Bould farm, sounds tranquil doesn’t it? A place once would imagine Winnie the Pooh spending his holidays. A name, however, is a deceiving thing. The farm is filled to bursting with bonkers animals that create a veritable mad house, that is never quiet and never dull. From the smallest goldfish to the largest cow, they constantly astound me.
We have Hamish, our dog. He’s a 14-year-old border terrier and in his ancient age and infinite wisdom he has decided that he no longer wants to crap outside, favoring the warmth of the indoors as his giant lavatory. If you don’t wake up before 8am you can guarantee that a smelly surprise awaits you. It’s not in one specific place as you might think, no, he shares the ‘love’ where ever he pleases be it a new carpet, right below your feet (the poopy trap) or by an open door as if to flaunt his bowel’s rebellious streak.
My shell-shocked fish have been quite a worry for me. They developed their disorder after a violent yet unsuccessful, attempt by a heron to have my fish for lunch. Since that fateful day (which has now been labelled H-Day) the fish cower in a small sheltered corner of the pond, venturing out only momentarily for sustenance before racing back to safety. We thought introducing some new fish would alleviate the problem, giving them a new lease of life. This backfired, badly. It seemed the original war-torn fish told the new arrivals the horrors of that day, how they still wake up screaming bubbles because, the new fish accompany them trembling in the corner.
We also have lively livestock. The most embarrassing occasion was when my father had some Russian business people staying at our house while they were visiting the UK. It was a rare warm evening so we sat outside to enjoy the beautiful view and tranquil setting. However, the cows had other ideas, and while we sat eating out BBQ a family of cows (mother, father and son) decided to have a incestuous Ménage à trois right in front of us. There were many awkward side glances at one-another as we attempted to see what the other was making of the sordid event that we were inadvertently witnesses to. I could feel myself going red faced, attempting to hold in my laughter as they gathered in pace and noise. They didn’t stop for almost an hour.
Sheep you would assume are relatively tame and conservative species, with their pure white coats and innocent faces. Looks are very deceiving. We have about 20 rams down on Bould farm that are highly ‘productive’. However, put them in a field together without any ladies and it turns them into raving homosexuals. It is expected that rams put together will head butt and fight for the alpha male status. Not this lot. Instead they spend the whole time defiling one another. It’s as if they go on a gay cruise together before returning to stud status.
So that’s my farm, the bizarre, bonkers lot of it. We want to get some chickens but I dread to think what surprises they could spring on us. Perhaps bravery for irony’s sake.