(MAYBE NOT TO BE TAKEN LITERALLY)
The great day dawned, BBC forecast was consulted over coffee and the edict handed down that rig of the day was sexothane and wellies.
Breakfast over we headed out to location Alpha where the youngstock were checked and counted before proceeding to the Heath Robinson Steading where the Farmer expressed some disappointment that the Dexters had taken it upon themselves to sample the wrapped haylage which they had never bothered before, in a quest to find the best bale in the stack they had opened 17, Some Blessings were Called Down Upon their Heads.
Gates were opened and a bag of feed shown, the more gullible fell for it – the less gullible did not and headed for the exit. The Farmer and the Farm Manager set off in pursuit, since they were wearing oilskins and wellies and the cattle were not the humans found the going somewhat heavy and it is fair to say the cattle made much better progress than the Farmer and the FM however after a couple of laps of the field the cattle decided that honour was satisfied and they would come quietly now.
Once all the cows and calves were corralled the gates were realigned and it was time to get Hamish in from his Secure Paddock. Hamish has not been in the Blonde Secretary’s good books since a fortnight on Sunday past when she arrived to do a quick stock check before retiring to Sunday papers and coffee and found Hamish Next Door together with 50 or so shapely but somewhat young heifers. While contemplating the options available Next Door’s other half showed up and similarly expressed her disappointment at finding a bull amongst her heifers, since both parties had been hoping for a quiet Sunday with coffee and papers it was decided to consult Next Door via mobile (for once both involved parties had a signal at the same time and an actual conversation could be had). Next Door opined that last year’s nice Dexter calf was Quite Enough to be Going On With and it would really, really be appreciated if Hamish could be removed from the shapely (if young) heifers as soon as could practically be achieved. (I’m paraphrasing here).
Fortunately Next Doors missus had a float on the back of her pickup with a quad bike inside the float so after the FM had been summoned to assist (another quiet Sunday gone west, the Farmer being in the centre of the North Sea) the bull was cut out from amongst the shapely heifers and turned down the road. Visit Scotland seem to have missed a trick in failing to appreciate the tourist interest developed inside campervans by the sight of half a ton of Dexter coming down the public road at a pace that would leave Usain Bolt gasping in admiration to be faced with a BS brandishing a piece of blue pipe and uttering blood curdling threats as to what would happen to him if he did not turn into the pen like a nice bull. Thankfully no cyclists were attempting to pass at the time.
An Edict came down that Hamish was remaining in a Secure Paddock until further notice. Anyway I digress – the rattle of an empty bag and some bellowing from the cows brought Hamish in no bother but the immediate curl of a top lip gave fair warning of things to come.
Since we now had 28 cows and followers in the Heath Robinson Steading and only room for 8 or so in the crush pen it was time for a bit of a sort out. The term steading implies an organised area with gates and secure pens but this one is not really like that – there are gates - most of which were once straight- but there is also heavy reliance on binder twine (if you are not sure what binder twine is then ask your parents) and the odd pallet here and there.
It was about this time it started to rain, there are of course varying degrees of rain starting with drizzle and progressing through to hurricane Hannah/ Irma. Suffice to say that every sensible troot in Galloway headed for the nearest bridge to get shelter.
It’s not easy focusing on eartag numbers in a mob of black steamy cattle in a downpour but the job was done and all the wanted cattle plus Hamish split off from the rest along with a recently calved cow and calf which the BS wanted to tag. Like many notable cows in small herds the cow in question has a pet name as well as a double barrelled pedigree, her pet name is Psycho, a diplomat would call her strongly maternal. It was around now that the cows kept in noted that their calves were not present and a certain amount of bellowing ensued, the shed next door to the pen helpfully echoed this bellowing just in case we missed it the first time.
The farmer floated the opinion that this tagging job might be better left for another day to avoid undue stress. This was immediately voted down by the other parties on the grounds that the farmer was leaving for Brazil tomorrow and would therefore miss all the fun if the calf was not tagged today. A voice was heard to mutter under the bellowing “He bought the bitch – he can tag it”.
A Risk Assessment was therefore carried out and a ring feeder dropped over the (pretty lively) calf and the Farmer and FM entered the feeder with a set of tags and pliers. Sadly the BS was too busy laughing at the sight of two grown men and a calf in a ring feeder being bulldozed around a concrete yard in the pouring rain to the accompaniment of a bunch of bellowing cows (with soprano from the calves outside), one of them clutching the calf by the scruff of the neck with one hand and a bit of blue pipe in t’other (just in case she comes over the top), while the other party has a hold of a lug and a pair of pliers. The calf it has to be said was a strenuously reluctant participant, soaking wet and as has been said, pretty lively, keen to exit the feeder and see her ma. It had also been under a coo’s tail at the wrong moment if you follow me. So no video was made of the proceedings, much to the relief of all parties. Anyway eventually the ring feeder got bulldozed into a corner and sufficient stability achieved to apply the tag, however the male tag failed to engage properly with the female and one tag fell off the pliers. The Farmer expressed his Disappointment at this turn of events, however the tag was duly and successfully re-applied and the ring feeder lifted to allow mum and daughter to be reunited albeit with feathers distinctly ruffled all around.
That task having been accomplished the kettle was duly put on and thoughts turned to the whereabouts of the Assessor, as the appointed time came and passed it was clear that he was going to be late. It was about this time that Hamish decided he had been neglecting his conjugal duties for too long and took what the BS regarded as somewhat unfair advantage of a cow in a crowded pen. The opinion was voiced that if this rain did not put him off he was unlikely to be dissuaded by any thoughts of fairness and just pray that the pen can stand the pressure.
After some time with still no Assessor in sight the BS set off home “to see if he has phoned the hoose”. It continued to rain and a second cup was brewed. Since no sign of the assessor was apparent the Farmer and the FM set off to collect an electric fence and install it around the haylage bales. Halfway across and during a particularly nasty line squall the Farmers mobile phone told him that he had 4 missed calls and a voicemail message, much pushing of buttons (and some blessings on operating wet touchscreens in a downpour) resulted, eventually it became clear that the Assessor was lost – since he gave no clue as to his whereabouts this was not something that could be cured and attempts to phone him back went straight to voicemail.
Not too long later the landrover returned with the BS and was followed by a saloon car containing the Assessor, introductions and apologies all around while the assessor hurriedly donned oilskins and wellies and the site was assessed.
All went reasonably for a while – the BS was tucked away in the shed next to the crush with cattle records and the assessor was back and forward to get details and cows came forward in turn to have eartags read (again), tag number shouted across to BS and details relayed to assessor before being turned out on to the concrete for assessment. The bellowing and echoing made a certain degree of repetition inevitable, and release on to the concrete seemed to increase the bellowing by quite a few decibels. The judicious placing of some hay into a rack in the shed by the BS helped to tone things down a bit but only temporarily. 88s 84s and some 80s were recorded with one 78
Then Hamish got his second wind as it were and there was a bit of a delay in bringing the next cow forward. When this was queried there was a somewhat forceful complaint from inside the pen that it was not easy to focus on eartags with a bull’s whatsit in your left lug!
This situation resolved itself in not too long a time (although some fairly adept footwork was required in the pen) and eventually we got down to only Hamish remaining in the pen. He was duly brought forward and a technical issue reared its head – his neck was too big for the crush. This of course presented no real issue since all that was necessary was to lock the front doors and put the backing bar in behind him – or it would not have been an issue if anyone had any idea where the backing bar actually was. A bit of ingenuity with a cattle hurdle pin solved that issue and the assessor stated that he was finished in the crush (Man Alive those would not go amiss at Murrayfield!)
Since the cows were going one way and Hamish another (back to his secure paddock) the assessor was asked to confirm that it was ok to release all the cattle and duly did so. Gates were set, the cows were reunited with their calves and a blissful silence ensued – you could actually hear the rain falling now.
Gates were reset and Hamish turned out into his secure paddock at which point the assessor remarked that he could not assess him if he was turned loose. The Farmer offered some fairly trenchant observations on the Necessity for Clarity in Communication, the assessor opined that he could see all he needed to see now in the field and a few minutes later a VG88 was confirmed to the confusion of the BS (How can that pot-bellied eejit score 88???)
Operations here now concluded it was time to relocate with beating windscreen wipers to position Bravo where a mixed collection of Luings, Angus and Dexters awaited. The Farmer positioned a bag of feed on the quad and shouted them in while heading for the pen all 50 followed including the 5 Dexters while the assessor and the BS waited at the pen tucked away unobtrusively. The assessor observed that he had never actually seen Luings before and edged forward for a closer look. The BS advised him that while the Luings were gullible the Dexters were not and were likely to view a stranger at the pen as a potential vet and act accordingly and it WOULD REALLY BE BETTER IF HE STAYED BACK.
The hint was taken and the gate successfully shut, quickly followed by a rapid sort out – not difficult to differentiate Dexters and Luings even if some of the Dexters are red. (The Farmer and the BS built this pen and most of the gates actually fit)
The 5 qualifying cows duly came forward and the surprise of the day turned out to be dear old Marigold – officially referred to as Langley End Marigold 2nd but not often given her full name. Marigold is Mature – she has had at least 10 and possibly 12 calves and looks out at the world with an air of weary resignation (and steadily champing jaws)
We never actually bought Marigold (although we did pay for her) and have never quite figured out the chain of events that united us but putting two and two together it all started with a typist in Carlisle we think! Marigold was in the catalogue as 2013 born but when she came into the ring Scott the auctioneer spotted that this could not be the case and put her back out, however it seems that the lot number on the board was not updated. At the time this was going on the BS was away getting coffee and the Farmer was on his own.
The next cow came in and after some bidding was knocked down to the Farmer. The BS having returned, on being told that she (the cow in the ring) had been bought duly put a tick and a price in her catalogue against the lot number on the board.
Other cows and calves came in – the Farmer bought some and was outbid on others, as some may recall lots did not come forward in catalogue order and there was a far degree of riffling back and forward through many catalogues.
Marigold was re-entered – The BS told the Farmer that he had already bought that cow – Scott was interrupted in mid-flow – confusion reigned – poor old Marigold was turned out again.
Marigold came home with us and 6 of her herd mates, it is fair to say that in the intervening period there has been a certain degree of discussion as to why while trying to build a healthy herd of young breeding cattle we brought home a 13 year old. In particular the FM has taken the view that neither the Farmer nor the BS should be allowed near an auction ring unsupervised and under no circumstances can the two together be allowed out with a cheque book.
The assessor scored her at 90!
A voice (soto voce) offered the opinion that perhaps his specs needed cleaning!
Final Scores:-
- Boo Moonbeam 83
Boo Misty 82
Eagleridge Rozzamin 84
Boin Katy 84
Whalton Manor Connie 85
Whalton Manor Sheila 88
Whalton Manor Astonia 88
Whalton Manon Teresa 88
Nithsdale Artemis 78
Bay Rigg Rowan 84
Eagleridge Eccles 88
Langley End Marigold 2 90
Ashdown Graham 88