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!