Gladys bereft
You might think this is a very strange way to start a blog but poor Gladys was bleating in distress yesterday. She is an elderly ewe and her anxiety was puzzling.
One of my last four ancient sheep was dead the other morning and I didn't check too closely on the body when we moved it but thought it was the one who must be around 18. But I found her still very much alive and realised it was the fat wether, twin to Gladys. Don't know why she got that name, my sheep don't usually have names but someone called her that and it stuck. These twins were the youngest, although 13 years old and the old chap was a real sweetie. I was quite upset when I realised it was him and very surprised how much effect it had on his sister. People think sheep are thick but they're much more intelligent than they’re given credit for. They just have a different take on life and of course usually they are considered en masse, or en flock.
I could hear Gladys calling in the night and she was still bellowing today and obviously missing him a lot. He was always overweight, a good doer, and I expect his heart let him down.
We used to have a flock of around 90 ewes but these had remained as pets because I was too soft to send them off to the abattoir. They have had a lovely life which is probably why they’ve reached such an age. So now there are only three.
He’s laid out in a quiet corner on the hill to feed the kites and ravens, quite legal in the UK on land above a certain height. It probably sounds horrible but if you think about it the ultimate recycling.
Red kites in Britain became almost extinct, dwindling to just a few pairs in mid Wales in the 1980s
but around thirty years ago they were introduced from Spain to the Chiltern Hills area in southern England. With human help and protection they have spread successfully and in some cases their scavenging instincts have led them to become a nuisance. But globally they are still rated endangered.
Here in the Welsh Marches where England meets Wales they are thriving and we’re delighted they now breed in Shropshire especially as the ones we have here are from the indigenous population in Wales. They are such beautiful birds and to see them flying low over the farm is breathtaking so anything we can do to help is good.
What's this got to do with books you might ask. But it is this beautiful unspoiled landscape and its wildlife that colours my writing. In my first novel Thorns the countryside is almost a character in itself and the story is set against a panorama I look at every day.
And in Adam’s Ark, my latest offering, Adam is forced to open his much loved hilltop home to help people arriving at his door desperate for refuge from the rising water.
One of my last four ancient sheep was dead the other morning and I didn't check too closely on the body when we moved it but thought it was the one who must be around 18. But I found her still very much alive and realised it was the fat wether, twin to Gladys. Don't know why she got that name, my sheep don't usually have names but someone called her that and it stuck. These twins were the youngest, although 13 years old and the old chap was a real sweetie. I was quite upset when I realised it was him and very surprised how much effect it had on his sister. People think sheep are thick but they're much more intelligent than they’re given credit for. They just have a different take on life and of course usually they are considered en masse, or en flock.
I could hear Gladys calling in the night and she was still bellowing today and obviously missing him a lot. He was always overweight, a good doer, and I expect his heart let him down.
We used to have a flock of around 90 ewes but these had remained as pets because I was too soft to send them off to the abattoir. They have had a lovely life which is probably why they’ve reached such an age. So now there are only three.
He’s laid out in a quiet corner on the hill to feed the kites and ravens, quite legal in the UK on land above a certain height. It probably sounds horrible but if you think about it the ultimate recycling.
Red kites in Britain became almost extinct, dwindling to just a few pairs in mid Wales in the 1980s
but around thirty years ago they were introduced from Spain to the Chiltern Hills area in southern England. With human help and protection they have spread successfully and in some cases their scavenging instincts have led them to become a nuisance. But globally they are still rated endangered.
Here in the Welsh Marches where England meets Wales they are thriving and we’re delighted they now breed in Shropshire especially as the ones we have here are from the indigenous population in Wales. They are such beautiful birds and to see them flying low over the farm is breathtaking so anything we can do to help is good.
What's this got to do with books you might ask. But it is this beautiful unspoiled landscape and its wildlife that colours my writing. In my first novel Thorns the countryside is almost a character in itself and the story is set against a panorama I look at every day.
And in Adam’s Ark, my latest offering, Adam is forced to open his much loved hilltop home to help people arriving at his door desperate for refuge from the rising water.
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