Most of you will have read the escapades with my pet pig, Dotty, from my first blog post. However, for those of you that haven’t got a clue what I’m talking about, it might be worth taking an extra 5 minutes to read it so that you get a bit of a back story.
So, we’ve ascertained I’m a city girl living in a country world – as the blog title suggests – but I wanted to do a post about exactly what this means for my poor husband and his exasperated family…
I collect animals. Not just domesticated ones, but proper commercial, farmyard animals. And it drives my husband nuts!
Perversely, my city friends are more understanding of my desire to make every being on the farm my friend as opposed to eating them, than the country folk are. Most likely because one set doesn’t make their livelihood from them and one does…no points for guessing which one is which!
Let’s start with Dotty the full grown, definitely-not-a-micropig, pig. Weighing in at a good 230kg at least (leave her be, she’s just big boned!), this porcine princess is the absolute queen of the farm. We have cuddles and belly rubs (just her, obvs), we play games running around the yard and yes, I sit on her back.
Dotty is used to me now strolling into her sty in my finest office clothes and heels at 8pm for a cuddle after a busy day in the London office, and she always makes sure to be careful of my toes, love her!
She’s also a star attraction when it comes to family and friends visiting, everyone wants to meet her and feed her bread (her favourite treat), and if I’m down at my parents’ in Devon, I come home with a full on goody bag of all the scraps for Princess Pigpig.
In addition to Dotbags (you’ll soon work out that all my pets have at least 3 nicknames) there is Chewy – the calf featured in my blog profile photo – and yes, he is giving me kisses.
I met Chewbags when he was just 3 weeks old and he arrived with his 5 brothers in November. He was the bravest of the bunch and after 10 minutes, he walked up and started chewing on my coat sleeve, hence the name.
Daily visits to the barn ensued and we got kinda close, so close that this technically wild animal is as tame as you like. In fact, my 7 year old niece can stand and have cuddles with him in an open field.
Cue exasperated looks from my husband when he’s trying to shoo Chewy away from a gate or into a holding pen and my darling cow stands there, calm as you like and totally not intimidated like he should be…oops!
Chewy isn’t the only calf with a name though, of the 21 that we (I say “we” in the loosest sense of the word, I’m more of a hindrance than a help to be fair) are currently rearing for beef, 10 of them have names. We have in no particular order:
Chewy, Daffodil, Terrance, Roy, Bump, Bubblegum (name courtesy of said 7 year old niece), Frank, Lilac, Patch and Tank.
Yes, I will be devestated when they leave, yes I am a stupid townie for naming the cute baby calves that are destined for the dinner table, but come on…can you blame me?!
As this post is now longer than I expected, I’ll leave the introduction to the dogs for another post I think!
Until next time…