I looked out of my back door to see Newt was having a little bit of a sit in the Shetland so-called Spring sunshine. It is not warm, I can tell you. Ice and frozen on the ground where the sun isn’t shining.
Not-so-little Albie was nearby happily hoovering the silage around his friend.
The Littlest Newt was sitting very comfortably in his own pile of dried silage. It turns into a hay bedding.
ZZzzzz-ing and snoring to himself.
Newt looks like a small buffalo.
Very cute to look at.
But Newt is not very huggable.
He is rather an aloof little chap who looks delicious but is actually the scheming brains and boss of this odd couple.
Albie does everything Newt tells him.
Newt is still planning his world domination.
Hold that thought because there is silage to be finished first!
A friend came round for coffee this morning, bringing her two Nova Scotia Duck Tolling Retrievers to play. They came over last year for swimming – Blog Post and it had been a huge success.
As it was March and minus something outside, instead of swimming and retrieving ducks, the Tollers just retrieved BeAnne’s box of toys.
This lovely girl was spayed a few days back – hence the medical pet shirt (such a good idea, I think, and much nicer than those horrid lampshade collars).
I wont pretend that BeAnne was thrilled to see these dogs, let alone share her toys but a reaction, either positive or negative, is better than nothing. BeAnne favoured her put-upon sulking routine!
The Tollers didn’t seem to care whether Mein Host was receptive or not.
We went outside for a little while.
BeAnne took her bally-ball just in case anyone nipped back to steal it. She loves it because it is the only one in her extensive collection that still squeaks.
This is BeAnne’s look of pure no-one-should-even-think-about-my-bally-ball!
Isn’t it, BeAnne? Yaysh! Typical Her Maj.
Back indoors, where it was slightly warmer, the dogs began to relax a bit more.
Again, like yesterday, there was almost a moment of potential playing.
We went past the vet this afternoon and I picked up a brace of new squeaky bally-balls. BeAnne took one to her bed.
BeAnne is different now. She is very down and has little or no enjoyment in life. Her spark has gone. Everyone in the family is noticing it. This is the first time in her life BeAnne has ever been on her own.
I am wondering whether she needs a friend and quickly before she gets used to feeling miserable. Cat or dog? My plan was to take her to Turriefield, where I pack veg, but she wouldn’t follow me so I put her on a lead and she grudgingly came too.
On our way to the car, we went past the horses.
Efstur’s new rug has arrived and, huzzah, it fits!
I had warned the Turriefield folk that I was bringing Her Maj. While we packed and distributed the veg, she quietly took herself away.
Anyway, at Turrifield there is a wonderful little cat, called Trotsky, who played with BeAnne last August when he was a kitten. Once we had finished with the veg, Trotsky was brought in.
Trotsky remembered BeAnne and she seemed genuinely pleased to see him.
(this little film was when Trotsky and BeAnne first met in August 2017)
Now six months on.
There was the statutory sniffing.
A nose booff from Trotsky for his canine friend.
And another. He really was pleased to see BeAnne and remembered her.
But then BeAnne took herself away again.
They didn’t stay together for very long as we had just about finished. There was almost a tiny bit of playing – but I am not sure.
So, now I don’t know. A little puppy? BeAnne has huge mothering instincts or a cat, as she does like cats, though her body language above is a bit worried. She did like Wu. He was a good friend.
It is truly vile out there. So cold, wet and windy.
We are all hating it.
Efstur’s second new rug has arrived this afternoon so we will be trying it on him tomorrow. I went up a size when I ordered it but it is a different make so it could be anyone’s guess whether it fits or not. The science of horse rug measuring remains a mystery to me. I think it is more chaos theory really than actual mathematically acknowledged measurements.
We are trying to keep our heads above water and everyone is on two meals a day of silage apart. I did not see any shivering and the horses and ponies are clever at finding the best place for shelter.
The hens are laying, though, so they must know something I don’t. I had to use my hat to collect today’s eggs. Don’t worry, I didn’t let them lay in it, though it does look like a good nest.
Every day we go to Leradale to feed the littlies as well as one of the Icelandic horse mares, Brá who is giving her all to her foal, Dreki.
Hetja, the other mother, doesn’t need any extra food.
Poor Hetja gets a headcollar put on plus her statutory three carrot ration but we get to talk.
She agrees this is an ok compromise and I tell her she is beautiful.
Not brilliant, but certainly acceptable.
While I was talking to Hetja, she kept asking to go to my left. I thought it was to have a shot at the lick bucket so I let her go but I stayed standing between her and Brá as I don’t like Brá to be hassled when she is eating. Hetja is the dominant mare and Brá would have to give up her food.
But Hetja had spied the spare bag of carrots that I though I had hidden on the “aeshins” (n – top of side wall of house, inside roof – Shetland Dictionary). Her devious greed made me smile and I so I quickly gave the bag to Floss to feed to the Minions in the other field.
On another good note, Mr Headcollar is making huge progress. Dreki expects it to be put on every day. He is very calm.
Madam Lilja is now much better about the whole ordeal. She adopts the Lady Di look – a coy smile!
She is very pretty too.
Dreki is the charmer. His happy-go-lucky attitude is wonderful. He is very like his half-brother, Efstur.
Dreki is also guaranteed to make you smile.
This is good because we are all feeling rather bleak at the moment.
