A bird in the hand

November is a prime sport shooting month. We're shooting pheasant and partridge three times a week on the estate. I work three dogs per day, in rotation, so each one gets enough exercise balanced out with enough down-time to recoup physically and mentally. On non-shooting days, the dogs nap in their kennels or enjoy a knuckle bone each from the butcher's.

I'm equal parts proud and amazed at the stamina and drive of working dogs, most of which is bred into them. Training simply directs their natural instinct towards something that, hopefully, benefits both dog and handler. I thought a short video might show this better than a wordy description from me.

Here, Spud, Dulcie, and Pip are searching for a wounded partridge. I know it came down in these woods, but I can't see where. However, their noses are perfect for finding lost birds in thick cover. The 'Get On' command means go forward. The 'Get in!' command means hit the cover and have a look - something none of these dogs need much encouragement to do. Spaniels especially are happiest rootling around in the bushes.

Spud's delivery isn't perfect but she makes up for it with her work ethic. She never leaves anything un-picked and always returns to me with every treasure. And that's a red-legged partridge for the bag.

Lest you think we're into shooting and completely over the sheep dramas - how does a maggot-infested scrotum sound? The lamb didn't like it much either. The foster ram was laying down too often and starting to walk with a stiff-legged gait. I caught him up and when I turned him over, saw that the castration ring wasn't doing its job properly, and there was a hole in his groin teeming with maggots and infection.

As an aside, I think it goes without saying that you should never read this blog when you are eating.

My recent failures experiences in lambing left me well-prepared. I removed the maggots one at a time with a pair of pliers, worked surgical scrub into the wound, and gave a heavy dose of strep antibiotic injected into the lamb's breast muscle (IM works faster than under the skin). I phoned our friend Terry the vet who happened to be on call that night. I drove the lamb to his house and, while I held the lamb on the workbench in his shed, he surgically severed the spermatic cords to finish the job, gave lamb a shot of painkiller, and praised my administered dose and method of antibiotics. A small but much-needed salve to my ego.

Two days on and foster lamb looks great. He's getting more nimble and therefore harder for me to catch him to finish his course of injections. That's where I'm headed now, right after I put our partridges in the oven for dinner.

Working Dogs are known for their stamina

And here's the exception to that rule. Pip only worked one day this week.

Today is the official start of pheasant season in England, and it's not been an auspicious one. It was cancelled due to inclement weather. The guns were here to shoot partridge, but the rain and winds are so ferocious that it would be unfair to the quarry. Partridge are small birds, and ours have been rained on all night. Thankfully the guns were able to reschedule.

In all the time I've been working on this shoot, I've never known a cancelled day. The only weather that will stop a pheasant is fog or snow. Both will cause a pheasant to lose its bearings in flight, and can result in an exhausted bird falling dead to the ground. Rain is the keepers friend. Pheasants don't wander far in the rain, so you're sure to find them where you put them.

I won't be wandering far from home either. And I can get on with making some apple chutney before the winds knock down what's left on my apple tree. I can't make any blackberry jam as the 1st October is also an inauspicious day for blackberries. According to local lore, the devil spits on them after today (or, if you're from Cornwall, the devil pees on yours.) Though, it would be fun to have jam labelled 'Blackberry & Devil Spit' in the pantry.

Apple Chutney bubbling on the stove

Partridge season

The partridge season is excellent this year. Our unusually hot, dry summer suited these little birds and they've grown on well. They're strong on the wing and very fast. It's been challenging for the guns. It's hard to spot the bird in the photo (upper left corner, if you need a hint) -

It's so high that I couldn't get the gun and his target in the photo at the same time -

The pictures aren't going to win any prizes for composition, but I hope they give you an idea of how high these birds are. If you add the fact that each bird is travelling about 30 miles per hour, and turning on the wind, you can see how difficult it is to bring down your quarry. One good shot stays with you for a lifetime.

A red-legged (or French) partridge

The head keeper's job is to make the birds perform. Each drive brings its own set of worries to plague Mike -

That's his best 'worried keeper' look. I see that pose a lot during the winter. This is a new drive and he's probably contemplating everything that could possibly go wrong.

The dogs are glad of the work.

I know, they look attentive and even well-trained. But this is the first drive, on their first day out of this season. When I let them off the leads, they were like the proverbial headless chickens. They covered every square inch of that field doing nothing constructive, just burning off a summer's worth of pent-up spaniel energy. By the third drive they were calm enough that I wasn't shouting expletives at them. By the last drives, they were hunting the cover and cleaning up, making some lovely retrieves.

Even though it's too hot to be a hard-working spaniel, Dulcie and Jazzie manage to keep cool by throwing themselves into every available trough or puddle. They love their jobs and between drives the two dogs are overcome with the joys of it all, and roll about on the grass, tongues lolling -

Still on their leads, of course -

Spud came out for a half day last week, and she's enjoying it every bit as much. She starting to mature, physically and mentally, though she's always going to be a small flatcoat. A petit pomme de terre.

Her training sessions are getting longer. I fit them in between my daily baking jobs. It used to take the same amount of time as chilling pastry. Now her sessions take as much time as the first proofing of a home made loaf of bread. We're taking our time to get the basics right (Spud I mean, not my bread). She retrieved four fantastic partridge on her first day out, and she's staying steady when birds are dropping, unlike two spaniels I could mention.

From a small girl to a couple of big ones: both ewes appear to be in lamb and boy are they showing -

For comparison: Pregnant ewe on the left, next to the youngster (not for the ram until next year).

Their teats are starting to drop and they could be due as early as the 8th October. Unfortunately for the ewes, this is my first time lambing as well as theirs. I praying for easy births, a ewe lamb from each, and no complications. They say a good shepherd looks at his flock expecting the worst and hopes he won't find it. I don't think the sheep are that pessimistic.

Mike will make a final check on the sheep and horses tonight, before he goes to bed. He's had to sleep at the Manor these last couple nights, for security reasons, so I've got two large dogs putting his side of the bed to good use. He's just slipped out of the house now thinking I wouldn't notice. I know he's off to collect a couple of lobsters from a fisherman friend of his, as a treat for my birthday tomorrow. I'm practicing my 'surprised face' as I write this.

I made myself a birthday apple pie with a mix of homegrown and foraged apples. We're spending what looks like a crisp sunny autumn day in Exmoor (Lorna Doone country) with a couple of dogs walking the moors, looking through our binos for red deer and drinking coffee out of a flask. I half considered spending it at the local gun shop shooting clays, but that's where we spent our honeymoon. We save that kind of romance for our anniversary.

Chicks - continued

The chicks keep coming. We had our third hatch yesterday, pheasant and partridge - 3 down, 6 to go. We had students from the local gamekeeping college participate in yesterday's hatch as part of their training. Not all gamekeepers hatch their own stock as it's a specialised task, so students don't get many opportunities to get involved in the production of the birds. They guys did a great job and were a big help.

A tray of chicks ready to be sorted and counted

Giving a hand to a late partridge chick

And a late pheasant chick - they're so strong you can simply tip them out of their shell

This is how they look when they're dried off and ready to go into a warm shed -

Pheasant (L) and Partridge (R)

Partridge chicks are especially cute -

I drove our pheasant hatch - all 5,507 of them - to a game farmer who will raise them for us and return them when they're around 10 weeks old. We can't physically raise them all on the estate as we're short on staff this year. Hence why I'm loaded to the gunwales to drive the 1 1/2 hours to Exmoor with a truckful.

There's just enough room to see out the side mirror and shift gears. 5,507 chicks also make a considerable amount of noise which wears somewhat on a long trip. I had to take an exam and get a special license to transport poultry. They never mentioned the noise. 

Mike now tells me I'm supposed to deliver 7000 next week. Where are we going to put them?

We've had more chicken chicks at home too, like these lavender Pekins -

A third one hatched the next day and all 3 are doing fine under the other Barbu D'Uccle hen (who really deserves a name...)

Susan's chicks have just started getting big enough and bold enough to come out from under her and explore -

But they're still too small to get up and down that ledge between the house and the run, so mom's staying put for now. They're 2 japanese bantam chicks. I'm praying that at least one is a hen so Sam the cockerel will have a mate, and I can have more chicks next year just like these.

There's only one more chicken hatch in the incubators at home; I can hear the machine ticking behind me while I write. I have one broody left and I hope she'll still be inclined to take whatever hatches out. She's been sat a long time already.

My crow traps are still catching on average one per day. I'm running 4 traps, and I've just started feeding a bin in order to start trapping some grey squirrels. I still have a magpie trap in the garden which hasn't caught anything in over a week but I'm loathe to move it as the chickens seem to find the magpie fascinating -

That old brown hen is there all the time. She watches the magpie jump up and down, from ground to perch and back, like she was watching a tennis match. I wonder if it's like TV and she'll ruin her eyes sitting that close.

Checking the traps is also a good excuse to walk in the woods with the dogs. It's bluebell season and the woods are a carpet of flowers -

Spud is helping me check traps (sort of)-

I'm 13 months old as of yesterday (mom finally got around to looking at my birth certificate)

The bluebells come up so fast that it's a good opportunity to check where the deer are moving; their paths are really obvious and you can be sure they're still using them if the bluebells have been too disturbed to grow -

I found a dead mole on this morning's walk -

I took a picture in case you've never seen a mole up close before. Something killed it by biting it and crushing its ribs (CSI: Woodlands). Look at the size of its front feet. The disturbing thing is that this is a burrowing animal that digs tunnels in the dirt and its nails are still cleaner than mine.

Pheasant Season

CAUTION - Vegetarians & Vegans might want to skip this post.

Pheasant season opened yesterday. Pheasants are our 'main crop' and we shot our first pheasant day of the season today.

Most teams this early in the year will still concentrate on shooting partridge, and occasionally select a nice long-tailed cock pheasant to shoot, if it happens overhead. And dogs prefer to pick up partridge over pheasants. Perhaps they smell more appealing, or perhaps they're smaller and easier to carry. I don't know.

Jazz and Dulcie picked up these 3 brace on one drive -

It's still a bit warm and that tired them out more than the work.

The weather's on the change from the prolonged dry and sunny period, which I have been immensely grateful for, to cold and drizzly which Mike will appreciate as it makes the birds fly better, and therefore makes it harder for the guns to hit them. More sporting, you see. The guns buy a certain number of birds per day. This constitutes 'the bag'. E.g. a 200 bird day would mean 200 birds hung up on the back of the truck by the day's end, with a leeway of 10% either way. Today should have been 200 but we overdid it a bit and the final bag was 271. The guns pay for the extra, called 'overage'.

Not all teams make their bag. The team only get so many chances to shoot at the birds. If they fire an acceptable number of cartridges and can't hit the birds, then they're still considered to have shot their bag. It's a generous percentage - for every 1 bird you are allowed 6 cartridges. That means if, on the 200 bird day, your team fires 1,200 but doesn't kill all 200 birds, you have still reached your bag. It's uncommon not to kill your bag, but it does happen. But not today.

The keeper's job is to find the balance between giving the guns some sporting birds, but making them possible to hit. A pheasant can only fly in short bursts but can travel upwards of 30mph. With a good wind behind them, it can be a challenging target. The keeper can limit the guns 'window' for taking a shot by flying the pheasants over trees, or into a valley where the birds dip down as they fly. It's pretty good sport then. It's also why I can't take a decent picture of a pheasant flying over the guns - it simply looks like a speck in the sky. See?

Each gun wants to go home remembering that one impossibly high pheasant that they swung onto and killed stone dead in flight. The bird will gain 10 feet in altitude each time the story is re-told! There's a lot of precision and timing required by the keeper to show a good bird, and by the gun to hit it.

And by the dogs to retrieve it!

Pip and Hazel came out in the afternoon for a little practice. I hope they will be a team. So far it's going well and they work well together. You know, I never realised that dogs close their eyes when they drink, until I started taking pictures of them.

And the prize for the most antiquated work uniform goes to....

Thank you. Thank you. I accept this award on behalf of all my fellow serfs and servants. Yes we are wearing knee length trousers and knitted long socks with matching garters. The plaid is chosen by the estate and matching suits are made in London. The 'keepers get a new suit every other year, as stated in their contract of employment.

Mike and all the underkeepers have to wear the wool suit regardless of temperature, though yesterday the team allowed him to work without his jacket on. But he had to ask permission of the shoot captain. Etiquette, you know.

It's a bold fashion statement, but also functional. The wool is tough against the brambles and thorns encountered on shoot days. One of my wifely duties is to check his suit after every shoot day, and pull any threads back through that have caught on thorns, or darn any tears. It is a glamorous life.

The trousers are short so they don't chafe under long boots or, traditionally, leather gaiters worn to protect the lower leg. You may have heard the term 'plus twos' or 'plus fours'? It refers to the amount of overhang at the knee - 2 inches or 4 inches. The knee is cinched and the overhang directs water over the top of your boot or gaiters, not into it. The ones I'm wearing are actually riding trousers (too hot for wool, I don't have to ask permission) and have no overhang. On a rainy day the capillary action where the trouser meets the sock would mean I had wet feet by lunchtime. And because they're not as sturdy a material, I was patching a hole just the night before, on the inside thigh where I caught my backside going over a barbed wire fence.

But the day was beautiful, sunny and warm. Not the best weather for flying birds (has to do with position of the sun, barometric pressure, and the birds' tendencies to wander on nice days). But the team of guns were lovely, and keen on their first partridge day. Here's a picture of the guns lined out at a drive -
The birds will fly over their heads from right to left in this photo. Poor Lord M saw a bird late and by the time he raised his gun and pulled the trigger he was bent backwards; the recoil nearly sent him rolling down the hill. The same happened on the next drive and it did catch him out. I expect he's sore this morning.

The dogs are alert, watching birds and marking the ones that are hit -
Look at the concentration. We were posted in the woods, looking for stragglers. The woods were dappled and cooler, which both the dogs and I appreciated -
The dogs caught two birds - a pheasant and a partridge - both unharmed. And because these 2 spaniels have soft mouths, I could let them go again to fly another day. It's only good sportsmanship. I took a picture of the partridge as they are such attractive little birds up close -
I don't think she's impressed by the experience. The total bag for the day was 191 partridge, and the guns were happy. The partridge have already gone to the game dealer and are probably on their way to market in Belgium. A few went home with the beaters and pickers up for their suppers. More game is eaten on the continent than in England.

It was also my 40th birthday yesterday, and I had lots of cards and well wishing from friends and family. Mike bought me too many gifts as he always goes overboard, but it was thoughtful of him. I did get the sheep trailer of my dreams, and a jam funnel and thermometer. What more does any woman need?

He had to admit that he'd also bought me a flock of Shetland/Dorset cross sheep, but only after I'd surprised him with my news of the Gotlands that were arriving in Spring. So his sheep went back. But it was a nice thought. He has promised me he won't buy any more livestock as presents. I hope I can hold him to that!

Partridge & Pigs & Plums

Our partridges were delivered at 8.30 yesterday morning, and it was "all hands to the pump" to finish the pens. I ran ahead to secure the pens, tying up nets and blocking any partridge-sized escape holes. The boys followed behind filling them with partridges. We were done pretty quickly, and it was back to ours for some well earned fried egg sandwiches (thank you chickens!)

We left the new arrivals to settle in with minimal disturbance and used the 'free time' (what a blessed phrase that is...) to do some reconnaissance work. My 40th birthday is coming up this month (what a horrible phrase that it...) and I wanted to start the decade as I mean to go on, with a spirit of adventure. So Mike and I are planning to ride our horses from their stable to a little field we own about 10 miles away, camp overnight with dogs & horses, and ride them back to their stables the next day. It'll be the longest ride Mike's done since his accident but he assures me he's feeling up to it. I don't doubt it - he's as tough as they come.

We drove out the back roads and checked the map to get our bearings and make sure that bridle paths and rights of way were in usable shape.

We came across a little local traffic.

And just in case you didn't believe me that our roads were a little 'rustic' -

The horses are fit, the route is mapped; it all looks good for our trip. Now we just need a whole weekend of good weather between now and the end of the month, which is not as likely as it sounds. I suppose if I really had a spirit of adventure I would ride regardless of the rain.

On the way back we decided to pick some wild plums, which are in shorter supply than the sloes. We only know of one tree on the estate. While picking, Pete the underkeeper came by on his quad. He'd just seen a group of wild pigs on Slights Field (all the estate fields seem to have a name), and he was off home to get his gun. We couldn't resist the opportunity for wild pig meat meat, so I got my big rifle and joined him.

I say 'wild pig' instead of 'wild boar' because in this case it is domestic pigs that have broken free from a pig farm and become feral. You can tell the difference by color: pigs are usually a solid color and boar are striped. Wild boar and domestic pigs can breed and produce viable offspring, and the smell of a female domestic pig in oestrus will attract wild boar. The male (boar) will break through fences to get to her, then it's a free for all.

This little group had a great white sow (Moby Pig?) as its matriarch, and some slightly smaller ginger and dark pigs with her, and a litter of very small stripy boar piglets. Wild pigs or boar are jumpy and very difficult to stalk. They are on the move all the time; you have to shoot them when you see them or they're gone. It took us less than 10 minutes to get our guns and get to the field and they were already heading for the woods. We tried to split them and run them to where one of us could take a shot. No luck. That's pig shooting for you.

Here's a sign of pigs working a field. Small patches of the sward are turned over where they root for worms and small invertebrates with their snouts. Badgers will do this too, but on a much smaller scale.

Pete needed to feed his pheasant pens so I offered to stay behind in the high seat, in case they came through and I could get a shot.

I waited for an hour but saw nothing; I caught a lift back with Pete on the quad. On the way home we did see a beautiful roe doe. She probably had a youngster somewhere nearby. Had that been a buck, I would have had something for the freezer, but I have the memory of that graceful deer silhouetted against the hill. And a bucketful of wild plums for jam.