Don’t even think of saying ‘aaah how cute’ on seeing the above pic. They are not cute, they are thugs, heathens, interlopers, hooligans and bad guys!
Idgy and I have just spent 3/4 of an hour chasing the bloody things round the garden and then all over the bloody yard. They have wrecked the lawn and trampled a herb bed. They were just starting on the second when we interrupted their musings over what to trash next.
It all started with a breathless teenager bounding into the study and gasping out “Mum, quick cows”, never one to use more words than necessary my girl. We ran outside to find the two bullocks (no, Idgy not strictly cows) doing their stuff amongst the tansy.
“Quick you get the gates and I’ll run behind them” This is me of course, ever the optimist. No way were these boys going to let me get behind them and shoo them anywhere.
We then endured a sort of horrible dance up and down the garden with my language (and believe me I have a very good command of it in situations like this) getting more and more colourful as they dug up the lawn with their horrible hooves.
We missed the gateway three times but eventually got them out of the garden and into the yard. Now to get them out on to the lane.
Easier said than done.
As they mince up and down spraying gravel as they go and crashing into the hedge, the fence and almost getting Tigger, Idgy is trying to head them towards the main gate. Meanwhile I’m trying to patch the old gate to the garden as they’ve already tried for re-entry.
Can this get any worse.
“Save the polecat” screamed Idgy just as I was trying to shoo the hooligans to the gate. There in the midst of the mayhem Finzean has arisen from his slumbers in the wood shed and trotted out for a look-see and to see if we’re calling him in for supper. He is half asleep and in the middle of the yard. The bullocks are skittering everywhere and poor Finzean just freezes on the spot. I do the only thing possible, I lunge for the polecat in a rugby tackle worthy of the murreyfield stadium itself. Poor Finzean is practically squashed but I have the furry beasty in my grip and stagger to my feet in time to see Idgy slamming the main gate behind the trouble makers.
I take Finzean back to the house and Idgy goes up the field to assess damage to fences. She reappears some time later looking rather sorry for herself and walking strangely. “what happened this time?” I asked, dreading to hear that the bullocks were back. “I got my welly boot stuck in the mud and fell into the nettles” she wailed and revealed stings from thigh downwards.
There is nothing like a quiet life in the country……