Mrs Down's Diary - February 10

A TIME of joy and sorrow. The first calves born. And the first to die.

Calving started so confidently. A super pair of twins born to an old cow.

She had had twins a few years ago and the strong calf died and we still have her other calf.

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Remarkably, after more than two years, it is still not fit for market. Probably on reflection the canniest calf on the farm and not the slow coach we have always dubbed him.

It is Freddie, the calf that needed hand rearing for months and months, then would not be weaned and then needed a pen on his own as he could not fend for himself amongst all the other boisterous calves.

The twin calves born last week were super.

One however after the first day was obviously not thriving or getting on the cow fast enough.

His stronger brother was pushing him out and Mum was getting that she did not want to know either.

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To forestall any problems John took some of her milk off her and tube fed the weaker calf. But next morning he lay dead.

Curled up next to his brother as if fast asleep. But sleeping the sleep that does not wake.

John and I were both devastated. The calf looked perfect, but something could not have been right.

But more have come along and although there have not been anymore twins, neither have we had any more fatalities.

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I was surprised to hear a chorus of baas when I got out of the car last night.

As it is cold I am parking under the big shed opposite the house.

With the cows in close proximity the windows on the car do not ice up, but I do have a bit of a slippy slidy walk over to the farmhouse if it is really frosty.

The baas came from a pen full of sheep.

The last of last year's lambs.

They too were not thriving.

Despite daily feeds of hay, the cold weather has just pulled them back and John wants them fit and off the farm before we start with this year's lambing.

Pip, our Labrador pup is fascinated by them. Too much so.

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She stands and barks and they huddle together and stamp their feet at her. Stalemate.

Nell the sheepdog could not care less. Since we installed a pig lamp over her kennel all she wants to do is curl up and snooze away in the warmth.

Occasionally we see a long black and white nose peep out, but it soon pops back again into her kennel if she thinks she might have some serious work to do.

This summer we shall be looking for another sheepdog puppy.

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We should have got one last year but Pip usurped that sequence.

Pip will love a new friend though. Holly, who is now about eight years old, always looked so fast and fit when Meg was alive, and now struggles to keep up with the rough and tumble that Pip demands of a game.

Another puppy will restore the balance.