F******* gather

Foggy gather. Final gather. If you were thinking it was any other eff ing gather you need to wash your minds out with mustard. Take it from me, it is an ideal way to ensure you'd never touch mustard again!

The view - if you could call it that. Every morning, without fail the view hardly varied.

I guess a different spot made the view seem slightly different, but initially it was all the same, visibility extremely poor, in fact visibility was crap, there wasn't a polite way of putting it really.

A week had been allowed to gather the sheep away out bye. 7,000 + acres to cover to find 1,500 sheep. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, an inconvenience maybe but not a problem, there is always tomorrow. However, the scan man was due in a weeks time and so a problem it was.

Every morning saw us climb out into the thickening gloom, like two intrepid explorers on quads, setting out to find what no man could see. Headlights on the bikes were of little use as neither of us could see each other until we almost collided. We went forth and made noise, whistled, sang, hollered (shouted)....... whatever the moment necessitated, it would be fair to say we persevered.

As we dropped further in apparitions began to appear before our very eyes. A marvelous sight!! Sheep know where they belong and they know the spot to gather up to, they also know when we can't see them..........

Fortunately, blocks had been put in place to encourage the sheep to run to a designated area, an area where years back the sheep were gathered together for tup time and have since always been gathered to the same spot. Which means that generations of sheep know where they're meant to gather up to, they know feed blocks will be available to them on the run up to lambing time at these particular spots on the hill. These blocks were put out to help hold them to the spot, specifically for this particular gather.

It was a great help with the conditions we were experiencing, giving us a sporting chance of tracking down the sheep when visibility was so poor.

Ironical that you couldn't see a bloody thing out on the tops then drop away in with sheep in front of you and it is as clear as a bell. A quick count to see if all are present. Then the inevitable - all aren't present! There were a variety of discrepancies, ranging from a couple short, to 30 odd short and one day apparently over a hundred short (the day Shep had to go elsewhere, can't be blamed for that one!)

Those present were taken further in and held in fields whilst bikes and riders turned around and headed out to look for more.

It seemed like a long week, much bouncing around on the hill, I'm sure my arse (backside) was tenderised like the finest steaks by the end of the gathering, it felt like every muscle, joint and bone in my body had been pulverised, far cheaper than paying for a deep muscle massage that's for sure, probably not quite such a pleasant result tho'! Ground was covered and re covered in an attempt to have all sheep present for the scan man.

Did we succeed? Well almost........ The final tally saw a handful missing, a handful unaccounted for, we ran out of time and luck but under the circumstances were also highly successful. Let's hope those missing few are fit and healthy and come in on the next gather.

I started the posting with Foggy gather.Final gather?

http://blog.tarset.co.uk/2011/11/springing-into-winter.html

This link takes us back to the gathering for tup time where I wrote the following:

I mentioned to the shepherd that this ought to be our last day out here, a day to hold strong in our memories, a perfect day. There are changes afoot on this particular farm, a parting of the ways. Neither of us knows if we'll ever be out here again to gather, let alone be in each others company doing so. This was the first day of many to gather sheep forward for tup time, wouldn't it have been perfect if it had been the last day of many.

At long last we had the final gather. 'Twas a shame we didn't quite go out on a high! Although there were high moments, and much leg pulling. There was probably also a sense of relief.

A relief that at last there was a shepherd on the farm, a farm which has been unoccupied for four months, four winter months at that. I think there ought to be a party!!! A leaving do?? A pre lambing bash - now there's an idea!

getting in a tizz

Shep is slowly getting into a tizz, now you might not know what that means. Wound up I guess would sum it up well, or mebbes the clinical description would be stressed, although I would say that was probably an exaggerated description of being in a tizz.

In a tizz - quite simple really, a feeling of much to do and not enough time to do it. I wouldn't care, the days are getting longer, there are more hours available to work in, it ought to be easy to get caught up with work and things.....

It's the pre - lambing tizz that is the problem, coupled with unco-operative weather. Rain, gales, snow, sleet, more rain, fog, clarts, you name it! For a few days it did seem like spring was arriving, now it feels like mother nature has changed her mind.

Have to say, there has been some great excitement, I was like an overgrown kid when I heard the skylark for the first time on 16th Feb. "Skylark! Listen. Definitely skylark, there they are look...up there" Caught talking to myself once again, the dogs cocked their heads on one side and stared at me in despair.

Then there was the frogspawn on 23rd February, I jumped off the bike and did a little dance...... the dogs sat back and gave me a quizzical look. I faired no better when I conveyed my excitement to the shepherd I was working with. "Is the other half registered as your carer?" was his reply!

I don't care what the dogs or anyone else thinks, it has been exciting. There has been the first Peewits and Curlew, Oystercatchers on the river side, geese heading south - you name it, the signs of spring were appearing everywhere, life is looking up, spring was springing. Yipee!

February disappeared into history and March arrived. The 'phone kept ringing, work to do. Hoggs to hornburn, sheep in need of their pre lambing inoculating, dosing required, treatments for ticks needed, much to do.

'Tis great, I do like to be kept busy, all was easily manageable before I head north at the end of the month, no need to worry. Until, that is, the weather broke!

Sheep pens are outdoors, hoggs are burnt in the sheep pens, the fire is lit in the sheep pens........ Have you ever tried burning water? Doesn't work too well.

Not to worry, will re-organise the burning and get on with dosing etc., Trouble is many wish to treat their sheep with a preventative pour on against ticks, this is the same sort of pour on used in the treatment of lice. For all it doesn't specifically say on the container that it must be applied onto dry wool most do prefer to do this, so once again it isn't possible to get on and the sheep work is beginning to stack up, time is ticking on........

Shep's getting in a tizz..........

One job which needs doing is I have been asked to head into Scotland and inoculate the sheep which I am to lamb. I am excited at this prospect, not because I'll get a cheviot fix but because I'll know they are inoculated against lamb dysentery, a disease in the lambs which has been a rod to bear over the few years I have lambed this flock. This year they ought to be dysentery free! I really want to get up there and get them done, but then there is everyone else queueing up also!

There are other issues also, ordering and taking delivery of a new fridge freezer. Car repairs. Lambing supplies (chocolate!). Appointments. Letters to write. Phone calls to make. I almost feel snowed under, ironical considering it is actually snowing!

My car is getting weary. Can't expect miracles, it is 16 years old. I like my car, it goes and it stops when asked to, what more could I ask for? It is having some maintenance work done at the moment, apparently it's body is beginning to show it's age and major, expensive rebuilding work will be on the agenda should it try to go through another MOT.

To add to my tizz I decided to go and look at another car.

I know I wont get one like the one I've got, or if I should I'll just have another rust bucket. But my headset likes my car, I'm used to my car and I'd quite like another very similar. Also, I don't want to buy a car for lots of money, you could say I'm mean but also my car is used as a mobile dog kennel, it carries three dogs to and from work everyday. It is a hatchback with the back seats dropped down,it is trashed inside, has an aroma all of its own - a true work horse. Do I want to spend a lot of money on something 'nice' just to trash it? Definitely not!

I happened to see a car advertised which was similar to mine, a few years younger with a reasonable mileage and at a sensible price - almost too good to be true! I rang up about it to find it was at Newcastle, umm, Jarrow in fact, oh! I had to ask where Jarrow was, have heard of it, the Jarrow March and all that. Anyhow, it's near South Shields, umm!

Basically for a country bumpkin like me it seemed a long way away, although it would be fairer to say it was somewhere I'd never been to before and never really wanted to - in the town. Never mind, beggars can't be choosers.

Eventually, we both found ourselves held up with the weather, a quick 'phone call confirmed the car was still for sale and off we headed. No sat navs just a good old fashioned map and an address. I have to say I don't like towns or cities or in fact anywhere where there are houses, traffic and people.

My fingernails were about chewed off by the time we arrived at our destination and I wasn't doing the driving! For once my navigational skills didn't let me down either - must be a good omen!

It wasn't. The car wasn't keen on starting (at least my rust bucket does!), when it did start a cloud of black smoke rose from the engine, matched by the black smoke coming out of the exhaust. Umm..... back to plan A (I do like my car!!)

Four hours from leaving home we returned, having driven through snow at this end, fog in the middle and rain in town we'd been, turned around and come back with nothing to show for our little gander.

Shep was feeling well and truly tizzed and needed to get out into the open somewhere, having been couped up in a car for hours and stuck in town on concrete streets with traffic and people I needed to head into an open space and leave the world behind, go back into my world.

The weather was poor, snow was still lying, it was by now raining and foggy with it, dogs and I jumped into the car and without realising where we were headed found ourselves on the shores of Kielder Reservoir. Strange really, it is on our doorsteps but not a place I ever really visit - I must have been in a tizz!

Two hours later and I felt I could return to civilisation. My choice had been a good one, on such a dank day there was no one wandering about. Dogs and I had the walks to ourselves and we reveled in the peace and beauty of the place.

I found myself transfixed, I'd ground to a halt at a puddle. Not any old puddle you understand, this was a big puddle. A swampy area which had flooded and covered the footpath, there were trees overhanging the area and rushes and mossy humps showing up through the water. I had haltered due to the path being immersed in water and then I ended up in a spell. It was the sound which held me under a spell.

One of those magical moments, the sort that bring you back from somewhere you hadn't enjoyed being. The drips of the rain hitting the puddle, accompanied with the drips which were accumulating and then dropping off the trees. There was music. Every drip or drop produced a slightly different tone, some threw up bubbles which produced a different sound again. I stood there spellbound - an orchestral puddle - amazing!

I was beginning to wonder if the music could be recorded, could you play around with the recording and come up with some wonderful, natural mix of music? But was it not necessary to have the visual also? The drops hitting the surface causing ringlets, mini waves which rippled gently across the surface before breaking into one another before finally dying as others were formed?

My trance was finally broken, the dogs had decided there must be a problem and were pushing there noses into my legs, looking at me questioningly. The shepherds remark "Is your other half registered as your carer?" came into my head and I laughed and we went on our way.

A puddle managed to calm my feeling of tizziness, I am now a day closer to heading off lambing, but my sanity (some would question that I have ever been sane)has returned, the hubbub of traffic, streets and people is a distant memory, the future work loads will pan out one way or the other - I've returned to my world!!

Lambs away.

I mentioned the wagon was due in, away out bye, to lift the fat lambs and take them direct to slaughter - much work was to be done to get everything ready before the wagon pulled up in the yard. The weather broke, sunshine gave way to rain, sheep were saturated and working conditions were less than perfect. That's life!

The conditions were really quite uncomfortable, it pissed down, no polite way to describe it really. Rain ran down my face, off my nose and chin end, finally ending up running down my neck and getting soaked up by clothing below - not the best, except....... it was mild which I'm sure was a help, steaming below waterproof gear there was no doubt about it I felt warm!

The shepherd from out bye and myself split up this particular morning. He shepherds a huge patch of ground which possesses two sets of sheep pens, the ones at the home farm he worked in all morning with his helper and the ones two miles further down the road I worked in all morning, again with assistance. We were both doing similar tasks.

Each field of sheep was gathered in. At my end every lamb other than a keeping ewe lamb was shed off along with the old ewes which are getting drafted from the flock. Those which remained were set back out to the hill ground where they belong before gathering the next field in. The wagon wasn't due 'til 2pm so there was little panic, allowing a minute or two to shelter in the hay shed away from the rain.

Finally the pens I was working in were full of lambs and draft ewes which were to be walked the two miles down the track to the 'home' farm.

Reminiscent of the days of the drovers (which believe you me I can't remember). Drove roads are to be found all over the borders, roads which led to auctions or railway stations. Men on foot or horseback would drive sheep and cattle for miles and miles, often needing to stop overnight somewhere before resuming their journey the following day. Once upon a time all stock was moved in this manner.

The above photo shows the lambs and old ewes being driven a couple of miles, no shank's pony for the 'drover' though just a modern day quad bike. Lambs are notoriously difficult to drive when fresh spaened, they have no adult sheep to lead the way and are capable of panicking and running in all directions. Good dogs are essential to keep them together in a flock and control them. This drive was made easier by the fact the old ewes were with the lambs, some 'sensible' sheep to lead the way and respect the dogs.

The good news was we weren't the only ones to get a good soaking, the weather had been no better two miles down the road!

There were in actual fact one or two sunny blinks, soggy jackets were discarded for a short while. Soon all became apparent as the muggy, clammy, sticky weather and it's horrendously heavy rain showers were joined by flashes of lightening and brattles of thunder - what a surprise!!

Eventually all the lambs destined for the wagon were tagged and ready and waiting - all 346 of them, they were run into a shed in an attempt to prevent them from getting any wetter whilst for us dinner was the order of the day.

Draft ewes had their udders and teeth checked, were dosed and sent to respective fields. Store lambs were also dosed and sent into a good grassy field where they ought to improve and freshen up. All this was done and still the wagon hadn't arrived. Flashes of lightening had had me jumping on occasions (I really ought not to have watched a documentary on the TV about lightening strikes!!), once over I concluded it was not wise to be hanging on to the metal chain which Kale was attached to and I wondered if the rubber tyres of the bike would actually save me any - I obviously had too much time on my hands!! I found out at a later date how fortunate we had been, a neighbour just over the hill top had lost two cows which had been struck by lightening. Nature can be harsh at times.

Finally the wagon appeared over the horizon and it was 'all hands on deck'

The lambs are run onto the wagon in small numbers, the huntaway dog is a useful addition to help load the wagon. Huntaways bark on command and believe you me if one of those was chasing up my backside barking I too would be running up the ramp into the wagon!

A four storey articulated wagon was needed to house all the lambs. The lambs are run onto the wagon in small numbers and shut off in compartments within the wagon. This ensures that each lamb has plenty of room around them, plenty of air and there is no fear of them squashing or smothering one another, they have sufficient room to stand or lie down comfortably and find themselves bedded on sawdust so won't have to lie in the slutter that could be made with all the muck and urine that passes through them. A very comfortable journey!

Finally the wagon is loaded, movement licences are handed over and the lambs are ready to depart. A 2-3 hour journey will see them reach their destination and then they will be history as they say.

Now before you all cringe and ooh and aah, bear in mind that these lambs have had a wonderful existence. Living in a truly beautiful part of the British Isles, they've had a totally stress free life and breathed some of the purest air there is to be found, they have been loaded onto a state of the art wagon and will have a comfortable journey. What more could they possibly ask for?

The beauty of our countryside is due to the livestock which graze it. Head into Scotland and view the unkempt hills to be found in some areas - a stark reminder of what will happen if no sheep are to graze our hills.

Selling sheep for meat is also a necessity , they are what pay the bills, keep the shepherd out bye in a job and myself too. Not only that, but it is some of the tastiest meat you could wish to eat, being naturally fed on heather and herbs it really does bring out the flavour of the area from which they were reared.

Heatwave in Tarset

I do recall mentioning the fact that Tarset was experiencing a heatwave, in many ways summer had returned even though there was no doubt we were really heading into autumn.

The heatwave turned out to be a mini heatwave, although greatly appreciated for the time it lasted.

The week of the heatwave saw Shep helping the shepherd away out bye to gather his hill ewes and get the fat lambs sorted, store lambs spaened (weaned) and keeping ewe lambs retained. Misty mornings caused a little grief as gathering early is the key to success but heading out to the hill tops in a thick mist is unlikely to result in a good gather.

There was an added complication, a different sort of heat. A bitch on heat!! The shepherd out bye runs bitches whereas I always have dogs. My abilities to steer Moss were on occasion a tad erratic as his mind often seemed to be elsewhere, his nose and hormones taking him in a different direction to my intended route! Once sheep were gathered in a heap ready to be driven to the pens it often paid for one of us to hold back in a bid to ensure 'puppy making' didn't happen!!

Friday 3rd September was the foggiest of the lot, resulting in not heading to the hill until twenty to ten in the morning. Usually sheep would be penned and breakfast enjoyed by this late hour of the day, but not this particular morning as we headed out in the coolness of the dwindling mist.

Once the mist burnt off completely the temperature rose dramatically, sheep had been determined to head 'out' as opposed to 'in' due in main to the lateness of attempting to gather. Dogs had had to do a lot of leg work to encourage the blighters to turn around and head in the direction intended and the temperature kept rising....

It was close to midday when the pen gates were closed on the sheep and they were held secure ready for the work to commence. The back of my neck was feeling the burning rays of the sun and the dogs were heading for any wet holes they could find to wallow and cool off.

There was pressure on to get these sheep gathered and sorted as a wagon was booked in a day or two to take all the fat lambs away and off to the slaughter house - a deadline had to be met. I recall last year having problems with the weather also, slightly different problems, ones which involved a great deal of rain as covered in last years posting - http://blog.tarset.co.uk/2009/09/mad-dogs-and-englishmen.html


It was a pleasure to be able to go around all day wearing boots instead of the customary wellies, vest or t-shirt rather than soggy top coats. Sheep also look their best in good weather, when dry of their skins they are fluffed up and bloomy looking - pleasing to the eye.

All was looking well. Everyday which we'd allocated for the job was needed to get all the sheep sorted and lambs drawn. The result being that on the final evening everything was successfully gathered, ewes and lambs were held in fields ready for the following day when each field would be individually gathered, fat lambs would be run off their mothers, tagged and left waiting for the wagon to arrive. Store lambs would also be run off, dosed and put onto fresh ground. Draft(old) ewes too would find themselves shed off, dosed and kept in-bye whilst all the regular ages of sheep and keeping ewe lambs would be returned to their hill ground. All this to be done before the wagon pulled into the yard in the afternoon - nae bother, extra staff on hand and it would be done!

The wind rose that night, branches came down, the rowan berries which to date the starlings still had not raided came off the tree in handfuls. We had a gale, followed by rain. The following day was a wet one. Lambs looked nowhere near as good as they had days previous, wet and bedraggled they were but the job went on and the deadline was met.

Glen, the sheepdog, and his chequered life.

As said previously Glen was born in September 2000. A winter pup, he grew up through wind, rain and snow. I remember coaxing him over a drain (ditch) in flood when he was a tiny bundle of fluff, once home he got towelled off and allowed to dry on the hearth.

All my dogs are kenneled outside until the time comes they need more comfort in their lives. This little pup used to be wet and clarty (muddy) would be towelled off and allowed to have a spell on the hearth rug before going to bed in the kennel. This could be a give away to his rather 'soft' nature.

To this day if he can creep into the house and get on the hearth rug he's happy, he almost manages to flatten himself and lie absolutely still as though in the hope you wont notice him and put him out!

All his life he has required a fuss, more than capable of getting anyone to give him a stroke and they're not allowed to stop, Once you've stroked him that's it, he just wants more and is very adapt at nosing his head under your hand and lifting it up so as it drops down over his brow, he really can make you stroke him!

Rightly or wrongly pups go with me and the other dogs everywhere, they walk to the hill and if they tire they'll find themselves inside my jacket and getting a lift, they'll be tied up at the sheep pens out of danger of being attacked by the sheep and watch what's going on, they'll sit on my lap on the quad bike until they are big and strong enough to sit unassisted on the back.

If they reach an obstacle they're not happy of they have to work a way around it. A shut gate for instance can be quite a challenge to a pup, I coax and wait patiently until they have the job sussed, I make them use their brains, I do not want an adult dog which I have to go back and retrieve because it can't find a way through.

And so it was for Glen, in the cold winter months as a little pup he was introduced to all sorts of obstacles and weather conditions. Feb 2001 saw a tremendous fall of snow, five foot drifts and Arctic conditions, Glen was 5 months old and had to learn how to accommodate snow. At 7 months old he was walking the hill on a chain at lambing time, often abandoned - tied up to a sprig of heather or fence whilst I dealt with any problems.

By 8 months old he no longer got to see sheep on a daily basis. 2001 is a year etched in my head. Foot and Mouth. Many sheep were slaughtered.

So for Glen he found himself wandering around aimlessly, still learning about the everyday obstacles but missing out on the sheep thing. He learnt to swim! There is a linn (waterfall) near at hand which I would go and splash around in (I'm a poor swimmer), anyhow the 9 month old pup decided to join me whilst old Tyne stood back totally perplexed. To this day Glen will take to water like a golden retriever. He absolutely loves swimming and has to be watched if the burns are in flood. It's a great way of cleaning him off when he's had a dirty day in the sheep pens.

By the time Glen got to see sheep again on a regular basis he was well over a year old and seemed unsure of life with sheep. However, eventually, it all clicked together and off he went, in fact he basically taught himself and was always biddable, stopping every time he was asked to (usually young dogs try it on and like to have a bit of fun).

I always thought him to have a poor out run, he didn't run as wide as I would have liked and I never felt totally confident on big areas of hill ground. I always took Tyne along too. The shepherd out bye told me to take Glen on his own and leave the better dog behind. Unfortunately I never did this, my confidence in the dog wouldn't allow it and I continued to take both together. Tyne always got there and did the job whereas there was always a question mark hanging over Glen and his capabilities where there was a large expanse of ground to cover.

Eventually Tyne got old and weary, Moss was very small and I was left with Glen, the younger fitter dog. I had to gather vast expanses of ground with the one dog, the dog I never felt was capable of doing such a thing. I was proven wrong. He worked a treat on his own, did have a good outrun and could gather a big hill. If only I'd listened to the shepherd from out bye! Obviously Tyne (who was the apple of my eye) had the upper hand of the younger dog and had him beaten into submission. Poor Glen who had been so maligned.

However, for all these years Glen had his place in life. Tyne was a powerful, strong headed creature and could be too much for field sheep, whereas Glen who was so biddable and steady was ideal for field sheep. Horses for courses.

So, eventually, at six year old, Glen came into his own, was top dog, could handle any gather that was necessary, good in the pens, perfect at lambing time - life was looking up. Until......

He had an accident........ Tup time 2007, Glen was now 7 years old, Tyne had passed away, Moss was coming on but Glen was top dog, capable of anything asked of him, living life to the full until I set him down a bank side to turn some sheep, he stumbled, went arse over tit and rose with a limp but continued to go around the sheep and turn them back. I rested him but he didn't come sound. It was ten days before I took him to the vets to be told he'd snapped the ligament in his 'ankle', I think it's called the cruciate ligament.

Now I acted like a tough dog owner and weighed up the pros and cons. Would he ever work again? How much will it cost?

All credit to my vet, he wanted to get the dog back to work and did eventually succeed.I was told the injury was worse than a broken bone. An operation which involved drilling the bones on either side of the joint to enable an elasticated 'tendon' to be fitted whilst the original was stitched together. Glen returned home with a plaster cast on his leg.

He got to lie on the hearth, he had an old quilt under the table which was his bed and he was to have no exercise at all, only allowed out for the toilet. Within a week the better half had had to heighten the fence around our garden, Glen had jumped out, pot leg an' all, nothing was going to stop him in his quest to find something dead and rancid to eat!

During all this time the dog never let on to being in pain, he is a softie but is actually really tough, throughout his lifetime he has never shown self pity, always wants to work even with a serious injury. I've prodded and poked a lame foot and he doesn't even wince, he never fails to amaze me at how tough he can be (Moss will squeal like a pig if you pull his hair, Glen would put up with anything).

Plaster cast for six weeks, dressings changed for even longer, five minute walks, then ten minute walks and so on for weeks, many friends and neighbours rallied and let him out whilst I was away working, took him for his five minute walks (on a lead), his ten minute walks and so on. Some even collected him from the vets, I always tried to take him in on a mart morning, the vets would keep him until a farmer could pick him up and fetch him back!

The vet thought hydro therapy was a good idea, I didn't admit to this being in the cold water of the burn but Glen was happy, swimming away like a good one.

The vets were taken with him as a patient, initially I had to leave him to have his dressings changed, however, once I realised this was to allow the anaesthetic to wear off I had words with them. You can literally do anything to Glen and he wont retaliate, I asked them to give it a go and they were impressed. Apparently he would lie down, roll over and put his bad leg in the air to allow them to deal with it - no need to subdue him with anaesthetic. The perfect patient!

During Glen's long winter the young Moss came to the fore, he soon became top dog and as I was totally reliant on him he came on leaps and bounds, poor Glen, under the shadow of another dog once again.

He wasn't fit enough for lambing time but a farmer's wife took him to walk twins out of fields and do light duties. By the summer he was fittening up well when an infection got a hold. A stitch from the operation had decided to try and dislodge itself. Once again Glen was laid up.

Eventually he was fit and well. The vet had succeeded in getting him back to being a working dog, the bill had been less than the cost of replacing him. Life was looking up. By now he was 8 years old.

Glen came back to full working fitness but unfortunately has slowed down, he is getting older after all. He does gather hills but only the kinder ones, he's back to being number one field dog. Where I lamb the ground is very steep and this worries me, he has been lent out to others at lambing time who are working kinder ground.

This winter was a struggle to him. Once again he went lame, on his 'bad' leg. Gathering in the snow he fell through the crusty surface and duly carried his leg, again he was rested, again he didn't come sound. Again he found himself at the vets. He had injured his foot but it appeared to be a soft tissue injury. More rest required. Glen lost fettle, appeared to be depressed, lethargic and off the stott. Finally he surfaced one morning with a fat face. Antibiotics and dentistry work fettled that, another x-ray on his leg showed bad arthritis........

The good news is he is happy again, putting on fettle, living on anti inflammatories and most probably being molly coddled. It seems very likely that by next winter he may well have his life long wish of lying on the hearth mat at night!

Moss, the sheepdog - an introduction.

 

Moss, commoner garden farm bred border collie sheep dog. Moss was a January 2006 pup,from my own blood lines. The shepherd out-bye very kindly let me line his good hill bitch with Mosses father - Tyne. This has enabled me to keep a hold of the blood line which I have had since I first went self employed, Moss is now the third generation.

 

Choosing the pup was easy, a litter of three and only one dog pup, the shepherd wanted a bitch so the dog was mine for the taking. I was also very lucky as Mosses mother was black white and tan, for some reason I've never been keen on tan on a dog and do like a black dog, mother nature must have been looking down on me! Believe you me I would still have taken the pup if it had had tan on it, it is not easy keeping the blood line going and beggars can't be choosers!

How did he get his name? Well, unlike Glen this little fella was called pup for quite a while. I just couldn't think of a name that suited him. You need a short name, preferably one syllable, one which doesn't catch the back of the throat when you shout it. The pups father was called Tyne (after the North Tyne where I live), his mother was called Grip and I just couldn't find a name I liked which had a link with either parents. There is a Northumbrian song which mentions the mossy banks of the Tyne and it is from here the pup eventually got his name - Moss.

Moss is a totally different dog to Glen and unfortunately not one that can be trusted. At the age of six months he bit my landlord......... not the wisest of moves! To this day I cannot trust the dog and never will be able to. He has nipped since but not for a long time now and is fine with anyone who shows no fear. I'd like to think he would be no bother but believe you me it isn't wise to assume such a thing. Fortunately he has proven to be a very good hill dog - a sound worker, otherwise he would have been down the road.

There's more on Mosses life to follow, watch this space.......

Glen, the sheepdog - an introduction

 

Glen - a sheepdog, collie dog for that matter, probably even a border collie. He has no papers and no pedigree - a farm bred border collie, born in September 2000, bought by Shep as an 8 week old pup and been here ever since.

He is a dog dog, entire and full blooded but has never sired a litter, the few bitches he has lined by mistake have been given the morning after injection and of the two bitches he lined on purpose, one didn't breed and the other died. - It's a dog's life!

How did he get his name? Well as a little kid I spent a lot of my holidays on my Uncle's farm and he had a dog called Glen.I've had a few dogs over the years, all barr two from being pups, but never had one I thought suited being named after my Uncle's dog, until this fella came along.

When I went to look at the litter there were nine pups, some hid in corners, some came and climbed all over me, this one sat in the middle of the rabble, like a real old fashioned character and just looked. He wasn't shy or over excited just looked like he'd been here before. I chose him.

When the better half and myself collected the pup he sat on my knee in the passenger seat on the way home. Pups usually dribble and get sicky when in a car, not him, he sat there and watched the world go by with great interest. On arriving home he took to his life as though there were nothing untoward. Eventually I had found a Glen, like the dog I so loved in my childhood; the quiet, unassuming, faithful sheepdog my Uncle had had. And so Glen was christened.

He really is an old fashioned character, quiet, unassuming, well mannered,steady and a good worker, a genuine dog with not an ounce of bad in him. You should never trust a dog but this one I would trust 99.99%, he was even borrowed by the children from the farm I live on to be taken to school on pets day coz they thought he was nicer than their dog!! He did however relieve his bladder on the teachers leg........

Totally without fault? No, not at all, that would be asking far too much! He has an insatiable appetite for anything. He can find a dead 'something' from miles away, loves fox and badger shit which he can scent from hundreds of yards, will eat sheep feed, hen corn, sheep muck, foot parings......... anything which is left lying and he deems is there for his taking, except tomatoes!! Having said that though he will not thieve, shopping can be in the car and he wont touch it, food can be on the kitchen bench and he'll leave it, he does have some manners.

A dog that has had a chequered life, which I will fill you in on shortly. Watch this space.....

Tools of the Trade

There are a number of items that a shepherd just could not do without. They are very much like your right hand. The stick being one of them. Often referred to as the shepherd's crook but around these parts known quite simply as the stick, or mebbes lambing stick.

In the days before quads, herding (shepherding) was done either on foot or pony. The stick was invaluable for getting a decent footing when covering rough ground, it helps balance you, gives you something to lean on when climbing uphill and something to steady yourself when coming down hill. I find it awkward and uncomfortable to walk on hill ground without a stick, it is such a help and you soon find you're accustomed to using one. Even when on the pony the stick would be carried as it is actually used for catching sheep, stuck in the ground it is ideal to tether the pony to should that be necessary.

The above is my old faithful, made from a hazel shank and a ewes horn, it is invaluable at lambing time for catching both ewes and lambs, the curved ewes horn head has enough width to enable it to wrap around a ewes neck for you to be able to catch a hold of her out in the open.

My stick is as light as a feather, comfortable in the hand and cut to a length that suits me, which is just above waist height. I have had the stick for so many years I can't rightly remember and only last year a shepherd who does stick dressing told me it looked worn and shabby and offered to sort it up, my reply was "don't mend something that isn't broken"

There are many types of stick available but I prefer the old fashioned, hand made job. Metal sticks are cold and often heavy, the ones made all of wood will straighten when they get wet, there are now fibre glass sticks which if I had to revert to using a manufactured stick this is what I would opt to use.

 

Above are the three things a shepherd ought always to carry in their pocket. Pocket knife, string (baler twine) and whistle, three things I couldn't do without. All are invaluable to every day life.

The knife: cuts strings on bales of hay. Will cut through wool as occasionally sheep can be tangled by their wool in either branches of trees or wire, hand shears aren't on hand but the good ol' knife will cut through the wool and release the beast. Paring feet, if foot shears aren't on hand the knife doubles up nicely for paring the loose or long hoof off the foot, also doubles up on my finger nails occasionally. Skinning lambs at lambing time - to use the skin off a dead lamb and place it on a live lamb enabling an adoption to take place. There will be many more uses, I take it so much for granted that I have a pocket knife and can use it for what ever is required that I don't really know what all these requisites are!

String: Baler twine from a small bale of hay or straw. Always have some in your pocket. Can tie a gate if the chain has broken. Repair a fence in a hurry. Tie a sheep up to prevent it from running away. A dead lamb can be towed along with a long length of string and the kindly ewe will follow until you can get her to a pen out on the hill. Useful dog leads or dog tethers. Will hold your trousers up. Again invaluable and a must have.

Whistle: Dog whistle with string attached to be worn around the neck, this keeps it safe, you can't swallow it and also when you spit it out of your mouth it doesn't fall to the ground and get lost. I holler (shout) at the dogs quite a bit and whistle with my lips even more but the strength of the whistle from this little gadget is amazing and the dogs can pick the sound up from a great distance, it saves you from being hoarse from shouting and the strength of my own whistling is not good enough to travel long distances ( I never learnt to whistle with my fingers). My dogs work best to the whistle and a quiet voice, all the hollering really does is give me a chance to vent my frustrations and occasionally back up the whistle when the dogs think they know best.

All of these are invaluable to a shepherd. There are two others which can't be bought, given or acquired, two which most are born with. Two senses - sight and sound. Your eyes and ears are a priceless commodity, the power of observation is absolutely vital to the job.

 

Last but not least - the most important tool of the trade for the shepherd - a dog.

 

Or in my case two dogs. Glen and Moss.

Hill shepherds can have many dogs, young dogs coming on and learning the ropes, older steadier dogs that know the job. If there is a lot of ground on the farm to cover, or if it is hard ground, there will be more dogs on the farm as it is unfair to work them into the ground, it is necessary to have a change of dogs on big days and busy times of the year.

My dogs are the most important tool I have. Without them my job would not be possible. They don't always get much mention on this blog but believe you me I would be well and truly lost without a useful sheep dog and quite a lot of the work I do as a contract shepherd is due to the fact that I have two working dogs, wide running hill dogs which are dependable (majority of the time) and basically help me to earn my living. Even the better half has come to accept that he plays second fiddle to the dogs, they are top of the list and are as dependable of me as I am of them.

Glen is the older dog, he's had a rough winter, being off form, but appears to have 'cheered' up at long last. Moss is the younger of the two and in many ways now 'top' dog (he'd definitely like to think he is!).

Two totally different entities, both with their strengths and weaknesses, neither of them perfect but perfect enough for me and those I work for. Not so much a tool, more a part of me, might right and left arms. Someday I'll introduce you to them.