Let it snow, let it snow, let it ......

Well, all right, it's only been 3 inches of the stuff. Relatives from habitually snowbound places like Canada, Scotland and, errrr, Cambridgeshire, can scoff. But it's been a dramatic week. The sheep have been posing for what, if we get out act together, will be next years Christmas card:

Why can't we get at the grass, then?

They've been getting noticeably woollier, and have reacted to snow with all the calm and tolerance of a habitual fruit cake-eater at Christmas, i.e. wondering why what they usually eat is covered with all the superfluous white stuff. They've been seen digging holes in the snow to get at the grass, while Sarah has been upping their hay rations.

Apple, a fit and healthy sheep!

Their health has also been an issue. Apple, following her attentions from the vets, recovered very quickly. But that meant we had to get the rest of them wormed. And the beautiful white carpet of snow was chewed up very quickly as the vets came and tried, with Sarah, to round them all up (the only day they could come, Richard had to be in London - or so he said!). Up and down, and up and down they went, much to the amusement of the neighbours. This lot can spot a gap between the advancing humans and go through it like a dose of salts!


Fortunately, they were all rounded up and done, eventually. Other than that, it's a matter of keeping them fed. We've bought a hay bale, which is so large it occupies most of the garden shed, and we're gradually working our way through it before spring comes. We're acquiring a new respect for farmers, who have to do this for many times more animals than we do, and must feel completely at the mercy of the elements.

Get stuck in, Girls!

Beyond that, we are contemplating whether or not Timothy Spall, as the Earl of Emsworth, makes a convincing livestock keeper. Still pondering. More on this at a later date.