Tag: goats

A Bumper Recycling Haul

This morning we transported ten more green refuse bags and various wooden and plastic items that we decided had no more recycling life to Efford Recycling Centre and returned with a cast iron chair with no seat; a heavy concrete plinth; a sound kneeling stool which is no longer marketed; a metal plant stand; and one of our own large plastic containers which had been used to transport pieces of wood and now may perhaps be placed in the chair with no seat.

We continued into the forest where, at Portmore,

it was possible to distinguish sheep from goats.

Had the sheep lived in one of many Mediterranean climes, it may have

been fed on cardoon, a thistle like example of which was found around the corner in Pilley https://derrickjknight.com/2015/07/05/yarntons-cardoon/

Also at Pilley a young horse rider paused on the verge to allow us to pass, and we encountered

ponies reflected in the lake, now filling up. In the distance beyond those in the second picture in this gallery can be seen the

dappled grey Shetland we had passed earlier; the other sports the recently trimmed tail indicating that it had featured in last month’s annual round-up known as The Drift. https://derrickjknight.com/2016/08/30/the-drift/

After lunch I photographed our bumper recycling haul.

This evening we dined on roast lamb, mint sauce, boiled potatoes, Brussels sprouts, carrots, and mangetouts, with which I drank a little more of the Malbec.

Peering Animals

I opened a few collected presents for my 82nd birthday this morning, one of which was a bottle of Calvet Cahors Malbec 2021 from Helen and Bill which I opened to accompany the Royal Indian takeaway meal which Jackie collected for our dinner this evening.

This afternoon Shelley and Ron visited bearing more welcome gifts, after which Jackie and I took a forest drive.

The Portmore goats peered at us through their wooden fence;

I photographed the landscape through metal railings at East Boldre

where storm clouds gathered over the fields.

Canada geese and goslings with a few mallards occupied Hatchet Pond.

Back at East Boldre posts and wire along the verges fenced off the woodland beside

field horses peering through their protective fly masks.

The gates to their pasturage threw shadows across the roadside.

Flora And Fauna

On another very warm afternoon we visited Otter Nurseries in search of a garden bench. The queue inside was most uninviting, so we took a forest drive and revisited the outlet on our way home when the queues had subsided and Jackie ordered what she wanted.

Otter’s car park was lined with the moon daisies that are very prolific at the moment.

Gilpins’s cornus in full bloom towers, as usual, above the garden wall.

Perched on a stand at Portmore a spectator supervises a caprine push-me-pull-you.

Through traffic at Pilley needed to drive round ponies on the road

while avoiding calves on the verges.

Hatchet Pond accommodated water lilies, a moorhen,

Canada geese and their goslings,

and swans with their cygnets,

while a black-headed gull kept an eye on Caring for the Forest.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s wholesome beef and mushroom pie; boiled Jersey Royal potatoes; swede and new potato mash; firm carrots, cauliflower, and Brussels sprouts, with which I drank more of the Malbec.

Graveyard Goats

This morning I enjoyed a very helpful Team Viewer session with James Peacock. These events, when my screen is taken over and I watch the cursor whizzing around it are always rather magical. The upshot is I will continue with their own plug in for WordPress. Scheduling in and carrying out the work for this will take a few days, but James is appreciative of my need for urgency. As always, I have utmost faith in Peacock Computers.

This afternoon Jackie and I took a forest drive.

Alongside the graveyard of St Peter’s, Bramshaw

goats were milling about.

This evening we all dined on Red Chilli’s takeaway fare with which Jackie drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Bordeaux.

A Kerfuffle

On this bright, yet cool, morning Jackie and I took a short drive into the forest.

Celandines, nettles, and other wild flowers lined the verges of Warborne Lane, Portmore, alongside which goats and their climbing kids occupy a field beside horses in a fenced garden.

On Pilley Street a friendly young girl opened the gate by the cattle grid to enable the driver of a horse and carriage to pass through and continue along the road.

The vitreous lake bore reflections and shadows of the limbs and trunks of trees coated with lichen and a dog with its walker on the far side.

Ponies basked and grazed among the gorse and along the verges at East Boldre;

further along the road a dappled grey crossed to the other side seeking second helpings. Nearby a selfish sorrel created a sparky kerfuffle as it butted another pony with whom it was not prepared to share pickings.

A trio of donkeys maintained their occupation of the Norleywood Road junction.

Beside the rowing boat shells beneath the cone-laden pine overlooking Lymington River an oyster catcher sought breakfast.

This evening we dined on slow roasted breast of lamb; crispy roast potatoes and Yorkshire pudding; crunchy carrots, broccoli, and cauliflower, with which Jackie drank Carlsberg, I drank Azinhaga de Ouro Reserva 2019, and Flo drank exotic fruit juices diluted.

Garden Rescue

Today was fine and clear – perfect conditions for Elizabeth’s garden makeover.

On the way there we drove into Pilley along a lane dividing sheep from goats.

Jackie produced a few before pictures of the project before her battery died.

I photographed the work in progress, identification of the participants given in the galleries.

A splendid buffet lunch was provided by Danni, the Events Organiser, after which Isla mothered Jack.

Work, such as sawing up the fallen sumac and bed-making continued, while acrobatics were undertaken on the lawn.

It was then my battery’s turn to die, so Jackie and I returned home to recharge them both, after which we went back to Burnt House lane to join the others for Jackie’s chicken curry, savoury rice, samosas, and onion bahjis. Her delicious mixed fruit crumble was to follow, but I couldn’t eat anything more after the first course. I’m not sure who drank what, but I drank virtually non-alcoholic (0.5%) Adnams Ghost Ship.

I matched Jackie’s earlier before the work garden views with some afters.

Foxglove And Twinkle

Early this bright, sunny, and cool day we drove out to Pilley to deliver a letter to Elizabeth. I popped it into her letter box and we continued on our way.

I have a couple of times before featured the horse and pony occupying the garden of Jordan’s Cottage on the corner of Bull and Jordan’s Lanes. Today I was to be formally introduced. As I photographed the two equines feeding from their trough a Gentleman planting flowers invited me in. This was Roderick, whose granddaughter owns these creatures. The horse is Foxglove and the pony, Twinkle.

Given her freckles, Foxglove is so aptly named. She is an eventer who is convalescing while recovering from and injured back leg. Roderick confirmed that the mask is for protection from flies. Seeing me back away as the horses trotted over to me when I entered the small paddock, he assured me that they were very friendly. I laughed and explained that I was not afraid but had to keep my distance to use the lens on my camera. In fact I left the paddock to take the shots of Foxglove in her mask. It would, of course, have been rude not to have photographed Twinkle’s eye.

On Norleywood Road we passed trick cyclist who probably wasn’t a psychiatrist. This was to have been on our way home until Jackie took a diversion down

Lower Pennington Lane to investigate the nature reserve at the far end.

Hurst View camping site was packed out and I could hear voices planning their day’s trips all the way down the lane along which I walked while Jackie waited in the car, parked on a verge just before a considerable narrowing of the thoroughfare.

Even cyclists had little passing room.

The marshland to my left was quite dry and occupied by a few basking ponies. The Isle os Wight could be seen in the distance.

When I reached the entrance to the bird sanctuary it seemed that the caravan site was decanting its entire contents who were making their way along the dedicated path which I consequently decided to eschew and set off across undulating terrain which I largely had to myself. I took the last section of the path on my return and I have to say that the boys in the third picture above thanked me for stepping aside.

In the circumstances it is hardly surprising that the only birds I saw were flocks of Canada geese,

occasionally joined by others flying in.

Against the backdrop of the Isle of Wight, The Needles, Hurst castle and their lighthouses, across the marshland could be seen walkers, cyclists and a dog. Particularly the last of this gallery would benefit from bigification.

A few goats occupied a field opposite the campsite.

After lunch I put in another stint at pruning Félicité Perpétue in the front garden.

Later this afternoon Elizabeth came for a cup of tea and stayed for dinner consisting of another of Jackie’s succulent cottage pies; crunchy carrots and cauliflower; tender cabbage; and meaty gravy, with which the Culinary Queen drank Hoegaarden and I finished the Carles.

Raindrops

It was a shame that we were only due sunshine and lack of rain this morning, because I needed to be at home for the Openreach engineer engaged by BT. I won’t dwell on this, but, although the man turned up on time the problem is not resolved. It didn’t help that he hadn’t been told what Friday’s engineer had done and that he had been sent for an installation rather than a repair. Another technician is to attend tomorrow.

I did manage to wander round the garden before heavy rain set in for the afternoon.

We have numerous hellebores;

a prolific variety of camellias;

iris reticulatas;

and snowdrops coming into bloom throughout.

One of the occupants of the Dragon Bed cradles her egg;

another has recovered well after Aaron’s spinal surgery.

After lunch, with raindrops splattering on the roof of the car and slaloming down the windscreen, we took a drive into the forest.

The watery Black Lane, in the murk, lived up to its name.

Many of our roads are now irrigated by overflowing ditches and waterlogged fields.

Braggers Lane, with its

rippling reflective bubbling pools stretching alongside, is a good example.

 

Despite the banked verges, the fields are very generous with their excess water.

Woodland is a little meaner.

A group of horses, some wearing waterproof rugs, simply tolerated the downfall.

Further along, on Thatchers Lane, fallen. lichen-coated branches, recently at home on dry land, are reflected in their own pools. Drinks cans now bob beside them.

Long haired goats foraged in the grass alongside Fish Street. One inquisitive creature raised its head briefly before getting on with its late lunch.

Sheep sheltering on London Lane wondered why I was standing there getting wet.

At Avon thatchers seemed to have called it a day. It seemed a good idea, so we set off for home.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s nicely matured sausage casserole; crisp roast potatoes; firm Brussels sprouts; and tricolour carrots with which I finished the Malbec.

 

 

 

Silent Companions

Today the light was dull; the weather warm and dry.

This afternoon we visited Ferndene Farm shop to buy pork for tonight’s dinner.

I joined a young lady happily photographing chickens on her phone. We had noticed that she had chosen a good vantage point. It was a matter of seconds before I discovered that she had no speech and couldn’t understand me. Her carer approached and told me what I had already gathered and that she loved chickens. I said that perhaps she wouldn’t mind me continuing. That was the case and we became silent companions for a while.

I then sought out the resident pigs in order to reassure myself that we would not be eating them.

We continued on through the forest, taking an unnamed lane alongside which refuse had been dumped. At least it had been bagged up;

as had these drink cans on Braggers Lane.

If you are going to dump old fridges on the verges of Fish Street, I suppose you wouldn’t bother to wrap them.

Further along Fish Street we encountered a pair of inquisitive goats, the Billy of which sported a splendid beard.

This evening, when the sun emerged, Jackie went into the garden to plant some bulbs. Nugget kept getting under her feet, so she gave up and photographed a few garden scenes, including

this area she had planted yesterday;

honesty, rudbeckia, and Japanese anemones;

the lawn, eucalyptus, and hanging baskets;

the decking and its planting;

Florence sculpture, petunias, and nicotiana.

Oh, and “Where’s Nugget?” (13).

Later this evening we dined on Jackie’s spicily piquant pork paprika and toothsome mushroom rice with which she drank Hoegaarden and I drank Hardy’s Chapter and Verse Shiraz 2018.

The Sap Is Rising

A light frost fell on the fields last night and Jackie had to scrape ice off the windscreen before driving me to the G.P. surgery at Milford on Sea for the successful removal of the staples from my knee. Rather unfairly, it seems to me, some members of the medical fraternities and sororities refer to orthopaedics as ‘The Carpenters’. However, I have to say that the curving row of hurdles penetrating my flesh did look as if it has been applied by an upholsterer’s gun. The nurse’s staple remover was a little more delicate than those found in Staples stationary stores.

After this we travelled along the coast road, where I began my morning’s photoshoots through my passenger window.

The Needles convoy trailed after the Isle of Wight lighthouse;

Also silhouetted along the Milford coastline were walkers with dogs and a woman pushing a child in a buggy;

A few gulls wandered about the car parks, where a crow set itself up for a long vigil.

Turning away from the coast we set off along the Beaulieu Road out of Lymington, where ponies, the silvery greys blending with similar hued birches, enhanced the landscape.

On Bull Hill, the younger cattle squared up for head butts, competing for or waiting their turn for humping practice. The older beasts watched in silence. The sap was definitely rising.

Whilst in Pilley we briefly visited Elizabeth who had spent the morning with BT engineers attempting to discover why her landline had stopped working.

A trio of goats we passed in Warborne Lane on our way home were rather less frisky than their bovine neighbours.

This evening we dined on Jackie’s tasty chicken jalfrezi with savoury rice.

P. S. Jackie has researched the activities of the young heifers. This is what she learned from Wikipedia:

‘Bulling¬†is a behaviour seen in¬†cattle¬†when one mounts another, usually when one or the other is a female in¬†oestrus¬†(on heat);[1]¬†”bulling” is commonly used as a term for a female in oestrus. Female cattle in oestrus may mount any adult cattle, especially a bull (fertile male) if one is present, but they will also mount castrated males or other females. A bulling female will often also be mounted by other cattle, both male and female (only fertile males are usually capable of mating). A dominant bull will defend the bulling female from being mounted by other cattle.

Bulling is used by farmers to recognise oestrus, which is important to determine the fertile period when cows may be artificially inseminated.[1] Care is needed to identify whether the animal in oestrus is the one mounting or being mounted, and of course sometimes both animals may be in oestrus.

Mounting behaviour is also sometimes seen between adult cattle in the absence of a female in oestrus.’