Coco treated herself to a mud bath.
We moved Boris up to the Berkshire Broads. What you see here is Plan B. Plan A did not go at all well. There may have been words spoken in anger and frustration with the suggestion that I am done with SFIs. I won't tell you what SFI means, suffice to say I refuse to go along with any more hare-brained ideas. From now on, we do it my way; the same way most normal people do things. The way things make sense. No More SFIs.
The girls were pleased to see him. Either that, or it was the feed in the bottom of the trailer that attracted them.
Pig Kisses.
We had friends over for dinner on Saturday night. They're some of our closest friends and we were shocked to realise we hadn't seen them for over a year. What an awful record. We had a no fuss grazing menu - cheeses/dips/olives/sd toms/ mussels/crackers platter followed by honey soy chicken wings, beef ribs and mini quiches, rounded out with patty cakes and iced gingerbread biscuits. We took a hamper of leftovers to my brother, Peter.
Coco was locked up while we drafted heifers off for sale on Tuesday. There's no way we can work in the yards with her 'helping'.
She was very sad.
I love Vivienne, the beautiful sheep.
No comments:
Post a Comment