The highlight of the college summer tends to be the
Ball. InBishop
Burton'scase this meant dodgem cars, laser
guns, bouncy castles, a fairground, fancy meal and a Grease
tribute band. With anticipation building for weeks, the event
wasn't a disappointment. At least, so I hear.
I wasn't at it on this occasion. And what a one to miss. I've
just been replying to some baffled friends on Facebook, explaining
why (late in the evening, stinking of sheep and formaldehyde,
sunburnt red-raw and ready for bed) I decided the unthinkable and
gave travelling to Beverley a miss.
"Call yourself an Agric?" When it comes to the traditional drink
and partying, I've seriously let the side down.
I've been doing my first farm-sitting. Grimston Manor Farm near
Gilling East is a farm I already know quite well. The Kelsey family
were away on holiday for the first time in a while and felt it was
a good chance to leave me to my own devices for a bit.
I soon discovered a shepherd's work is never done. No sooner is
one treatment complete, but another is due. Some ewe decides to
prolapse, while another decides to pop out a couple of June lambs,
and yet another reckons mastitis (and a 108F temperature) might be
the way to go.
These were my prides and joys for the week, as all of them
survived. Not wanting to have to ring up for deadstock collection
in my short watch, they received every possible care and attention.
The ewe with mastitis actually seemed to appreciate the effort,
developing a habit of resting her head on my shoulder as I stripped
out the infected quarter.
Juggling different flocks, age and weight of lambs, withdrawal
times, dates of last treatments and other priorities, planning each
job was like deciphering an algebraic formula.
Looking at how much I didn't have to do and plan in that week, I
start to wonder how someone can fit it all into their time. Let
alone additional contracting and fork-lift training as in Tim's
case.
I was not always alone. I had the welcome company of Kelsey
relatives next door, and Ray Beckett who was dealing with the
arable and machinery side.
Checking round the flocks was my favourite job. I've seen so
many hares, I wonder now why seeing one was such a big deal
before?
Putting lambs through the footbath was the worst job. I'm sure
they deliberately waited until I was close enough before kicking
and splashing their way through the formaldehyde solution. Cute
little lambs they were not.
An interesting job was collecting fresh muck samples to test for
worm burden. Waiting for lambs to "defecate" was like watching the
proverbial kettle. An odd hobby, but I can now tell the difference
between a strongyle and a nematodirus egg.
I'm now missing having livestock I can call, even temporarily,
my responsibility. But, with the summer shooting by, there's no
time to pine.