Time out at Cinderhill Farm

This Tuesday was the day of darling Andy's inquest. I did not go, but my dear friend Debs was there in my place; what a friend - amongst so many cherished friends - to have. It was a gruelling day for both of us, but it was the final link in a long bureaucratic chain. That is it. And at last I have what I believe is called 'closure', albeit with much heartache. I have also come to the end of a very large job which has occupied almost every day of the last two months, so Debs whisked me off to the comforting bosom of Cinderhill Farm, in the beautiful Forest of Dean, where I am spending a few days resting my tired body and bruised spirit.

The day after arrival my holiday began with a visit to the vet's. Not for me of course, but for poor Autumn, a pure bred Black Welsh Mountain ewe, with suspected mastitis.  She behaved beautifully, despite her discomfort.  

Only a small protest when having her injections.

My job, as assistant shepherd, was to feed her young ivy shoots - which she loves.

Then  - already feeling more sprightly - she was released in her field, to enjoy the summer day and grass. After some judicious cleaning and 'stuff' to keep the flies off. 

 

I am enjoying a little gentle sketching. What better subject than chickens?