Don't go thinking that sheep are the only residents of this mountain who like to play 'What's the time Mr Wolf?'
Will took the neighbour's dog for a walk.
They weren't alone . .
Who . . . me?
Next blog ...
Most people around here seem to have log burners, and we are no exception. Logs play a very important part in our lives. They are our main source of heating throughout the winter months - well almost all year round really - and it means less spent on gas & electricity.
If we can get free firewood, all the better. The recent storms have resulted in trees down for miles around. We haven't lived here long enough to know the etiquette around taking logs for ourselves from fallen trees. We see lots of people at roadsides taking chainsaws to massive uprooted oaks and at such times, we wonder - is it free to take? Is it their tree? Is it on their land? Have they permission to take that tree for logs? Are they council workers? Can we do the same? As tempted as we are, we daren't for fear of stealing or trespassing.
Wood is so valuable to people that it is almost currency. Selling 'services' in exchange for firewood is commonplace and as a result of us helping out the local farmer with his cattle last winter, he has allowed us free access to several fallen trees on his land.
Once the land had dried a little, we went to attack a couple of the fallen trees. Although these trees are not very far away - just across a couple of fields from our house, they are up a deceptively steep incline - well, steep for the unfit!!
Once cut, we spent two whole days, carrying, dragging, throwing and rolling logs and branches down the hill to our place. I have never been so physically exhausted in my life!
We were a great source of curiosity to the sheep. As we worked, two rams started to circle us.
But they didn't become REALLY interested until I started to fill old sheep-feed bags with twigs. Along with the rest of the sheep in the field, they put Pavlov's dogs to shame. They have clearly become conditioned to the rustle of plastic bags (as this is what the farmer feeds them from).
However quietly I tried to fill the bags, more and more drooling sheep appeared from nowhere.
As I carried the filled bags down the hill, I felt like the Pied Piper. The sheep however clearly had other plans . . . to play 'What time is it Mr Wolf?' with me. While my back was turned I could hear the footsteps of hungry sheep approaching, but when I turned to look all I could see was a flock of sheep acting indifferently.
Continuing with the job in hand, I could hear those footsteps getting closer. On turning around, the sheep had turned into statues.
Once again, back turned, I could hear them breathing, but when I looked, again, they feigned uninterest!
.
Fortunately, they never did catch Mr Wolf!
There were only two in the whole field that showed no interest at all in me . . .
. . . clearly not yet conditioned to the rustle of bags.
And the wood?
With the help of Lumberjack Chellie, it all finished up exactly where it should . . .
Next blog - Don't go thinking ...
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