Mrs Down's Diary

While we are nowhere near the epicentre of the earthquake, it was on that night that both gave birth. Coincidence? I don't know. But the rest of the flock are not due to start lambing until the end of next week, so something must have stirred them into action. Perhaps they missed us.

What is a little disconcerting is that all of the lambs, a pair and a single, are white-faced. We have a Texel tup and they throw white-faced lambs (our Suffolk tups throw black-faced progeny) but the tups were in a separate field. None of the lambs is undersized, just normal, so no indication that they are premature. Must have had a sneaky liaison with a passing tup. Wild lives these sheep lead.

Life on the farm is back to normal with John back in charge. He had gone straight from Spain to a few days' fishing with friends on the Tweed in the Borders. What a gilded life he leads. Geoff and I were left in charge and it was up to me to make the late-night check of the foldyard before bedtime.

Let me tell you, walking round a big yard of cows, calves and a bull can be a little creepy on your own when all is quiet and dark outside.

The cows are generally very quiet, but if you happen to get in between one of the sucklers and her calf it can be a different story. And one or two of the Limousin-crosses are very protective indeed. Big too.

So, bearing that in mind, I do not so much stride through the herd brushing cows aside to check if any need a hand with calving (in which case ring Geoff) as edge surreptitiously round the fringe of the yard, making sure I don't come between big mum and little calf.

Then I slipped and slid my way into the silage clamp to make sure none of the calves was trapped under any fallen silage. Imagine my surprise when I found a newly calved calf plus mum. The calf was having a bit of a struggle finding a balance on the muck, rather like Bambi on ice. I thought the best thing was to leave mum and baby for half an hour or so. When I went back they were both safe on the straw in the foldyard. Phew.

Even before John got home, though, there were phone calls asking 'Can he come out to play?' By that, an invitation to a rat hunt.

A friend is overrun with them around his ponds, hen hut and along the ditch sides.

Armed with two Jack Russell terriers '“ one a novice, the other experienced (but not our Bud, as he is too old now) '“ the ratters set off.

The first bolting rat was seen by all three men but not the terriers and made a clean escape. As did several more. At which point, perhaps bored by this lack of action, the novice terrier, Stig, spotted a hen out in the field. Game on.

Alarmed, the hen spotted Stig at the same time and swiftly exited through a hedge.

Undeterred, Stig tracked the hen by scent, closely followed by Bod, the other terrier. Needless to say, by the end of the day, despite best intentions, much invective and threatened chastisement, the body count stood at rats nil, hen one.

This feature was first printed in the West Sussex Gazette March 19. To read it earlier buy the West Sussex Gazette every Wednesday.