I worried all last night about my animals.  The night was long and very harsh.  We lost power for a couple of hours and it has been coming and going today.

This morning I woke up fully expecting to see equine, and possibly ovine, corpses everywhere.

Luckily, this was not to be and I made the executive decision that everyone at Thordale should come in for a rest.

With Daisy and Flossie leading Kappi and Taktur, the rest quickly followed over the hill and came home.  No one needed asking twice.

We separated the group into little ones by themselves (much to Newt’s fury).

Kappi and Taktur together.

Kappi can be a bit territorial over food but he will share nicely with Taktur and I didn’t want the little ones in an argument.

My money would be on Newt, anyway.  God help everyone else.

The rest went into the big school.

We have been putting out hay and water for them all day and they can stay there, regroup, rest and fill up.

Floss and Richard checked the ones at Leradale who have lots of grass and shelter.  Delia had her grub.  They are all very happy and fat.

This afternoon, we put up the Christmas decorations.

I love it when the house is Christmassy.    Happy days.  Wu has only been up the tree once.  Daisy has to “make” one more sheep for the tree.

First thing, up and at ’em.

No time for breakfast, just out and start getting everyone and everything prepared for Storm Caroline.

OH mended/bodged a few doors to keep them hopefully shut for the duration.

I was trying to work out where was North West as that is the predominant wind direction.  We shut all sheds that would lose their roofs in this direction gale.

The girls and I carried two bales of hay and molasses mineral lick bucket up to the chaps at Clothie.  After careful thought and consideration we decided they were best off staying there.

There is a good selection of shelter in the form of dry stone walls, a large long croft house and some old sheds.  Ok, none of them have a roof, but they are solid and perfect for keeping out of the wind.  There is also some grass.

Little Newt and “his” lick bucket!

I am most worried about Albie who was very jittery when we were dishing out the hay. I later went back with carrots and he had calmed down.

We also took a bale of hay and two lick buckets (one for the Icelandic mares and foals) to Leradale.  We gave the hay to the Shetland ponies and Storm whinnied at the lick bucket!

Over at Leradale, there is masses of shelter – one side of the hill full of grass for the Shetlands and the Icelandics, again, have a croft house and barns to stand behind in a field of long grass.

When we got home, I rechecked the herd up at Clothie and then let the sheep out of their field.

I showed them we had moved their mineral lick into their shed which they share with the hens.

We have sheep and hen food inside ready for tomorrow so we can easily feed them.

I have distributed carrots and told everyone to stay safe.

As I type, the lights are flickering, the wind is howling and it is getting much colder.

Think of us, please xx

Storm Caroline is winging its way over to Shetland and it is a bit of a biggie.  Daisy and I have sort of made plans which we will execute tomorrow morning, as well as battening down the hatches, in the calm before the storm.

Basically, everyone will stay outside and, with a good pile of hay inside them plus lots of shelter, they will be happier than shut in stables.

So first thing, Floss and I headed off to Lerwick in the van to get some mineral/feed buckets for the horses and sheeples as well as 20 bales of emergency hay.

Feeling better prepared, we came home to be greeted by a more enthusiastic terrier.  Everything will be dished out tomorrow so the animals will all have better central heating to face the storm with.

This afternoon I did give the sheep their feed bucket and left them gnawing it!  Puzzah was very happy and it is a big bucket for just four sheep.  They are designed for more of a large flock environment but I am sure it will be eaten eventually.

BeAnne was happy we came home (again).  This afternoon she was obsessed by feet.  She likes to sit on mine, in case I happen to move away.

And of course feet are useful for tummy tickling.

Your servant, I, BeAnne!

I think she has forgiven me.

I am very tired so this will be brief.

I spent the day travelling from 09:30 when I left Mum’s house to 18:30 when I arrived home in filthy miserable weather.

This is the view from the Heathrow plane waiting to taxi out and fly to Edinburgh.

Arriving at Edinburgh.  I know it’s Edinburgh because all along the Firth of Forth there are lots of little islands and resorts/villages I would love to visit.

At Edinburgh, I had a bit of a rest and so I had lunch and feeling fortified went Christmas shopping.

And then onto the Shetland plane.  The planes get smaller as you travel north.

It was a bit of a bumpy flight home but the sunset above the clouds was pretty.

OH met my plane (it came in 30 minutes late) and we drove home to be met by an enthusiastic Her Maj.

Who gave me a cursory glance to intimate a brief hello and then moved back to sit by the only person whoever loved her – Daisy.

Supper – Floss made me wonderful sushi, which was a damn sight better than the WH Smith sushi I had that seemed to have cheese in it.  Cheese sushi?  Just why!

There’s no place like home.  Maybe tomorrow BeAnne might manage to forgive me.

This is Fred Barnard, a noted Victorian illustrator for Charles Dickens.  He is a relation on my mother’s side.

Frederick was an excellent professional artist.  For fun, he liked to paint his family and their beloved dog, Conis, whose resemblance to BeAnne is positively scary and very accurate.  I think he has captured the resentful terrier sulk beautifully.  I know that face well.

Fred had a son, Geoff, who was also a brilliant artist too.

Mum has some of Geoff’s work hanging in the house.

I was hunting about the house for family things to look at and found this portfolio.

Sadly, it did not contain Fred Barnard’s original etchings for Charles Dickens’ novels (they would be worth a few bob) but it did have some of his letters and sketches.

Fred also worked for the Illustrated London News and Punch.

His letters, often illustrated, were wonderful to read, if difficult – sometimes writing twice in different directions on the same piece of paper!

Mum and I spent a happy morning looking through the portfolio.  Philip Boyd is my great great grand-father, I think.

Geoff, Fred’s beloved son, died of a congenital heart defect when he was in his early 20’s and so Fred left his wife to live in a  bedsit in Wimbledon.  He took up laudanum to dull the pain and the misery of his loss.  One night his pipe caught the bedclothes alight and Fred was burnt to death.  He was 50 years old.

A tragic tale.