Strange time, Midsummer…..

today was the longest day; yet it might also as well have been the longest night, such was the chill in the air & the inhospitable darkness cast by a pall of shadowy mist, over the Ffarm.  The fretful Welsh weather has turned angry & has balefully sent us four seasons to endure, in only a single day; as a chilly winters’ morning gave way to a brief burst of hopeful spring sunshine; enjoying an hours’ balmy warmth but followed abruptly by sharp, stinging showers & over the mountains of Pembrokeshire a chilly, foreboding mist whose clammy, penetrating fingers persisted in spite of the ever-gusting wind. 

It affected our mood, too.  A day intended to be spent in companiable solidarity, supporting Carmarthenshire’s annual County Show (especially today, dogged as it was by bad weather & despite the distinct lack of goat classes in the livestock competition), was shelved in favour of stony silence & the drudgery of solitary chores on my part. 

Furred & feathered friends have moved in mysterious, restless ways: at dawn, the skies were oddly silent; the usual cacophany of chirruping chorus of songbirds which soars throughout the early morning valley perhaps whipped away by the lonely keening of the wind; or it seems, simply, ominously silent…..

And even our capricious goats set to; squabbling & fighting, from the moment the barn doors were opened. This evening I narrowly avoided injury from a hoof in the face as an over-excited individual clamoured for some supper; & the sheep pushed past me from Caravan Corner to Parc Tu ol Ty, nervous & anxious about hidden hedgerow demons.  The horses too, had the wind in their tails; & the ponies pirouetted & pranced in the confines of their spacious stable as I struggled to muck out yesterday’s already-churned bedding & replace it with today’s fresh-scented straw & shavings.

Even our dear dog stayed, subdued, in the confines of her kennel (highly unusual); the geese were nervous; the chickens, restless with Mother Superior hurrying her brood into an early bed; & the clumsy, tardy ducks themselves even unwilling to venture forth from their comfortable housing.  

And at the ‘witching hour’ the cats spat & squabbled at seemingly empty air…..what is it, about today?  Midsummer “madness”, indeed…?!

Yet admittedly, we proved no better.  Tony was in no mood to be goaded; & when I apparently said the ‘wrong thing’, in an instant he was as furious & dangerous as a wounded wild boar….strange day, indeed.   

At least we have the comfort that Froggie’s new home is wonderful; & her attentive carer a kind, gentle man who will give her all the love & attention we could possibly desire, for one of our lovely ladies - which was warm comfort, on what has proved to be a cold & inhospitable, worrisome day.

And, oh!  How the pretty foxgloves flaunt their mocking, ‘bella-donna‘ fateful flower-dance, regardless, from every anxious, storm-tossed hedgerow hollow…..

A day to remember?  A day to forget.

Well - how indeed….?!

Not by putting on an Andrew Lloyd-Webber style talent show, that’s for sure; but more by fretting as to why one of our most favorite & highly prolific milking goats was decidedly “under the weather” when I opened the parlour for business, this morning…. 

As ever, she was straining at the gate for breakfast with everyone else; but rather than lingering after concluding the communal (& after Assie’s untimely acidosis-attributed demise, decidedly light) meal, she extricated a big nest of hay from our gargantuan rack & then settled therein, to contentedly munch - at least, initially. 

But as my work in the parlour progressed she grew ever-more lethargic yet ever-more vocal in her standard nagging volley of “you’re-late-for-work &/or not-working fast/efficiently enough” complaints.  Casting my mind back to the previous evening I recalled she’d spent a fair bit of the standard pre-milking routine, splendidly recumbant - although I’d assumed this was as a result of exhaustion.  Basically, the goats had been forced to remain inside for a few days owing to heavy rain after they’d enjoyed a couple of weeks’ frolicking in the sunshine on our verdant Spring pasture. 

Their subsequent confinement coupled with the unseasonable humidity had made them ill-tempered; so they’d taken to quarrelling & fighting amongst themselves.  Thus initially I’d put Armeria’s behaviour down to her usual querulous nature, assuming she’d been indulging in a few severe bouts of typically fractious fighting.

It increasingly became apparent this was not the case however owing to miniscule but nonetheless telltale indications, in her behaviour:  I know & love every one of our girls & can pick up in an instant when something might be even only slightly wrong.  On the stand, Armeria typically shovelled down the first few mouthfuls of grub - then some unspecified discomfort evidently overwhelmed her normally robust appetite.  She was milking her standard, bountiful yield; but her coat was ever-so-slightly ’staring’ (i.e. not blooming with typically healthy gloss as the tips of her coat were standing slightly but perceptibly, on end); & she appeared to be ‘tucked up’ (slightly hunched & for such a robustly healthy goat, appearing abnormally thin).  I took her temperature & the thermometer registered 38.5°C, about a degree lower than is normal for a typically healthy goat.  Her udder however proved as warm as ever to the touch & her eyes were bright & inquisitive with respiration & pulse, all within normal parameters.

Preferring to err on the side of caution I immediately put a nice warm rug on her & she trotted happily behind me to the isolation pen, where I furnished her with a thick bed of fresh straw, a wedge of the goats’ most appetizing hay & two buckets of water - one clear & tepid with a dash of cider vinegar to stimulate appetite; the other warm, with a glucose/molasses mixture to tempt her to drink & give her metabolism a boost.  I also brought her an evidently welcome supply of her favourite treat - willow branches - which apart from stimulating her appetite would also act as a natural painkiller as they are essentially aspirin in herbal form.  To that I added a bunch of fresh dandelion leaves to act as a mild diuretic, as she was passing normal faeces but I hadn’t seen her urinate for a while. 

Rather than tucking herself quietly into the straw as I expected her to however, she seemed fascinated & indeed animated by her new environment, exploring thoroughly & telling me all about it with little caprine ‘comments’ throughout. 

All was well until I exited the stable…..

Basically the girls see me as Herd Matriarch; & my bond with Armeria is especially strong as shortly after she first arrived here, the stress of travelling & a new home meant she unfortunately contracted a mild ‘flu-like virus which required much TLC & a spell in the house beside the Rayburn with a few tenderly-administered bottles of warm milk.  For this reason she was nicknamed ‘Shadow’ as wherever we went thereafter, she was only ever a pace behind.  So she really wasn’t amused at my act of desertion, despite being able to hear other goats in the neighbouring stable.  I considered sending in another member of her group for company; however if what she’d contracted was infectious, that would be decidedly unwise. 

The alternative was Ginny - our poor old Virgin Queen (who, being barren, has only one use at present - as a faithful companion for our stud male, the inimitable Merson; & even that role has been usurped by one of our goaty guests here - Brian - who’s a charming chap if a bit short in the  *ahem* trousers department).  However, if Armeria was ailing the last thing I wanted was for her to start scrapping with less-familiar goats & possibly deteriorating as a result.   

So I gritted my teeth & left her to her own devices.  It soon became apparent that wasn’t a good idea, however; as her bawling distress echoed & re-echoed across the otherwse silent valley.  Sneaking a peak through the top half of the stable door I could see she was throwing herself around in fine style; much like a child having a severe tantrum.  Oh, dear…..

There was only one thing for it.

As soon as I entered the stable she transformed to being all sweetness & light; & was evidently delighted to see me.  I spent the next couple of hours tucked up in the straw beside her whilst whilst she contentedly munched hay beside me, muttering away amiably in Goatspeak; to which I of course replied (it’s a surpisingly complex language & even harder to master than Welsh, which at least involves pure vocal communication: in Goatspeak when you haven’t got a ridge of hair down your spine that you can make stand up on end when you’re cross/excited/cold; or ears that can be swept back, forwards or ‘middling’ to emphasise your mood [or, like a Tornado aircraft, to either increase or decrease the speed at which you fly down the valley...!] then you’re missing vital verbal weapons in your armoury.  But on a genial day-to-day basis, the girls & me; well, we get by…..)

So we had a peaceful ‘girlie’ afternoon, together; & the great thing about spending it with a female goat is that you can still enjoy a good ‘natter’ over a frothy cup of cappriccino coffee (far better - & fresher - than Starbucks, I can assure you!) - but it costs much less; & as there are no shops withn fifteen miles we didn’t even go shopping afterwards (although Armeria did seem very interested in the natty burgundy coat she was sporting - even insisting I try it on, as well….not quite designed to fit me as well as it does her, though!).

Alas, the appointed hour had arrived:  I could put it off, no longer…..the parlour had to be reopened for business as my (other) girls were complaining that it was suppertime & that their udders needed emptying so they could enjoy a good night’s sleep (must be similar to trying to snooze with a full bladder I suppose!). 

Opening the stable door I headed back to the herd, with Armeria trotting insistently at my heels.  I removed her rug & popped her on the stand (at which point she immediately guzzled the remains of her breakfast - so not much wrong there after all, then) & delicately took her temperature…..which, thankfully, had settled back to a ‘textbook’ 39.4°C.

And so we were again open for business; & it seems that a great deal can be gained from simple, individual attention: achieved with no synthetic drugs, just a hearty dose of TLC & some shared, quality time, together. 

And hey, as I was feeling a little jaded myself, maybe I needed such ‘therapy’ as much as Armeria did….?

Anyway: that, evidently, is how you solve a whole plethora of problems like Armeria….so listen & learn o ye Lloyd Webber wannabees…the Funny Ffarm ‘Dr Doolittle’ method is far cheaper - & far more fun, I can assure you!!

“Switch off the mind & let the heart decide….”

Being a Bank Holiday which means there’s no cacophany of ringing telephones, business emails & physical junk mail haranguing us in the post (even this rural idyll has its busy, noisy moments) - it seemed the ideal time to do a bit of catching up with the practical side of things; & although I was hindered in the ‘outdoors’ department by the dull beating of heavy rain in the morning, thankfully the afternoon held more promise, with the wind chasing away the rainclouds to reveal a more pleasant prospect by midday.

However, the wind wasn’t going to let us off lightly.  Buffeting with increasingly stronger gusts it roared in fury around the barns, the trees flailing wildly in wood & hedgerow, tender new leaves ripped from the branches & more elderly trees, ripped out at the root with the occasional gunshot crack of a snapping branch carried on the voice of the harsh Northeasterly wind wracking the valley.

The skies cleared of cloud, the sun shone down with the blithely benign assurance of Spring; but the windchimes jangling in fretful discordancy betrayed the danger posed by the 55mph invisible fury.  Indeed it really did feel at times, as though I was battling with some powerful, unseen monster; suddenly the Kidding Shed door would slam abruptly, the two heavy breezeblocks pinning it back which take me a serious amount of brute force to move, even individually, being shoved out of the way as if they weighed no more than a feather.  I don’t recall a time when the simple chore of doing the milking, felt so frightening.  I was certainly glad to hurry back up the farmyard once I’d battened down the hatches as firmly as possible, closing the cottage door with a huge sigh of relief.

Thomas Dolby, the talented technological musician whose song ’Windpower’ was released back in 1982 has written an interesting post on his Blog this week*, regarding the way that the sea is slowly but surely reclaiming the UK’s eastern coastline; whilst on ‘Countryfile’ recently a report detailed just how helpless we are to prevent its relentless approach.

The power of this evening’s wind certainly made me pause & appreciate how, despite all our technological advancement we are still, after all, helplessly at the mercy of the mighty elements….

How fragile we are. 

* Catch up with Thomas’s Blog by clicking the ‘Sole Inhabitant’ link under the heading ‘Blogroll’ in the right-hand column.

Ugh, not the fairest of May mornings to wake up to….

…but there again, it was only 2am when the alarm shrilled us awake.  Tony was on shorthaul to Dublin for the day & needed to be at Heathrow for 8am - hence the early start.  By the time I’d waved goodbye an hour later, it hardly seemed worth going to bed; & the rest of what was left of the night was spent in a semi-somnambulent state, until I rose to a grey but thankfully dry dawn. 

However, just about the time I was feeding our feisty felines their much-demanded breakfast whilst studiously burning my own toast, the heavens opened; & I grumpily trudged out onto the yard to be welcomed by the inevitability of a now steady downpour.  Entering the yard via the haybarn so that I could give Merson & his chums, Brian & Virginia, the first course of their breakfast en route to the rest of the hungry hordes, I noted with dismay that water was already overflowing the vast gutters & splashing down the walls of our ancient Long Barn: something needed to be done, & quickly.

It soon became apparrent that the detritus of spring blossom & the zesty green of wind-torn new leaves had smothered the guttering - landing, of course, in all the most inaccessible places.  So I hauled out a ladder & propped it precarioulsy against the old wall, the feet of the ladder dancing a jig on the uneven ground as I edged my way cautiously upwards.  I didn’t dare get as far as the point where I could actually see anything for fear of falling; so had to rely on fishing blindly in the murky, freezing water to clear the blockages…..ugh, & this is the time of year when the nestlings that didn’t quite make it are usually floating around in there…..

Thankfully, it would appear the bird population has so far enjoyed a healthy start to the season as on this occasion all I grasped was slimy handfuls of icy wet leaves.  Meanwhile the water stealthily ran in rivulets down my neck & trickled into my shirt leaving me cold, wet & feeling decidedly wintry; which considering it’s almost the end of May, doesn’t bode well.  Still, it is a Bank Holiday - so rain was pretty much guaranteed anyway.

There was a brief respite from the rain in the afternoon during which time I did a little work in the greenhouse to restore my flagging summer spirits, watering plants & checking on the progress of my now decidedly leggy seedlings which I’d hoped to plant out this week but judging by the forecast, doubt I’ll be able to.  Silli - the One-eyed Wonderpuss - with a great deal of proud meowling, unfortunately presented me with the pathetically broken body of a great tit; I just hope he doesn’t have a nest close by.  I cleaned out the ducks’ pen just in time for the next onslaught of showers, which inevitably signalled the start of a gruelling round of evening chores. 

Curled up with a heartwarming bowl of stew this evening to stave off the unseasonable chill, Tony & I chatted about our recent product trials & about the impending business launch, totting up all the things still needing to be done.  Ah goodness, this year seems to be flying by…..especially I suppose for Tony, for whom it literally is!

Today we finaly took the plunge -

after our recent experimentation at Food Centre Wales we feel sufficiently confident to enter our produce at the Royal Welsh Show.  In a state of nervous excitement we completed the entry form - although I think Tony may have sent us a little over the top as he’s entered no less than eight exhibits!  I hurried out to the neighbouring town to send off our entry, although now there’s the nail-biting anxiety of whether it will even be accepted: confusingly, the closing date for entries is Monday - which of course as a Bank Holiday means the entry form cannot possibly get there in time, which under normal circumstances it otherwise would.  However Tony contacted the organizers who advised that the chosen date was an oversight & that our slightly late entry should be accepted.  So Royal Welsh (hopefully) here we come….!!

Being a pleasant day the goats enjoyed being outside; although unfortunately not before demolishing part of a drystone wall in Parc Mawr & unearthing yet more rubbish-tip detritus; this time consisting of a mixture of broken glass, plastic, & what appear to be some old, empty cow tubes.  Shooing the cheeky caprines off the wall where they were doing a fine job of debarking an ash sapling & a mature hazel bush, I persuaded Tony to help me with some emergency repairs as the wall would quickly collapse, if we didn’t do something immediately. 

Tony certainly wasn’t amused at the unwelcome interruption as he’d been taking advantage of the Milkforce’s absence to muck out their pen, a seemingly never-ending task these days.  Bristling with an array of electric fence posts & armed with a reel of fencing tape we weaved a complex web around the offending area, to ensure the goats couldn’t get a purchase & scrabble back onto the wall.  Only time will tell whether it’s worked……

The next crisis occurred whilst I was battling with the buffeting breeze to hang out the washing, as the line spun merrily around on its axis, wrapping me in wet, flapping material.  Hearing a loud bang I looked across the orchard to see the garage doors had apparently been blown open.  I clambered down the bank to shut them before any damage was done; but realised to my dismay that I was already too late, the bottom & middle hinges having already snapped with the force of the gusts.  Thwarting Tony again he hurried, grumbling, into town to buy replacement hinges; & repaired the damage whilst I hurried through the evening chores & the milking.  Finishing sooner than expected he took advantage of the little remaining daylight to modify a water pipe so our neighbour, whose fields have no water & therefore occasionally has to fill his bowser from our supply, would have a more convenient tap to work with as the old set-up was not readily accessible & said neighbour isn’t getting any younger. 

Meanwhile, as the geese had opted to leave their jealously-guarded nest for a quick grassy snack, I quickly took the five eggs into the house to try to determine whether any of them were viable, by floating them briefly in a bowl of tepid water (which also humidifies the eggs - especially important when hatching goslings).  Unfortunately I could be sure any of them would eventually hatch; although as none of them smell it could be that it’s simply too early to tell - & Roberta did turf out all the apparently unfertilized eggs long ago (though how on earth she can tell, goodness knows).  But there were no tremors on the surface of the water in the bowl today, as the chick inside senses water & attempts to swim - a fascinating spectacle when it happens.  At least the eggs are now hydrated; although I decided not to risk candling them to check for embryos in case the geese returned to the nest before I did!

Thus only time will tell whether the patter of webbed feet will prove Roberta’s ‘eggshausting’ efforts, a success…..& the 21st July, whether egging each other on to enter the Show, was a similarly fruitful exercise - wish us all luck! 

So today was even more exciting than yesterday:

Day Two of our first formal product trial, at Food Centre Wales.  We were up at the crack of dawn & Tony bustled through the milking whilst I prepared everything we needed to take with us.  We spent the majority of the day experimenting, which was absolutely fascinating, not to mention a great deal of fun.  After yesterday’s concerns that we’d got a few crucial things wrong during pasteurisation we discovered we needn’t have worried; all went far better than we’d anticipated & has left us itching to get our parlour & process rooms up & running so we can get into production as soon as possible.  Every moment that ticks by now, feels like a moment wasted….  And whilst a couple of today’s experimental batches probably won’t amount to much once they’ve matured, at least we’ve had a go & can build on these early efforts.  But in terms of initial, textural impression, we hope we’re on to a couple of real winners….

The icing on the cake was sitting on the doorstep when we arrived home: several cases of packaging, back from the printers at last.  It looks great - all we need to do now, is fill it - and as soon as possible!

An exciting but tense day for us -

our first day at Food Centre Wales, learning the ‘ropes’ & pasteurising our milk for the first of our formal product trials.  All went relatively well although there were a couple of minor hiccups which I won’t bore you with; however they did cause tempers to mutually flare on the way home as it seemed we were blaming each other for things which were not even at fault.  Tony hurled the car along the greasy little single-track roads which were slippery with useasonable rain, in his angry determination to scare me (having had a nasty aquaplaning accident a few years ago which has left me understandably cautions of inclement driving conditions).  But it was more the highly-charged atmosphere surrounding the start of our trial work, that led to this ridiculous storm in a teacup; ultimately there was nothing we could really do other than speculate so I suggested it was best to relax & see what tomorrow will bring…..

….but that’s easier said than done when you’ve had a busy day during which the additional challenge of much of the ingredients & equipment we’d ordered & needed, only arriving at literally the eleventh hour before we left for Horeb this morning - so a tense time all round.  Phew - deeeeeep breaths required!

What a shame -

this morning it was confirmed that due to lack of attendees the “It’s Not Easy Being Green” Forum’s foraging weekend which was to be held here on the Ffarm over this Bank Holiday, has been cancelled; & that even Mina & Peter (the erstwhile organizers) cannot now make it.  So it’ll be a lonely bowl of sorrel soup for me, I suppose….that said, the weather forecast for the weekend isn’t exactly looking promising; so maybe it’s just as well.  Perhaps we can arrange an autumn foraging expedition, instead?   Mmmm…mushrooms, mists & mellow fruitfulness - my favourite time of year!

Tomorrow we have the first of our production trials at Food Centre Wales.  of course we had hoped by now, to have completed our own trials here on the Ffarm & to be in full production; however a dearth of funds has meant that things have been delayed somewhat as we’ve tried to raise the neccessary monies to forge ahead with completing our Dairy Complex.   Therefore as Food Centre Wales is not too far away & is a superb resource, with a wide variety of available equipment (including a state-of-the-art, brand new Asta Eismann cheese vat - yummy) & knowledgeable, helpful staff; it seems daft not to take advantage of being able to use it so we can literally hit the ground running when we’re ultimately ready to go into production here, ourselves. 

So at long last we are producing a serious quantity of milk for some serious trial work.  To prepare for it Tony stripped down the milking machine & gave it a full overhaul whilst I gave our cold room & cheese cave, a thorough deep clean.  By the time we’d finished everything was sparkling like a new pin….& we watched with satisfaction as our goats’ deliciously creamy milk pumped into the milking jar & flowed into our brand new churns, ready for action at last……roll on tomorrow!

Swish-thump; swish-thump; swish-thump…

grunt-thud. Grunt-thud. Grunt-thud.

Sounds emanating from our haybarn, this morning…..

…but why?  Local farmers are only just into the tentative realms of silage production, let alone lurching forward in time to the month for moving hay bales from the fields.  And goats aren’t generally fed silage; in fact it can cause listeriosis & kill them.  The answer is to the conundrum is, that our neighbours found they’d used less hay over the winter than they’d anticipated; & now had around 150 surplus bales they thought we may be able to use.  And whilst our barn might still appear well stocked, if we’re unlucky enough to have a spell of poor summer weather (as we did last year) we could be in danger of running out of valuable roughage feed which keeps the goats’ rumens ticking over nicely.  Add to that two laminitic Shetland ponies, thirty-odd hungry kids & that fodder is soon whittled away…..

Thus we jumped at the chance of this extra sustenance; & we breathed a huge sigh of relief, as the first trailer trundled steadily down the hill with its’ aureate bounty.  Our neighbour’s son had come to stay for the week so we were all taking advantage of this extra set of muscles to complete the task.  I assisted on the stack for the first load; then as Tony disappeared to help load up a second trailer I stayed behind to start the time-honoured tradition of preparing the workforce a well-earned, slap-up spread: today, a ‘brunch’ of our own golden-yolked hens’ eggs, plump pork sausages from our pigs, fried earthy potatoes stored from the garden & Hugh Fearnley-Whittingstall’s delicious student staple, ‘Mean Beans’, which are baked beans spiced up with fried onion, a teaspoonful of English mustard, a tablespoon of tangy Worcestershire sauce & a generous splurge of extra ketchup.  So after further exertions in the barn everyone retired to the house for a well-earned cuppa followed by the hearty fry-up served with lashings of hot buttered toast.

After everyone had eaten their fill washed down with more mugs of tea, we bid them farewell & I did the washing up whilst Tony cleaned the milking parlour; then Ieuan returned to the farm with bowser in tow as he needed water for his ewes, unusually thirsty from a combination of unseasonably hot weather, heavy fleeces & greedy, growing lambs at foot.  There isn’t any water supply to his fields just above the road from us; so periodically Ieuan pops down to the Ffarm - formerly his home, & the place where he was born - for a top-up.  His visits are always welcome & invariably we learn fascinating snippets about the history of this wonderful place from his memories of life here.

Unfortunately whilst being filled today however, the rusty old bowser sprung a substantial leak; hopefully it can be fixed & refilled on the morrow.  Meanwhile we had to hurry off to Swansea as Tony had an appointment for his annual aircrew medical.  I sat in the car & enjoyed a good book whilst he was being prodded & poked; then we opted to revitalise our gelato memories from doing the University course in Italy, & sample Swansea’s finest frozen delights (Swansea being probably the most prolific purveyor of ice cream in Wales). 

We first went for an Italian meal, on the Gower; this was followed by six shared scoops of different flavours of ice cream.  But to say we were dismayed would be an understatement: although the presentation of the napoli pans was reasonable the flavours were extremely bland & the texture gritty & riddled with coarse ice crystals.  For what we paid it was disappointing in the extreme. 

On the way home Tony took me on a brief tour of Swansea; & as we happened to be passing a branch of a different chain of ice cream parlours we opted to stop & view the other’s rival competition.  It was perplexing in the extreme - here, there was no rainbow display of multi-flavoured napolis; in fact the staff didn’t even know, what a napoli was!  We discovered to our amazement there was actually only one flavour available - vanilla - & that had to be smothered with fruit puree which subsequently defined the difference in available flavours.  Bizarre.  I can only describe it as the fast food of the ice cream world; & not actually for the discerning customer desiring a little bite of luxury. 

Have we become gelato snobs?  Ummm, probably - but when you’ve had the privilege to taste arguably the best & freshest in the world, I suppose it’s hard not to be……

It’s been a long old day, & I’m looking forward to putting my feet up at last.

It started very early with a crack-of-dawn springclean: I did the house, Tony did the goats & after a few hours I’d made a passable impression that we live in a neat & tidy house - well, at least you can see the floor again!  But I’ve finally made an impression on the disgusting film of soot from the Rayburn which dusted everything like foul black snow & has doubtless worked wonders for our lungs as well.

Unfortunately when I went to check on the ponies, it was evident that Sabe is again coming down with laminitis - which gives the animal sore, tender feet owing to inflammation of the sensitive laminae therein - especially frustating as we’ve been so careful regarding pasture management, & he’d lost a fair bit of weight over the winter whilst still maintaining good condition.  We brought Toto in as well just to be on the safe side in addition to keeping Sabe company; but by the end of the day he too seemed to be delicate on his feet, so they’re both on the ‘Bute.  Shetlands are especially prone to laminitis, so we’re always especially careful with our boys; however at this time of year the flush of rich grass is a real headache & the opposite end of the management spectrum to winter, when we never have quite enough grazing for the equines - now we have too much!

But the ponies weren’t the only ones with sore feet, today; Tony tackled a bit of judicious caprine foot trimming this evening & at one point hurtled into the house in a panic - he’d snipped a little too much off one of Orrie’s feet when she wriggled whilst he was working on her; & she was now bleeding merrily all over the milkstand.  A goodly shake of potassium permanganate crystals later, & the flow was duly stemmed with orrie none the worse for wear & rather surprised at all the attention. 

So tonight I suspect it’s not just the human residents of the Ffarm, who are glad to take the weight off their feet…!