Absolutely no one is to talk to Gussie.  The sweet little black lamb who used to sit on my feet has grown up into a complete thug and bully-boy.  Not good.

I’ve told his mother this too.  I am not impressed with Dahlia’s parenting skills.  I expected more.  Dahlia looked embarrassed and I would like to think slightly ashamed.

Gussie is picking only on Lambie and my poor, poor little boy is being beaten up horribly.  There was a big fight today after breakfast, resulting in Lambie hiding behind me, telling me to sort it out for him.  I put Gussie and Dahlia back in their separate field.

Last week there was evidence of blood after another Lambie-Gussie bust up and today was not much better, but with less blood.  Lambie has already lost his “magnificent” horns to this rivalry.

And Lambie is upset by all this. He hates a fracas at the best of times and has gone a bit Greta Garbo about life in general.  He’s feeling very put upon but obviously is enjoying being a tortured soul.  I feel his pain.

Anyway, today, after the watching the fight and the running away by Lambie, I decided they must stay apart for a while. Everyone woolly is being sheared tomorrow, hopefully, and that might change the flock dynamic too.  I hope so.  I hate fights and I hate bullies even more.

While the rest of Europe roasts, we, in Shetland, are not.  I think the sun might shine a bit on Tuesday but I am not holding my breath.  We might have had our summer a few weeks back.  It was very nice.

To be honest, though, I am not a huge fan of heat and excessive sunshine, which is possibly one of the many reasons I live in Shetland.

And, as the sheep are not yet sheared, hot weather would be miserable for them too.  So we are all happy that the wind blows and it is fairly cool – cool enough for us to mutter things like “perhaps we should turn the heating back on” in the evening.

When it gets hot, I will let you know.

I expect everyone will let me know too.

And obviously I will consult my 5 weather apps just in case.

This afternoon a small little face was telling me it was time to go and poo-pick the field, albeit in a high wind, but at least the sun was shining.  Rain is forecast later.

Newt was in a silly mood following me and my bucket around, giggling to himself and cantering about.  I couldn’t take photos as rubber gloves don’t work with an iPhone screen but he made me smile and wonder what on earth was he thinking.

And then, as I reached the far end of the track, I called the ponies over wondering if they would bother.

It was like a miniature version of the Grand National with the little boys galloping over, all the way to other side of their track. I love how they use it for racing.  This is their exercise.

And then suddenly it was heads down and all about finding grass to eat (good luck with that, I told myself).

Pepper, who always comes with me, and I walked home down the unused bit of the track of knee-high lush grass (over my dead body do they get this), switching on the electric fence on our way out.  This track, although working well, is hard work.

Isn’t this lovely?  A gorgeous linoprint of my little house with a beautiful wall of primroses underneath.

And this is us.  Totally us.  The primroses are perfect.  My wall of primroses are real.

I could not love it more because it  just says everything I want it to.

The linoprint was originally created by a very talented local artist, Fiona Sinclair as a commission for the previous owner of Thordale and now I have a copy too.  Go and look at her other work. It is well worth a visit.

“I love linoprinting and I love crofthooses!” – Fiona

So, as I said, this is us! Immortalised in linoprint.  Just bloody perfect.

Today it poured with rain all morning.

Not our best look but the wild flowers appreciated it.

The afternoon was a different matter and, after a quick work-trip to Turriefield, I came home to this.

Why, hello Tiddles!

The farrier is coming here very soon – Tuesday.  We can’t wait.

This is Waffle, who finally left his hay net to go outside.

He is looking glossy and very well.

As is Newt, but possibly a bit too well.  I still cannot find a rib. Perhaps he doesnt have one.  Newt could be a medical phenomenum.  It’s the sort of thing he would want to be.

Albie is another one without ribs but it is work-in-progress on this front.  One day, they will appear, I tell myself.

Just not today.

And Silver refused to talk to me.  Every morning after breakfast, I have been catching him to put cream on his sarcoids and to give him a scoop of TurmerAid (to boost his immunity) so he hates me as he is becoming increasingly ear-shy and I am becoming increasing determined this will be done. I will do this, I tell him.

Silver is also revoltingly filthy.  I am ignoring that.

But when the sun shines, everyone is happy.  When it rains, then less so.