Piglets, primroses and Puppies - Happy New Year

Almost the end of the year. Time to reflect. The almost-perfect gundog - aka Gunner - is nearly 10 months old. Throughout November and December he's been given rein to be a complete puppy - no serious training just reinforcement of the basics. He's proving to be gentle and bold but certainly no alpha dog; constantly looks for direction and reassurance and just occasionally goes berserk (like in the hen house recently). But next month he will start secondary school. Reports will follow.

Ginger's brood, 5 weeks old on New Year's day, continue to enthrall us and our (steady stream of) visitors. They are still suckling but she gives them less time each time. Yet again today we had to reinforce the fencing as the little ones (doubtless led by little Polly piglet again!) went runabout once more.They are truly mega-inquisitive. The Tamworth Two were nothing by comparison! The astute farmers amongst you will be able to tell from this rear-end photo just which are the male and which the female piglets. Mail us if you cannot tell the difference.

And whether or not it's a sign of global warming matters not two hoots, but the first primroses are in bloom on the bank down to the Rectory Field. We've had snowdrops before in December, but Primroses??? Is this a first?

Let's hope it's an omen for a Happy, Healthy and Prosperous New Year for us all.......

In search of Santa Swine

'Twas the day before Christmas and all through the yard, not a creature was bothered 'cept Ginger's young brood, who were bent on adventure.....

Everything was sorted: tree and decorations done;mince pies baked; fresh apples and carrots stocked for the menagerie; and dried fruit put aside for the poultry. All that was left to do was pay final pre-celebration visits and fetch the festive goose.

Mangel, Pepper and Wurzel's new pen was finished just ahead of Christmas and they were thoroughly enjoying the entertainment laid on for them. Nothing too high-tech: just 'tossing the bricks', but it proved to be very distracting.

So everyone was fully occupied.

'Cept Little Polly piglet and her siblings. Ginger's fault really. She's fond of tucking them up at night with a little bedtime story. They quite like the one about the Wicked Giant Who Lives in the Valley - he has a really scary, smelly, noisy wagon which roars up and down the lanes when little piggies have been misbehaving. But their favourite is the one about Santa Swine who Lives Down the Lane and brings tasty titbits to well-behaved piglets. Just once a year though. Ginger couldn't quite explain that one. Curious. Well; what's a brood of little ones to do when things get a bit quiet around the Reserve? Of course, they swore they were really just trying to get to that tasty bit of rotton wood on the other side of the fence. But before they knew it - Whoosh, under the fence they slipped and away they scampered. Down the lane. ---- But that leads to the Valley! Ginger was in hot pursuit --- but she had to make a bigger hole in the fence first. And then she was off. There followed A Big Adventure. Lots of sliding down the dip in search of Tasty Bits (maybe Santa Swine had dropped a few?); darting across the lane and up and down .... how far to go before waking the Wicked Giant?? Gosh, the seven little piggies had such fun. And, actually, Ginger thought it was pretty neat too. Though she wasn't letting on.....

And then who should come along and spoil it all? Yes; Him: The Big Boss. Oh, He was Not pleased. Now - he could have just opened the gate and everyone would have gone home straight away. Oh yes, they would. But he tried to get them back through the fence-hole. And oh no, he couldn't. Oh Dear. What Chaos. What squealing. What language.For over an hour.

Then Mum got a bit fed up and decided it was time for lunch.... and eventually The B.B. struck on the idea of opening the gate and getting some food out (well, actually it was that nice young girl who thought of the food - one wink from Ginger was all that took! She should stick around!) and then it was all over in a jiffy - bar repairing the now rather large hole in the fence. Oh dear. What a jolly Adventure to have and how the Three Tonners chortled to themselves. Best bit of entertainment they've had in ages; better even than tossing bricks.......

But goodness wasn't everyone hungry when it was all over. Tumbling over themselves to get to the food. All thanks to Little Polly Piglet.

Don't some say redheads are more trouble than any others.......

The Three tonners and the three-week-olds

The little ones were three weeks old yesterday; although they still depend on mother's milk and sleep for a large portion of the day, they are very bold and lively and growing at an alarming rate. Already we guess their weight to be somewhere between 3 and 5 kg. As they grow, so their colour changes, with a preponderence of ginger beginning to show through. Ginger herself is a cross between a Blonde and a Red Mangalitza and until lately was very definitely 'Blonde' herself. Since the birth of the piglets, though, her colouring is reverting to a far more gingery shade. What colour the little piglets will end up is a subject of constant speculation here at Rectoryreserve.

Meanwhile, if pigs can have their snouts put out of joint, the three boys' most certainly have. They have become far more vocal since the arrival of Ginger's brood. They are also making a concerted effort to discover what lies at the Centre of The Earth. Some of their rootle holes are seriously deep. We're just hoping they don't reach their destination before the new pen is ready for them at the weekend. Of course, they may just be doing a 'Great escape' routine and one morning we will wake to find them all back together with Ginger again........... Now, that would be a nice Christmas present for all..................

Food and Drink

The seven little piglets are becoming very comfortable with the notion of being 'centre of attention'. So much so that when we had a 'wetting the piglets head' cocktail party at the weekend, Ginger was quite happy to open the Bar in full view of the fascinated onlookers. She really knows how to pluck at the heartstrings. The smallest of the brood, now known as Little Polly Piglet (the brownish one by mum's head) kept missing out and being buffetted by her bigger siblings. This drew frequent cries of "Oh poor little thing" and "Couldn't you just pick her up and tuck her inside your jacket" and "Move over you other greedy piggies" from the wondering crowd!

By Wednesday, with milk still much in demand, all seven had discovered the delights of hard feed and now tumble higgledy piggledy in and out of the 'mexican hat' whenever there's food in it --- and even when there isn't. They are also quite adept already at rootling; just as well as this is the way they derive much of the essential minerals they need to grow healthy and strong. Which they are wasting no time doing: already they are about 3x the size they were when first we saw them. They can jump logs as high as themselves and have great fun pushing considerable amounts of dirt and quite large stones with their tiny snouts! By the time they are weaned, at 8-10 weeks, they will weigh about 15-20kg. Aaahhh - what a shame they have to grow up!

The starlets spend the next day relaxing with Mum

After all the excitement of Wednesday, it was rather nice just to see the piglets mooching about with mum. They become bolder almost by the minute. Whilst these three were happily rootling and exploring close to Ginger, the other four were having a gay old time scrummaging around the Ark and exploring what the world outside has to offer. Not least, they discovered, three very large chaps (only) just the other side of the fence. Once again, remedial fence repairs became necessary .... next time I think we shall just opt for cast iron barriers......

Ginger's Piglets hit the headlines

No - this is not Mr Bean creeping through the copse bent on nefarious deeds. It is, in fact, our intrepid Look North cameraman gingerly (pardon the pun) sneaking around the day before yesterday trying to capture a glimpse of Ginger and her brood. But they were having none of it. Well... for a start it was pouring with rain - on and off - and blowing a bit of a gale. And then there was the small matter of that odd bloke with his big lens and as if that wasn't bad enough there was that other bloke from the BBC stomping about muttering about "rare as dodos".... Enough to make sure any sensible pig kept her little ones securely stashed at the very back of the Ark!

Thankfully, though, the rain and wind eventually abated and, after 3 hours, the reporters had their story and picture. Which was just as well because hot on their heels came a charming young lady from Radio Lincolnshire; and after her came a well prepared and pig loving reporter with her cameraman from Calendar News; and they had only just finished gathering their material when another young reporter arrived to record her story for Lincs FM. Fast as they got their stories out though (on the same day!), all of them were pipped at the post by the determined young reporter and his photographer from the Lincolnshire Echo who turned up at dusk on Tuesday afternoon in order to meet their deadline - just - for the Wednesday edition.

Inevitably, much as Ginger was scornful and shy of the press at the beginning of all this, by the end of the day she was totally relaxed about the whole thing and allowed her family to cavort around every moment the weather allowed. In fact, it was just as well we kept having intermittent heavy showers because it gave the little ones an opportunity for a much needed pit-stop. And it doesn't stop there. As if local fame and adulation were not enough, they have an appointment with a gentleman from one of our national Dailies at the beginning of next week.....

I don't think we realised what we were letting the RectoryReserve family in for when we asked our friendly journalist - he of Heckington Show and farmer's Weekly fame - if it might be an idea to do a press release about the 'first hairy piglets born in Lincolnshire for nigh on 50 years......'

What's outside Mum?

There was a little bit of calm between the storms on Sunday so Ginger conceded to these few exploring, tentatively, just outside the Ark. (Actually, they all went round the corner for a pee!). She's proving to be a very attentive and firm mother and, as far as we can tell, the piglets are thriving. However, we will sleep a whole lot better when we can get to see ALL the little ones. Our suspicion is that the more active four are little boars..... and the rest will be gilts... but we will (hopefully soon) see.

Meanwhile, the Three Tonners have been very inquisitive. Having (presumably) exhausted their musical repertoire, or just got bored with serenading, they've been making a concerted effort to visit the New Mum and her Brood. Whilst we applaud their efforts and eagerness to welcome the offspring, we deplore their methods ---- attempting to lift up the intervening fencing. Especially when the fruits of their labours only became apparent at dusk on a very wet and stormy Sunday evening..... We spent a very (un)pleasant and wet hour or so doing emergency reinforcement work. PigKeeping is not always a smiley-smiley affair.....! But I'm sure Ginger felt a great deal more secure as a result.

RectoryReserve wishes to announce.....

To Ginger and Mangel several sons and daughters!

Congratulations from all at the RectoryReserve.

....

Little did we know what was in store (or sty?) for us this morning. All looked and sounded pretty normal yesterday evening when we did our rounds before bedtime. It was still very quiet when we went out at 8 a.m. "Pigs still asleep" I muttered to myself as I opened up the various poultry houses. "Nothing unusual there then."

Mangel, Wurzel and Pepper eventually surfaced from the big ark. Did their usual ablutions and prepared themselves for breakfast.

Suddenly Ginger ran up snorting and grunting, looking and sounding most agitated. Then off she ran, all in a state, back to the small ark. Once inside, all we could hear was a great cacophany of grunting, snorting, squealing. "Something's up" we said to each other. Each too worried to voice our worst fears. He was rooted to the spot. I had to investigate. Rushing over as fast as I could without frightening the poor girl, I peered inside the ark. (Mental note to get electrician to install lighting next time he comes). It's pretty gloomy in there. It took a while for my eyes to accustom themselves to the relative darkness and for my ears to hear what they thought they were hearing.

Well - I just could not believe it. I checked and double-checked; ran through all the other possibilities in my head........

"She's had piglets" I yelled - slightly subdued but in, nonetheless, great paroxysms of excitement and disbelief.

"What?" cried he in (almost) equal disbelief.

"She's had piglets".....

"But she's not due for at least another 5 or 6 weeks - I thought" said he....

"Fat lot we know...." said I. "What do we do now???" "Don't know" says he "I haven't read that chapter yet!".

Well, now we have read it.... and heartily wish we hadn't. We've hardly relaxed all day.

But, nothing we can do. The little ones are about the size of rabbits and stripey grey and cream. But that's as much as we know for now. Even if Ginger would let us, the ark's a bit small for us to get in there and check things out. She seems to have it all under control. How did she manage to deliver her brood with the boys looking on in the night? Perhaps they slept through it all? Exactly how many are there? Maybe we'll see a bit more tomorrow. For now, this is the best photo I could get of the proud mum - look closely and you can just about make out a little smidgen of piglet tucked behind her right ear. I don't know about her, but I doubt we'll sleep a wink all night.

The boys, meanwhile, have spent the best part of the day on the other side of the fence behind the ark, grunting and snorting in unison - we've dubbed them the Three Tonners.

Official photos of family to follow.....

Madonna's Child and the new Rare Breeds

Last Sunday was by far the coldest day so far this winter; driving rain greeted the first half and bitter strong winds froze us all throughout the afternoon and evening. But we've learned not to be daunted by such - relatively minor - details as weather. As someone said to me very soon after our move to Lincolnshire; "You don't move here if you don't like wind."

Just as the morning rains abated, we welcomed our latest new arrivals - a pair of very well bred(and very Rare Breed) Buff Orpington hens. They've come from the Secretary of our local branch of the Rare Breed Survival Trust (from whom our Lavender Pekins also came last year) so are of impeccable heritage. And very sweet natured they are too; so, reflecting their colouring as well, they have been named 'Syrup' and 'Honey'. Unlike many hens (and some of our Bantams in particular) they trot around behind me and think nothing of 'asking' for titbits. They were a little wary of the other birds to start with but by their third day in the Poultry Palace were dust-bathing and being escorted by one of the younger Maran Cockerels. Tonight I noticed they were already up on the perches with the established hens. So they must be equally friendly to birds as they are to people! Unusual for hens.

At dusk on Sunday Rocco (AKA Madonna's Child when it comes to dressage) and I set off for our latest Dressage Competition. We'd warmed up on Saturday by competing at the same venue in the Kelly Marks Perfect Partnership Winter Le Trec Series (bit of a mouthful all that) competition where the Boy acquitted himself most admirably by taking 2nd Prize. It's a strange event which during Summer includes a hefty portion of orienteering on horseback; during winter though it's just the "other bits" which are a series of obstacles to go across (eg. bridges), under (eg: streamers), over (jumps) and round (grids and poles) plus basic obedience, like the horse having to stand still, unmounted, in a circle with the rider 5m away. Anyway, all jolly good fun and supposed to represent typical things any rider might encounter whilst traversing the countryside. Rocco quite enjoyed that. So, on Sunday he entered the arena to 'do dressage' and was rather put out to find no obstacles --- just all those white marker boards and letters. Needless to say, his attention was not quite on the job in the first test. Never mind though. We repaired to the freezing cold outdoor arena to have a stern word or two and "warm up" for the second attempt an hour later (well past our dinner times by now).

We knew we'd done better (5th place - pink ribbon - only in the first test) - but were over the moon to score, at last and wonder of wonders, our first ever First Place (RED) rosette at Novice Level. Great excitement; many carrots, apples and pats later we drove home tired, cold but happy.... ("Perhaps I AM getting used to this poncey stuff" he nickered as we arrived back to the snug stable). A total score of 5 rosettes - even one for being Best Turned out - and a Sash for the weekend was not a bad tally.

Meanwhile, on the Curly Coat front..... we think Ginger is looking more interesting as the days go by ... and is being treated with more respect by her colleagues which must be a sign of something????? Mustn't it???

Past.. present... and future?

We have developed a new theory here at the RectoryReserve. Pigs do not just rootle. They rootle for a reason. In Italy it's for Truffles (like wheat - at an all time high price this year). In the wild woods its for tasty insect and worm tit-bits. Here in the Wolds we think they are rootling through all the past bottles and jars and pots that have been long buried in their copse. Their noses can suss out all the scents of previous contents - beetroots, fruits, compotes, sauces, even maybe some old hops and malt liquids... they know that if they rootle long enough they will come across some treasures from the past which were not consumed, but remain contained in pristine condition in their glass and earthenware containers - only waiting for an enterprising Mangalitza (0r 4) to come across them..... Oh what bliss that will be. When the past becomes the present......

Speaking of the present.... we notice an interesting (?) development in Ginger..... her er-hum teats ... not the sort of thing you'd normally discuss about a lady -- but with Ginger it's definitely on the discussion agenda. Is she? Or isn't she? Has he? Or hasn't he? Well.... we don't know. But we can say without a doubt that those teats were not like that a little while ago. So something's changed..... So for now, there's a difference. Does that bode well for the future? How will we know. Under controlled circumstances (we're obviously not into too much control here) the sow would deliver her piglets 3 months, 3 weeks, 3 days and 3 hours (and probably 3 minutes!) after the deed was done..... But how will we know? Ahh - there's the rub.... do we start counting from now, or now minus a week and hope for the best? Shall we just be surprised one morning to see tiny ones scampering around in the frost? Should we call in the experts from the Veterinary practice which specialises in these things.... Are we just being excited over nothing... so many questions... we could do a scan? We could wait and see.... which is the best course of action.... how will we know...... Oh Ginger, give us a clue!

Indian summer - in November?

The past week has been absolutely amazing - temperatures up to 18C and incredible sunsets more reminiscent of August evenings than November. The animals have been basking in the sunshine, no doubt storing up extra vitamin D to keep them going through the winter - which will surely follow in the not too distant future! Mangal and his herd have been dirtier than ever as they transfer the extra heat from their now very woolly bodies to the pit of disgust which is their wallow. Lovely though it is to feed them apples straight from the orchard to their mouths, the pleasure rapidly fades as ones hands get increasingly muddied by their dirt encrusted mouths. Oh the charm of pigs!

And their charms are spreading. The original herd of 18 or so imported by Tony York are now dispersed across the country - even the aristocracy have succumbed to their charms; the public can see one at Chatsworth whilst other landed Gentry have acquired them for their personal pleasure! Meanwhile, our own Ginger has no hope at all of satisfying the demand built up locally - even if she throws record numbers of piglets for the next few years!

The net result is that Tony is off on another buying spree to Austria and Hungary early in the New Year to increase the numbers and, more importantly, the gene pool for the future.

The hairy ones are getting hairier

Stories are told of the coats of Mangalitza pigs being shorn and spun into waistcoats. Until now, I have - secretly - questioned how this was possible. Now, however, as winter draws ever closer all doubts are being laid to rest. The coats on our little herd grow longer and thicker with each passing week. Interestingly, the swallow-bellies' pelts tend to be dense and wavy but the blondes' display distinct tight curls. I learned whilst I was at the hairdresser yesterday that apprentices still have to learn how to do old-fashioned "pin curls" (a small section of hair is wound round and secured with a hairpin; when released from its pin a tight springy curl emerges). This is exactly the 'look' being worn by Ginger and Pepper this year!

One-upmanship

Living with animals is not always straightforward. Ever since he arrived, Gunner's been trying to come to terms with Cat. Just when he thinks he's got it all figured out - he finds Cat taking over his 'cage'. So "Who do you really think is Numero Uno around here".

Another bete noir of Gunner's is spectacles - specifically, my reading specs. Twice he removed the lenses from one pair before destroying them beyond repair. So I got a new pair of lenses put in an old frame; twice he has removed the lenses from these before destroying them beyond repair. I know --- I should have learned by now to put them well out of his reach. It's just that every now and then I forget to do so and every now and then he finds an excuse to get hold of them (usually, I must add, when left alone with just Lancer and Pilot in the house).

So this week I have spent a few hours at Specsavers taking advantage of their "two for one" offer. All I have to remember now is to put them out of Gunner's reach.......

(Or should I be taking the dog to the optician..... maybe he's really trying to tell me something!!??)

Gunner to Gundog - Lesson 2

It's a month since his first 'turning me into a gundog' lesson. In that time, Gunner's learned a lot: how to retrieve visible and out of sight objects; how to deliver them straight back to me (most important!); how to search for items that have been hidden (knowing they are the favourite dentastix after dinner probably helps that lesson!); how to 'stay' for increased periods of time; how to catch the ducks (not a good lesson.... according to our trainer) - oh... and how to catch mice.... much to the annoyance of Puddy Cat.
On the down-side, he has also learned how to turn a deaf ear to the whistle when there is something more interesting (sea gulls, pheasants, rabbits, duck) going on....
So, my question to Rory (he the trainer) was "how to control dog going away, encourage him to come back without putting him off coming back". The answer, of course, is simple: "watch your dog and don't let him get in the position of being about to ignore you". Easy: I must make sure he pays more attention to me than anything else in his environment. Practice that for the next few weeks.
"So" said Rory; "What's he like at retrieving?". "Enjoys it" said I. "Sits, waits, stays till told to fetch. Finds things: Brings them back. A little reticent about giving them up, but otherwise fine". "So we'll try a few things then" said Rory. First, we throw a simple dummy. Ask dog to sit. Throw Dummy. Ask dog to stay. Ask dog to fetch. Dog fetches; dog returns enthusiastically (perhaps a little too enthusiastically) and gives up dummy. Easy.
Try next step. Dog on lead. Walk dog 100 yds. Drop Dummy. Turn and walk dog back 100 yds. Remove lead. Dog sits. Tell Dog to fetch. Dog zaps off and fetches. Returns instantly. Perhaps a little too enthusiastically. Good Dog. Dog on lead. Walk back 50 yds. Turn and throw dummy. Dog still on lead. Continue walking. After 200 yds let dog off lead. Tell dog to sit. Tell dog to Fetch. Dog fetches instantly. Returns with dummy - still v. enthusiastic.
Next lesson. Let dog off lead. Tell dog to sit. Throw dummy over big ditch. Tell dog to fetch. Dog instantly fetches, returns enthusiastically. Gives up dummy. Says 'can we do that again'. Next lesson. Tell dog to sit and stay. Throw dummy across big ditch and into dense undergrowth other side. Send dog to fetch. Dog goes off; searches; wags tail a lot; keeps looking; keeps looking; keeps wagging; gets encouragement from him the trainer; finds dummy; races back over big ditch and gives up dummy! "OK " says the trainer; "We've found out what he's naturally good at" adding that he's never seen a young spaniel quite so good at retrieving so soon in his training. What a stunner Gunner is!
So, for the next couple of weeks we are to worry less about the occasional running off (I just need to be more vigilant and stop him before he goes) and we've to take the retrieving lesson to the next steps ---- tell dog to sit; throw dummy over his head; wait a while; send dog to fetch. Following that: tell dog to sit: throw several items around and over his head. Occasionally fetch them myself; occasionally tell him to fetch. Eventually, throw items to left and right and start sending him off to either left or right. Any problems or great success and need to know next step? Contact He the Trainer! Easy peasy.
Meanwhile, the piggies are still playing 'tag' every morning to keep themselves in trim and enjoying their afternoon tea of apples - of which we have a glut - from the orchard every afternoon. And, they continue to grow..... Furthermore I've decided they are less fond of females than males --- me they push around, him they don't. Is it because I give them apples and other treats so they think I'm a pushover?????

End of an Era

It was a sad day yesterday - we finally sold Ritz & Max's carriage. There will be no more flying round the countryside, cones or obstacles with the dastardly pair.

After 8 years of excitement, frustration and fun in and around the Wolds, Max - at the age of 23 - is now officially retired. Sadly, his arthiritis now makes it difficult for him to work without pain, particularly on the hilly territory around here. The German warmblood half brothers came to us as 'schoolmasters' having enjoyed a busy career competing both in England and France with a number of handlers. We learned a lot from them. Particularly, we learned that there was not a lot they did not know and they very quickly had us trained to their ways! Ritz taught us all about dealing with colic -he managed to have three bouts in quick succession soon after arriving. The first required transportation to the equine hospital in Rutland - when we had no transportation! We knew virtually nobody in the area but we quickly learned how to rustle up trailer, towing vehicle and driver! Thank you Ritz. Over the years he has taught a number of people not to take him for granted - either by a crafty and well-placed nip (one local vet learned to be very wary of him!), or a well-timed buck (on one occasion tossing a complacent would-be groom into the dirt), or doing a 'platform nine-and-a-half' through various hedges and fences. Danke Ritz. They both taught us that trailers were not the transportation of choice for well bred equines..... many a hazardous journey was undertaken with the pair of them creating all sorts of mayhem in the back before we finally traded the trailer for a lorry - overnight the terrible travellers were transformed into angels! Throughout, Max has always been the straight guy, reliable and steady in contrast to the crafty and sharp Ritz. The only time he has ever really displayed a temper has been in his impatience to get going once hitched to the carriage. Mind you, there was one memorable occasion when the pair of them showed what they were made of on a particularly trappy uphill farm track - and we very nearly lost our two senior citizen passengers out the back...... We shall miss seeing their two pairs of ears ahead of us.

Now the search is on for a lighter weight carriage for Ritz for next season.... though the elder of the pair, he has far too much go in him to consider retiring to pasture yet a while. I don't doubt that he'll lead us a merry dance between the shafts on his own though.

Meanwhile, we have now witnessed the squirrells dashing hither and thither with conkers clutched between their jaws..... so that explains the piles and piles of discarded conker shells everywhere. It is an entirely new 'thing' to us this year. Is it an omen? An indicator of a really hard winter ahead? We shall find out.........

Nature knows a thing or two

We really have experienced some extremes of weather this week. Glorious sunrises which lift the waking spirit- we see these when we take Gunner (+Pilot and Lancer if they feel the need) for his early morning comfort run - have alternated with fierce easterly blasts which confirm one's idiotic mortality: incrediblely mild Indian Summer days, like today, have contrasted with dramatic sharp hailshowers on Wednesday and constant cold drizzle on Friday. Nature constantly keeps us guessing.

The creatures have been preparing for worse to come. In the very worst weather of the week the nut-bar has been 'home' from home to a very fluffy bird. Looks like a young Greenfinch but with a seriously 'furry' coat. There have been no others like him. We assume he's the last of a late fledging.

When we first moved here a squirrel was a rare site. Now - doubtless because of the constant supply of wild bird food - we have quite a colony. Their preoccupation this week has been setting up stocks for winter ... raiding the bird-table for nuts which have been assiduously buried in the lawns about the house. This year we have noticed, for the first time, that the windblown conkers, instead of laying about all over the place in an untidy array of shells and fruits, have all been neatly gathered up, the shells broken and the fruits gone. Squirrels? Or maybe badgers, who have also been leaving their tell-tale signs of corn husks up and down the drive? Probably squirrels but I've yet to 'catch' them at it!

And, always in tune with nature, the piggies have been gradually growing their winter coats; they are now becoming seriously curly. It is easier to understand how, in earlier times, they were shorn and woven into waistcoats. We look forward to seeing them in their full woolly glory in the depths of winter. Meanwhile, they spend much time sleeping - perhaps practising some ancient pre-hibernation ritual. Will they become totally comatose in winter? We watch with interest.....

A quiet week in the Wolds

There are times in the country when nothing much really seems to happen; yet looking back over a period of some 10 days one suddenly realises that "actually it has been rather hectic"! No.... I can't work that one out either. The past fortnight is a case in point.

We had the major drama of preparing and photographing piggies for their national Farmers Weekly debut - and the article duly appeared last week..... Ginger became an out-and-out drama queen for several days with all the adulation she received as a result..... Luckily the others were happy to let her have her 'hour of glory' (on condition that maybe they get the feature photo next time --- please note journalists) so now she is beginning to come back down to earth but life in the pens will never be the same again!

Mind you, I'm not sure that Ginger was the only one suffering from Fame Fatigue: we arrived rather late at the village Harvest Festival supper the following Sunday (owing to adventures with the Paragon of Virtue - see below) to be greeted by our Host brandishing a copy of said national journal whilst proclaiming loudly to the assembled company that "the celebrities have arrived". The remainder of the evening - apart from the calling of the Raffle (always a certain show-stopper) - was spent in reciting and repeating the story of the hairy pigs' return to the Wolds. This was made all the more poignant because not only had the village been the home of generous herds of Large Whites during the heyday of the 1950's and '60's but, more to the point, a certain Fulletby Curly Coat sow, bred not more than a half-mile from the Rectoryreserve, had achieved some acclaim in the 1920's. Many memories were awakened and stories recounted that evening.

Which rather put into the shade the antics of aforementioned P.o.V. - a.k.a. Madonna's Child - at his latest dressage competition outing the Sunday of the Harvest supper. As we all know, 'behaving like a ponce' is not really his favourite thing but, despite being polished, primped and plaited within an inch of his life, not to mention putting up with extremely blustery winds he acquitted himself rather well, coming home with three rosettes from three 'classes' (he'd have done a whole lot better if his pilot had been a little more attentive and not made stupid errors of course). Whatever the judges' comments, he's coming on a treat and we continue onwards and upwards in his not-chosen career (just as well, since hunting is totally off the agenda due to foot-and-mouth at present).

Meanwhile, Pilot has continued his efforts to rid the countryside of pestilent vermin (rabbits in his book) and has spent many a happy hour hunting far and wide, returning home utterly exhausted and not the least bit interested in anything else till the next time. On one particular evening I was surprised to see him disguised as a green mound on the kitchen sofa; clearly he'd also been in the pond on that occasion and needed to dry and warm himself up a bit. He is such a character.

So, as we always say here, "just another quiet week in the Wolds".

Gunner to gundog - lesson 1

On Saturday September 8th Gunner reached the age of 6 months and, by way of marking the occasion ('present' to us humans) we went off this afternoon for his first 'formal' gundog training session.
He's learned a lot over the past 3 months: walking to heel (on and off his lead), sit, stay, wait, go find (chew sticks!) and come to voice or whistle. So we were looking forward to showing off these basic skills and building on them with a few more directions and tips from our expert trainer, Rory.
It all started very well with Gunner on his best behaviour; not easy when said expert has a training field equipped with the gamut of distractions, including semi-wild tame rabbits, free range chickens and geese; not to mention ponies in the next door field and all the sounds of a thriving kennels and cattery in the background. Oh - and the interruption of another dog (alsation) coming through the field with its handler and trainer en route to a session in the rabbit pens. Gunner took all these things in his stride, displaying his ability to sit and stay, return to whistle and retrieve a couple of strange objects, one of which he had to 'find' in the long grass. The danger, if there is any, is that he is all too steady for a young spaniel, but as Rory said "enjoy it whilst you can". Visions of winning Gundog trials across the country wafted across my subconscious!
Then came the difficult bit.
The forte of spaniels 'in the field' is that they 'hunt' diagonally across their handler in a c. 20m 'corridor', thereby flushing any game for the guns. Having flushed said game, they immediately 'drop' to the ground, allowing the guns to take aim and fire. When the game has dropped to the ground, the 'retrievers' (which may be the same spaniels) do their bit in finding the fallen game and eagerly bringing it back to their handler.
So, the next part of our afternoon was the first stage in this transformation from keen puppy to keen hunter.
Step 1: bring your dog to heel, walk with him to that spot and make him sit.
My interpretation of this was not crisp enough: result - half-hearted response from dog. First lesson learned: be absolutely direct, put puppy on lead and leave no room for hesitation. "Heel" means nose next to knee; "sit" means instantly. They must become instinctive.
Step 2: remove lead, puppy to remain sitting and on command (first, decide your command - "go seek", "hi lost", "off hunt"...... anything as long as you can remember it! Not as simple as it sounds) go off to hunt.
Step 3: when puppy gets to c. 10m away, turn and give return whistle command... puppy should follow (good Gunner does); when puppy gets to c. 10m away again turn and give return whistle command; repeat exercise, moving from side to side, with copious amounts of verbal back up if any hesitation arises and lots of praise and excitement along the way when things go right.
Apart from finding, and getting rather attached to a mouse in the undergrowth, Gunner did all his bits very well. I, on the other hand got thoroughly confused with turning and whistling and arm waving (not a good thing at this stage) and almost tripping over myself and not knowing what command to give when the nose went back to the mouse for the third time. Luckily the expert was unphased and helped us sort it all out and before we knew our hour's lesson had over-run and both puppy and handler were worn out!
We came away with a clear idea of what to do over the coming weeks and the advice of our 'expert' to come back in a "month or so" for the next stage. It is not going to be an easy few weeks - for me, never mind Gunner!
P.S. As I write this he lies on my feet, snoring exhaustedly.......

"Say goodbye to the summer"

Summer is slowly merging into Autumn; the loganberry, damson and plum harvests have swelled the jam stores in the pantry and already we are collecting apple and pear windfalls. It seems incredible that just a couple of months ago we were concerned that the wet weather would have a severe impact on the harvest. Yet now as we look at the panorama surrounding the Rectoryreserve we see a patchwork of yellow stubble and brown plough interspersed with the green of sugar beet and grazing land and, with all the corn safely gathered, next weekend's Harvest Festival is almost overdue. Even the last of our swallow fledgelings are about to depart. Yesterday they were being fed in the nest for the final time (the picture shows the mother bringing flies to the little ones in their nest); today is all about flying lessons; this is the last of about 6 groups to have hatched in the horses' barn this summer. In just a few days they too will be off on their long journey south. It will be sad to see them go; their constant chirruping in the eaves will be much missed. On the other hand, the horses and I will be pleased to no longer be the recipients of their 'disposals'.

The remaining four orphan ducks have also left the safety-keeping of Daffodil and her chick in the baby pen and joined the 'big flock' in the main Poultry Palace enclosure. It was all a bit traumatic; lots of quacking and squeaking accompanied their attempts to join the crowd in the pond. All the 'established' ducks were very territorial and it took a good hour for two of the orphans to assert themselves sufficiently to get into just one small corner.... and the rest of the day for the other two to summon up the courage to join them. However, by evening there was no question that they were part of the flock as they all waddled off into the Palace together at dusk. It won't be long before we'll be unable to tell them apart from the others.

Although Daffodil and her chick were also able to go in and out of the baby pen at will all day, they chose to return to the safety of their own little house for the night. Since the chick is still so small it will probably be a few weeks before Daffodil trusts the others not to squash it! As it was, she was fighting anyone who dared come near it during the day. Talk about Mother Hen!

Ghost? Or Gunner?

Many years ago, local people believed The Old Rectory (home of Rectoryreserve) was haunted. The Parsonage was located next to the church. When it was demolished a human skull was found among the debris. The vicar buried it in the churchyard.
The next morning it was again discovered among the rubble. Again it was reburied in the churchyard.
When the skull was again found in the debris it was decided to take it to the site of the 'new' Rectory where it was built into one of the chimneys.


Once occupied, residents often heard noises from the kitchen which sounded like crockery being smashed. Yet when morning came, everything was as normal. Servants would wake to find their blankets had mysteriously been removed! A particular passage was even declared the ghost's favourite haunt... no-one dared enter after dark.
Unable to cope with the strange 'goings-on' many servants left.


In 1854 Rev. Jackson almost rebuilt the Rectory; the chimney with the skull enclosed in it was sealed up and the passageways re-arranged. It is said the strange happenings ceased after that.


Every now and then, however, something odd does happen. A cleaner swore she heard footsteps above the kitchen one day when nobody was in the house. Our now departed old black dog one day suddenly started up and stared at the back corridor upstairs and began to growl and bark - yet nobody was there. A family member staying with us felt a dog lick her hand in the middle of the night - but there was no dog there when she switched on the light!


So maybe we were less surprised than some when, earlier this week, we were awoken in the early hours of the morning by the sound of strangers talking and music playing downstairs. But there was nobody else in the house! The resident Ghostbuster slid quietly out of bed and crept somewhat hesitantly down the stairs. The voices seemed to be coming from the 'snug'.
As I got closer, a strange rythmic thumping sound could be heard emanating from behind the door. I continued gingerly onwards - curious and just a little bit nervous.


I peered around the door ..... and there I saw the strangers ..... on TV! The thumping sounds soon identified their source .... Gunner's tail as he lay watching the screen.... If I hadn't been laughing with relief I could have strangled the little rotter! The mystery of how the TV came to be on took a little longer to solve. Was it the ghost? The same one maybe that had 'opened' the DVD player a few nights earlier? Or the one that had broken my reading specs. and left them lying on the kitchen floor when I was out of the house? Along with a page torn out of the current Sunday Times Culture section (the one with the TV programmes).

As I looked around the room for evidence - or inspiration - my eye was caught by something lying by the fireplace. The remote control! Closer inspection showed definite teeth marks. Now, everyone knows a ghost wouldn't waste time using his/her teeth to operate the remote control! The culprit could only have been Gunner.

P.R. Moxon in 'Training the Roughshooter's Gundog' emphasises that the dog must only be reprimanded for its misdemeanours at the time and point of the misdemeanour. Clearly I had missed both and could only admire his intelligence, not to mention oral dexterity, in identifying which two buttons had to be pressed simultaneously in order to switch on the TV.

Ghosts indeed!

"HELLO" pigs, you're "O.K."

When it comes to 'getting down and dirty' the paparazzi know a thing or two.

But the phrase took on a very tactile and fragrant meaning this week when our Rectoryreserve herd were interviewed and photographed for a well known national agricultural magazine.

The paparazzo in question had met Wurzel and Pepper at Heckington and was eager to pursue their story in greater detail: particularly the 'hairy pigs return to Lincolnshire' aspect. Mind you, they were both well-behaved and, more importantly, clean on that occasion.

We had thought to present them in that same fashion on this occasion too. A considerable amount of time was spent on polishing and preening to remove the mud of the previous weeks. They were relatively sanguine about that, turning round to order so that we could attack the really caked areas and allowing their faces to be prettied up too. So, half an hour before the appointed 'interview' they were ready to grace the pages of the most celebrated of national magazines.

It is said that pigs have a sense of humour. Personally, I think it's an evil streak. We had no sooner turned our backs than they were straight back to their water drinker. We'd had the forethought to fill their wallows with hay. But they had other ideas. Within minutes the hay was made wet - and it takes quite a lot of effort to make water 'run' from an automatic drinker. Then mud was paddled in and then pigs rolled around ---- and became exceptionally dirty again. And, of course, wet! Cue the cool journalist! "No problem" he said; "The journal is one which prides itself in having its feet in the mud" (and, no doubt, having it's journalists' feet in the mire is an implicit part of the contract). And off he set about his work....... It was not long before thoughts of danger money were going through my mind, if not his.... Mangel and his mates were not into posing for the camera. Certainly they were interested in sticking their (dirty, very dirty) noses directly at the lens; they were equally intrigued by the photographers legs, feet, shirt, - well any part of his really. He began to take on a curious dappled appearance and muttered something about decreasing the value of his car, which he hoped to be selling shortly and which he was going to have to spend the best part of 3 hours travelling home in........ Something about clinging odours I suppose...

Attesting to his genuine fondness for pigs, however, he continued in good humour, giving up only when he felt certain he had at least one or two images which would be suitable for said esteemed magazine's readers. Let's hope he was right, after all we are trying to advance the case for Mangalitzas! Anyway, we look forward to reading the results of his labours in the near future.

P.S.

The following day, our lovable herd appeared clean and spruce for breakfast - and stayed like that for the remainder of the day. Sense of humour.... or what?

First safari visitors

The sun finally came to stay for a few days and with it our first 'safari' visitors. Unlike a 'traditional' safari (where you get to view the animals, from a safe distance, in their natural habitat) the Rectoryreserve experience is all 'hands-on' and living the country life with the animals, day in and out, in this instance for almost a week. Our first guests were typical 'townies' with little experience of the ins and outs of living with outdoor animals. Used to admiring them from afar, or on TV, the actual experience of feeding, handling and cleaning came as a bit of a culture shock - for the animals at least! But by the end of the week, trainers had been swapped for wellies, emptying horsemuck was taken for granted and the smell of pigs was just an ordinary breath of air! As they packed up their safari bus and drove away, the glint of a tear in their eyes underlined their promise to return next summer for another 'getting down and mucking in' country experience. Certainly they'll have lots of warm memories to make them smile through the cold dark wintry evenings ahead!

Little Ones & Growing-ups

It hardly seems possible that Gunner has been with us for nearly 3 months. Already he is beginning to resemble a 'grown up' spaniel rather than a roly-poly brown flecked sausage. He hasn't started 'school' yet but already he sits, stays and comes to command and walks to heel with or without his lead. He even had his first - informal - retrieving lesson yesterday, courtesy of Lancer. Polly and her ducklings had strayed far away from their pond and were merrily waddling around the yard not far from the pigs. Gunner happened upon them whilst mooching around whilst I was mucking out. He tried to make out what they were, which entailed getting quite close. They, naturally, didn't want to be too close so waddled quickly away, whereupon he wanted to get closer... and they wanted to get further away..... and so it went on till all the ducklings bar one had got away... at which point Lancer decided it was time to intervene and gently picked up the slow-coach. Gunner thought the game was then to take the duck from Lancer: but he growled something fierce and gave the duckling - shaken but unharmed - to me. I returned it to the hen-house. A little later yet another straying duck found itself in exactly the same position - with Gunner eager to help her go wherever she wanted to go, and Lancer quick to 'retrieve' the situation and return the duck to me to place back in the hen house. Somewhat later again (and either the ducks were being very stupid or were in cahoots with Lancer) Gunner found himself on the other side of Polly and her brood when I called him. So he calmly sat down, watched whilst she moved her brood away from him; then he inched closer and sat down again until she'd moved them all far enough away for him to calmly run around them and then quickly back to me. WHAT a clever dog - and not even 6 months old yet! He has to be a star in the making.

Meanwhile, Daffodil has been proudly showing off her latest brood; it's just a week old and OK so there is only one, but she couldn't be prouder if there were 20 of them. Let's just hope it's a baby hen and not another Cockerel........ should know by Christmas.....