Easter in Dorset

We were sat around the kitchen table with our friends (and local farmers) Bridget and Dominic, demolishing another of Bridget's fantastic home made curries. As most of us are originally from "somewhere else",  the discussion rolled around to The British. I laughed when it was pointed out that, ever polite, the British stick to two inoffensive topics of conversation: the weather and the state of the roads. It hit me that my recent blog posts have covered both topics.

I wonder if that entitles me to dual citizenship?

Not to let readers down, I will give you the weather update: still zero degrees and windy, but dry. Finally. There was just so much rain! When I observed partridges pairing up, I wasn't sure if it was for breeding or if they thought someone was building an ark.

I have no update on the roads - they're still collapsed, but we're using them anyway.

However, the soil has dried out enough for me to start cultivating the vegetable patch, which is doubling as a turkey sanctuary and healing centre -

One of the turkeys ripped its toenail clean off, and prefers to sit and rest her sore foot rather than walk. The other turkeys and chickens kept pouncing on her, ever vigilant for a chance to bully the weak. So, Turkey got the blue spray treatment that I use on the sheep to fight any infection, and we keep each other company inside the safety and tranquillity of the vegetable cage.

At work and at rest

Podge is filling out. She looks like an overstuffed burrito now. I revamped the whelping box and put in Cocker pup-sized roll bars, so she won't squash her Podgelets. I let her inspect my craftsmanship -

Seems OK to both of us.

Easter was uneventful, save the daily routine of picking up pheasants' eggs which has finally started late due to - You guessed it! - weather conditions. Yesterday as I bent to fill my basket, I counted my ewes grazing the laying field and there was one extra. I counted again. Then, I noticed a set of horns on one of the ewes.

Not living in town, I don't walk by shops and look into display windows and think "Oh, I'd like that!". But I do drive by a field of Dorset sheep every day, and there are a few horned Dorsets among them (the Polled form was derived from the original horned Dorsets). Without thinking, I mentioned to Mike how much I liked the look of those horned ewes, and for Easter, that's what I got-

Every new arrival gets christened sooner or later. Well, you can imagine what the boys named the only horned sheep in the flock. I was affronted on her behalf, so decided to give her a fancypants show name to make up for it. I christened her Hortense Cornucopia. The boys immediately burst out laughing and came up with an even worse nickname: Horny Corny. I rolled my eyes. 'Boy humour' is an acquired taste.

Now, to be safe and protect what's left of both our dignities, I simply call her 'New Sheep'.

We had an Easter bunny, too -

They're in season now, and in good condition. Nearly a pound of boneless meat came from that chap.