mind, as the muck matures, the heap soon flattens out to provide well rotted manure; a high value substance for the polytunnel, raised beds, orchard and veg garden.

It was soon after this that we hit a hiatus with croft work. A typical Friday but the Micro Crofter at two weeks old was doing a good impersonation of a grunting pig. And as evening fell, his breathing appeared to be making him work. And that doesn’t look good to a nurse. We may believe in working hard but we do give exceptions to some, such as newborns. So, the Crofter rang NHS 24. Lo and behold, they wanted to check on a two week old with breathing difficulties. And with that it was deemed that the Micro would go in to town with the Crofter and leave me at home with the Mini Crofter.

Their trip to town didn’t just become a late night. After being seen by an out of hours GP, they were admitted to the children’s ward to monitor the Micro overnight. And this is when you realise how much difference there is between animal health and the NHS. While payment is made just to call a vet out, pound coins magically slip from your grasp the longer the vet is on your turf. Then add the cost of medication if required. The NHS shows the other side and it was a weekend like this that make you want to ensure all involved get the thanks. The staff and service at Raigmore Hospital was top notch.

From being a nurse, it can often seem that all you hear about regarding your place of work is what’s wrong, failures and inadequacy. However, the media may like to pull out the muck and spread it around. But the understanding of it is rarely touched upon. Sometimes issues raised can be useful, but other times it seems it does more damage than what the journalists and complainers realise. The background to the issue is rarely raised. It is as if people complain about our muck heap without having any understanding as to why it smells and how it came about. It may stink but we ensure the cows have fresh bedding by regularly putting in a bale of straw. Yes, they may be inside in a byre but I’m tucked up in our house more in winter.

So, to NHS Highland, thank you to all the staff and the service you provided the Micro. To all walkers passing by, take a good, deep breath of the the muck heap, and as you smell the ‘fresh air’ remember the NHS, for all its issues, we can still be thankful.