A Special Place in Hell Waiting

There is a special place in Hell waiting for me.

I did something you should never do.

In fairness, I had no choice.

I cut some of Silver’s mane off. Ok, it was actually a large chunk.

But in my defence, Silver had a big “witches’ knot” and I couldn’t unravel it no matter how hard I tried so in the end I took the scissors to it telling myself it is only hair that will grow back. And then I cut it off.

Witches’ knots are surrounded by folklore:-

A witches’ knot (also called a fairy knot or elf lock) in a horse’s mane is a tight, stubborn tangle that forms overnight:-

Midnight Rides: Old European legend says that witches, fairies, or elves ride horses through the night and braid or knot the hair to use as stirrups and reins (all I can say is good luck with that!)

Bad Luck: Folklore warns that untangling these knots brings bad luck or angers the spirits who chose the horse (I didn’t untangle, I cut it out so I am probably double-doomed then).

Compliment: Some believe a knotted mane means your horse is a favorite of magical creatures (I doubt very much that Silver is a favourite of any magical creature!)

Actually witches’ knots are caused by the unceasing Shetland wind and are a real bore to get out.

I don’t think Silver was very impressed with me – he’s already lost his forelock to a greasy mat that I did manage to tease out.

Anyway, it’s not like anyone is going into the show ring very soon but I hope the others don’t point and laugh.

A Pensive Post

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Apologies if this angers some but I just wanted to put my thoughts down because I am feeling rather pensive after a trip to town.

I fed all the animals, made a quick hand-felted sheep for Jamieson’s Knitwear and then I went into town to get the Eggbox (Jimny) through it’s now-annual MOT.

This was the Jimny’s first MOT. It passed and the mechanic mentioned that it hadn’t done many miles (just over 3,000). I replied that it was a glorified wheelbarrow really!

Anyway, after the MOT, I went to the Agricultural Merchants that are next to the Marts (market) and Abbatoir.

Whilst collecting my animal feed around the back, I saw flocks of sheep in their stalls waiting to be sold with potentially a miserable fate ahead. And there’s always one that looks like Edna ***sniff***. We all know what happens. I won’t spell it out. I just felt very sorry for the sheep and wanted to take them home with me so they could live out their natural lives in green fields.

But it cannot be. I know that and I had to promise my physiotherapist and anaesthetist (pain clinic chap) that I wouldn’t have any more animals on my croft. Eight sheep is the allowed number, plus a handful of horses and ponies.

It also made me think, as I drove home, that my sheep really do not know just how lucky they are.

They have the world.

The worst thing they have to worry about is who gets ownership of their shed.

I guess the difference is that I see my sheep as pets and not food. It was just that the for-sale sheep’s resigned little faces in the mart stalls broke my heart. I should really avoid these places and just concentrate on hugging my own ungrateful lot.

(and I don’t want a row about agriculture and farming methods – I am a realist. I know how the world works. I was just sad, that’s all).

Cat Rules

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It all started at breakfast.

After feeding everyone and doing my morning chores, I came inside and made myself my usual bowl of porridge and a large mug of tea. At last, my breakfast.

And today Monster joined me (and, yes, I abhor cats that sit on the kitchen table and no cat has ever been allowed to do this but Monster will not be told so I’ve given up).

However, there are Rules.

Like no sitting on my iPad – so that’s ignored.

And then there is the Rule about keeping off my breakfast. No stealing.

Words failed me when Monster did this! A new low.

So, we had words. I reminded Monster about the Rules and he retaliated by sulking and I felt awful. I didn’t enjoy my porridge or mug of tea at all. I wasn’t supposed to.

And, as you can see, I am the Master of my own shed too.

There was absolutely no way on God’s green earth I was parting with a Tunnocks teacake, though Monster did wangle a piece of shortbread out of me which he shared with Pepper.

In the end, bored of the constant scrounging and general getting in the way, I put Monster in his basket for a break. I have a very large felted sheep order so I had to get on.

Monster liked his basket, though it is always a bit of a snug fit.

He really needs a bigger basket and I don’t have one – this is one I brought back from Mum’s house when we cleared it out (so now I must go off to look at large old baskets on Ebay for the ruddy cat!) Anything for peace and quiet and my sanity.

Setter Farm Trip

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A friend of mine, who is here in Shetland for Wool Week, won a Facebook Like-And-Share “raffle” for a tour of Setter Farm. She asked if anyone would like to accompany her (this was a few months’ back) and I thought that it sounded very interesting and said yes, please (pick me, pick me!)

There are only two dairy farms in Shetland and Setter Farm is situated in Tingwall (about 5 minutes out of Lerwick). It is the UK’s most northerly dairy farm – dairying has been done at Setter for over 100 years. As well as cows and calves, they also keep sheep.

So first up, we saw the sheep – these were the Cheviots who, I think, will be going to the sheep sales later this year.

I was fascinated by their expressions and social interactions.

The “hill” Shetlands were in another pen and very mad, alternating between huddling and scattering if they saw anyone.

There was definitely a look of Edna is some of them. *** sniff *** Pretty little sheeps. I wanted to take them all home.

Then we went to look at “the plant”. Yes please to everything. The folk at Setter Farm also work as agricultural contractors around the islands.

And then we stood to the side of the track and watched the dairy cows come home, which was lovely.

The calves were kept in calf stalls where they had regular buckets of milk and are then weaned onto water and hay.

The cows were munching silage before going back out again for a little while before the evening milking.

I watched them for a long while. I am very fond of dairy cows. I remember them from my childhood as my step-mother had a dairy farm and my job was to get the stragglers and strays to keep up when we were moving the herd to a different field. Obviously, I was always on horseback and, possibly stupidly, fearless!