Fat Horses, Killer Cat, & RIP Big Black Bull

No, Kete didn’t fell a bull, but more on that later.

Colin Brewer, the farrier, came this week and trimmed the horses’ hooves. I don’t get shoes on them any longer because their feet are so tough, and living on that hill has made them very sure-footed.  The weather’s been fantastic for lush spring grass. Too good for that guts Lily who just doesn’t know when to stop eating and has the telltale signs of obesity in her neck. If horses get too fat they ‘founder’, or get laminitis. That means, basically, their feet pack up causing untold trouble and huge vet bills. So this week the two monkeys have been locked up each day in the yard, away from the clover and rye grass. Much to their chagrin.

That’s a topdressing plane in the middle there, buzzing us, and you can see what a beautiful sky we had. I’ve also had lovely still mornings of riding the two beauties, and taken the chance to school Lily in a few lessons of manners, like standing still while I get on (that took almost an hour), and when I want to go in a circle, that means we go in a circle, not wander off in the direction she thinks is much more interesting, which inevitably means a direction where there might be some juicy clover. She’s as naughty as a truckful of monkeys, but she’s very sweet and means no harm. Smitty’s just a darling, wouldn’t hurt a fly, and in his old age loves to sleep. Except when he thinks Lily is going away, then he behaves like a love-sick teenager.

Called in to Farmer John’s woolshed yesterday to find him cleaning up after having to shoot his five-year-old prime Angus bull. Heart-breaking. It had broken its leg earlier in the week, and the vet had been trying to save it, but to no avail. Farmer John, who’s over 70 and a real old-fashioned farmer (he still buys Denkavit to feed orphaned lambs, even though it loses money and most farmers these days just knock them on the head) had been carrying water to the bull every day in a bucket. I’d taken photos of these bulls earlier this year, they are massively impressive animals:

Now he’s gone, poor booger. Nothing but dog tucker.

Kete must have heard CCQC going on about the blimmin’ hares loping around the vineyard. There are two out the front, one of which is so cheeky it’s almost tame, and just hops out of the way when I go and feed the chooks. One sunny morning the boss slid up the window very quietly, and came back to get the gun to shoot it, but I pleaded with him so tearfully to let it continue enjoy its morning in the sun, he relented. Last night when I went to put Kete to bed I opened the back door and there was a little present on the door mat:

Okay, not a full-grown one, but not a bad effort for a small cat. She was very pleased with herself indeed, and didn’t get out of bed this morning until about 10.30, having eaten the head and the reproductive organs. What a girl!

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