January 2013

It’s the mud that I can’t stand. With every step it grabs your foot and clings on as you try to step forward, turning the short walk to the yard into a Himalayan trek. Worse still, occasionally it refuses to let go of the wellie-boot and you teeter forward in your socked foot desperately trying to grab hold of something to stop yourself plunging sock-first into the mud. Then there’s the dilemma: muddy-socked-squelchy foot back into the boot, or hop the rest of the way to the yard?



The poet Frederick Langbridge once wrote, “Two men look out through the same bars: one sees the mud, and one the stars.” Well, for the past six months I have been seeing the mud and I think it’s about time the rain stopped and gave us all a glimpse of the stars!

Over the years I’ve come to the conclusion that the best way of ensuring your animals stay healthy and productive, is to spend as much time as possible simply observing them. This way, you become accustomed to their ‘normal’ behaviour and will be quick to spot a subtle change from the norm: perhaps one morning the usually feisty hen is last out of the coop, or you spot another who seems intent on spending the whole day preening. Any ‘odd’ or out-of-character behaviour is worthy of note, and if the animal in question doesn’t revert to it’s ‘normal’ habits quickly, then it requires investigation. This was the case with our dear old Welsummer cock, Eric, who I spotted repeatedly ‘bowing’ to his hens; charming, I thought, how chivalrous of him. A little while later, I noticed he was still bowing, and at this point I realised it was out of character – in fact, it was distinctly peculiar. Even more uncharacteristically, he let me catch and pick him up without protest. On close inspection I realised that the poor old boy was crawling with lice, and must have been very uncomfortable. The whole flock has now been treated, and are on a 4-week treatment programme – for information on how to recognise and treat lice on chickens, see this month’s “Things to Do – Chickens”.

Meanwhile, I really can’t forget the mud. Thick and glutinous, it has made hacking my feisty mare a bit of a challenge. The ‘green lane’ that is one of our favourite routes is now ‘mud alley’ and as she hates getting her legs muddy she tries her hardest to keep to the edges, dragging me though the overhanging branches! We generally return home both covered in mud from poll to fetlock, and me with bits of branch sticking in my hat.
Similarly, the dogs (ex-racing greyhound and lurcher), despite my entreaties to ‘just do a quick turn around the block’, insist on the full, around the ploughed fields, up the hill, then down and across the stream (stream!? It’s a raging torrent!).

I’m not sure my wellies are up to this continued onslaught, or my socks for that matter, and I am now dreaming – fantasising – about placing a little sandaled foot on dry, solid ground; perhaps even having a moment of anxiety about the possibility of too little rain for the garden? Dream on ….


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