You would think it easy to move a group of Highland cows and their calves through a gate, across a little bit of tarmac road and through another gate, into a nice, clean, field of lush new Spring grass but, in my case at least, you would be wrong.
I was going to wait to the weekend to move the beasts as there would be more bodies about in the form of my wife Yvonne and some visiting friends, but an intemperate character and impatience got the better of me. The grass was over there, the cattle were hungry and over here and I was heartily fed up feeding them hay every day. So, as I rode down the field that morning, two bales of hay tied on the rack of the quad, the wee devil on my shoulder, urged, 'open the gate and let them cross the road, or be a tube for the rest of your days'.
Now, as a man fond of a challenge it would be fair to say that the wee devil was kicking at an open gate and instead of spreading the hay as usual I made for the gate of freedom with cows and calves following sedately behind. 'Nae problemo', I thought in my best Scottish/Spanish as an adrenalin surge of confidence took me to the edge of the field. Later I reflected that I would have thought this in Gaelic had I the linguistic ability, but I don't.
As an aside, that is not to say that I am an anti Gaelic type of person because I am most emphatically not. The truth is that I am deeply envious of Gaelic speakers and those from this area whether they have the language or not. Good on yous and please keep Gaelic and the crofting culture alive. I promise at some point in the future, obviously before I die, to try and learn some of the language, if not all.
But back to Highland cows and grass, gates and tarmac roads. The quad was parked at the side of the gate and for the first time the bales of hay were left untouched. Instead, I opened the first gate wide and crossed the road and swiftly opened the gate into the other field and then stood back expecting a 'Rawhide' like stampede of cattle down the banking, across the road and into said field. Which was what happened, sort of, in the sense that the older, more experienced cows crossed no bother but the younger cows plus all the calves point blank refused to go through the gate let alone cross the tarmac road. It was obvious, then, that this was going to be a case of re-joining cow with calf with some cajoling and the usual bribery to effect the desired end of having all the beasts in one field instead of now being spread between two fields.
Funnily enough, the wee devil had by this time vamoosed. But, the time was ticking on and so would I, for a while, as lunch was calling. The cattle, I decided, would have to fend for themselves for the next hour or so until yours truley was nosebagged.
Lunch finished, after a lot of coaxing and bribery with cobs and threats with a big stick the cows with calves on the wrong side of the road were ushered back through the gate, across the little bit of tarmac and back into the field with no grass. It was to take another three attempts in two days and this time with a lot of help from Yvonne and our visitors before the job was finally done. A case of another 'Skye half-hour' wee job turning into a marathon, snag-ridden, major undertaking.
I'll get the hang of this crofting business yet.
I was going to wait to the weekend to move the beasts as there would be more bodies about in the form of my wife Yvonne and some visiting friends, but an intemperate character and impatience got the better of me. The grass was over there, the cattle were hungry and over here and I was heartily fed up feeding them hay every day. So, as I rode down the field that morning, two bales of hay tied on the rack of the quad, the wee devil on my shoulder, urged, 'open the gate and let them cross the road, or be a tube for the rest of your days'.
Now, as a man fond of a challenge it would be fair to say that the wee devil was kicking at an open gate and instead of spreading the hay as usual I made for the gate of freedom with cows and calves following sedately behind. 'Nae problemo', I thought in my best Scottish/Spanish as an adrenalin surge of confidence took me to the edge of the field. Later I reflected that I would have thought this in Gaelic had I the linguistic ability, but I don't.
As an aside, that is not to say that I am an anti Gaelic type of person because I am most emphatically not. The truth is that I am deeply envious of Gaelic speakers and those from this area whether they have the language or not. Good on yous and please keep Gaelic and the crofting culture alive. I promise at some point in the future, obviously before I die, to try and learn some of the language, if not all.
But back to Highland cows and grass, gates and tarmac roads. The quad was parked at the side of the gate and for the first time the bales of hay were left untouched. Instead, I opened the first gate wide and crossed the road and swiftly opened the gate into the other field and then stood back expecting a 'Rawhide' like stampede of cattle down the banking, across the road and into said field. Which was what happened, sort of, in the sense that the older, more experienced cows crossed no bother but the younger cows plus all the calves point blank refused to go through the gate let alone cross the tarmac road. It was obvious, then, that this was going to be a case of re-joining cow with calf with some cajoling and the usual bribery to effect the desired end of having all the beasts in one field instead of now being spread between two fields.
Funnily enough, the wee devil had by this time vamoosed. But, the time was ticking on and so would I, for a while, as lunch was calling. The cattle, I decided, would have to fend for themselves for the next hour or so until yours truley was nosebagged.
Lunch finished, after a lot of coaxing and bribery with cobs and threats with a big stick the cows with calves on the wrong side of the road were ushered back through the gate, across the little bit of tarmac and back into the field with no grass. It was to take another three attempts in two days and this time with a lot of help from Yvonne and our visitors before the job was finally done. A case of another 'Skye half-hour' wee job turning into a marathon, snag-ridden, major undertaking.
I'll get the hang of this crofting business yet.
