Hampshire Life: February 2019 (^) 53
This month, Margot practices her blossoming shepherdess
skills as she gets to grip with her woolly companions
I
always feel that February
brings with it that midpoint
between the short dark
days of winter and the ever
increasing light and hope of
spring. Trudging out each
morning to see to the ducks,
hens, geese and now sheep feels
like a mission most days. It
takes at least ten minutes to
wrestle on plenty of layers. I
never thought that I would
end up wearing so much
waterproof fabric in my
life. Even Jerry notices when
I’m not dressed in scruffy
farming overalls and a
bobble hat these days,
and thinks it must be
a special occasion.
However, it’s not all
bad, dear Reader. I’m
not much of a morning
person to be honest,
but early starts at the
farmhouse are worth
getting out of bed for.
Being the first to
tread on crisp grass
glistening with frost.
Wading through the
mist curling around the
trees, clutching a warm
egg straight from the
nest box, or feeling a
soft affectionate head
butt from Betsy, my
favourite of our wily
Shetland sheep, make
mornings somehow
more bearable. These
Ewe and I
COUNTRYSIDE LIFE
Read more: You can read Margot’s blog at margottriesthegoodlife.com and follow her antics on twitter @margotgoodlife.
You can also find out more about Margot on her profile at hampshire-life.co.uk
sound of sheep nuts rattling away
in the bottom of said bucket is
beginning to pay off, and at least
two out of four will let me stroke
their scraggy faces whilst they
take the food from my hand. Who
knew I had such patience, dear
Reader? Despite their skittish
ways, we are all utterly smitten
with these woolly girls and can’t
wait for the patter of tiny hooves
when Myrtle, our oldest ewe,
lambs later in the year.
PE kit found exactly where it
was left; Poppy and Primrose
perform a morning ritual of their
own, calling to our four pint-sized
bags of wool as we pass their
field in the car on the way to
school. I’m sure the sheep only do
it to humour us, but the sight of
them trotting up to the fence to
wend us on our way and bleating
would cheer even the wettest of
February mornings.
It’s funny dear Reader
but I never thought that this
smallholding lark with all its
up and downs would be the
making of this apprentice
bumpkin. I mean I don’t even
mind being swathed head to foot
in waterproofs most of the time.
Just don’t ask me to show you
how I catch a sheep, dear Reader.
I’m still working on that one.
moments are the perfect antidote
to the frenetic treadmill of our
daily routines and give me five
minutes’ peace from shouts of,
‘Mummy, have you seen my PE
kit?’
I could spend hours just being
around the sheep. In fact I
have. Some of that time wasn’t
entirely intentional I’ll confess
but Betsy, Meryl, Molly and
Myrtle do seem to have a habit of
knowing exactly when I need to
catch them. Trying to outsmart
a sheep wouldn’t be so difficult,
you would have thought. I must
have a sign on my coat - ‘Novice
shepherdess working here.’ I
swear their bleats are just a cover
for them laughing in my face as I
try and fail to herd them into the
pen.
There have been too many
instances of coaxing them up
and down the field in some sort
of comedy One Man and
His Dog skit, only to get
close enough to lunge and
miss grabbing a handful
of fleece entirely. In
my case, it’s more
One Woman and Her
Bucket. God only knows
what would happen if I tried
to add one of our spaniels into
the mix, dear Reader. However,
training the sheep to come to the
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