Countryside Chronicle December 20th, 2011

Rural Ripper serial killer strikes: Two confirmed dead

Police want to speak to
 a ginger tabby, of  average
build and height, with
green eyes.
Image: Identikit

FIVEACRES FARM, New Zealand - Police are appealing for any information about the suspicious deaths of two young turkey chicks, E. Coli and Mo Lasses, found dead on the back lawn yesterday. Detective Inspector P. Igg told media this morning that an examination of the crime scene suggested fowl play: "The poor little fellows had the stuffing knocked out of them," he commented.

The small country community, which two years ago years ago lost three lambs to the notorious Lecter serial killer, has this time been rocked by a double homicide. Mo and Col, the turkey chick victims of this latest attack, were described by a local Gossipy Bantam as being conscientious youngsters with an "egg-cellent future" ahead of them. The turkeys' foster mother, Sarah Git, is said to be in shock after witnessing the attack. A neighbour who wished to remain anonymous said that although the neighbourhood was a low-crime area, she and her six young children will be remaining vigilant until the attacker is apprehended - "It makes me quail in fear to think that it could have been one of my brood". Meanwhile, the tight-knit community of Fiveacres is rallying around to provide support for Sarah Git, and for Mo and Col's biological parents, Bob and Yortu.

A known serial killer out
on bail, should not be approached.
Image: Identikit

Police yesterday carried out a forensic examination of the crime scene, and are appealing to the individuals shown in the Idenikit drawings to come forward and assist police with their investigation. Forensic profiler Police Constable S. Wine issued a statement saying that the unsub is likely to have sharp teeth and a propensity for violence, so should not be approached. The unsub is believed to be an associate of the Mongrel Mob (with which paroled serial killer Lecter is understood to be affiliated), although police have not yet ruled out a copy-cat killer, since the victim profiles and MO appear to deviate from those in the Lecter killings. Anyone with information about the crime should contact the Fiveacres Police Stytion immediately.

Thanksgiving: a turkey-inspired recipe for scandal

Mo' and 'Col, having a very happy Thanksgiving with
their adopted mother.

Although Thanksgiving is not widely celebrated in New Zealand, the gossipy bantams celebrated Thanksgiving this year with turkey. They couldn't celebrate with Yortu, because she had conveniently disappeared a few days beforehand, and they wouldn't celebrate with Bob, because he tends to be a little socially inappropriate. Instead, the gossipy bantams celebrated the birth of a new scandal when one of the girls - Sarah Git - discovered that the eggs she had been sitting on had hatched into two fluffy, bright-eyed turkey chicks named Mo Lasses and E. Col I (need we say anything about how naughty he is?).

The scandal that the bantams are so excited about is that nobody was expecting any eggs to hatch. Sarah Git did go out on a hens' night a few weeks ago, and there are parts of that she doesn't remember, but she is pretty sure she never went home with anyone. Sarah Git also doesn't recall ever laying the eggs. Bob, the only male turkey on the street, denies ever having met Sarah Git, but (as the Leghorn and Yortu will verify), he can't always be trusted to tell the truth. Although Bob and Sarah Git categorically deny being the biological parents of Mo' and 'Col, the rumours are rife amongst the bantam community - did Bob really do the dirty on Yortu again, and is that why nobody has seen Yortu for days?

If the gossipy bantams were less bird-brained, they might have remembered Mr Farmer sneaking some eggs that Yortu had abandoned underneath Sarah Git, who at that stage, was doing her very best to hatch a golf ball. The gossipy bantams, if they weren't such egg-heads, might then have realised that Sarah Git really is just a surrogate. Happily for Mo' and 'Col, Sarah Git isn't bothered about being the centre of the controversy in the coop. She and her turkey chicks have moved into the hutch (right next door to Albie, who may or may not be wondering about his involvement), and Sarah Git is raising Mo' and 'Col as if they were her own.

Flat out making milk

Helen: not actually dead, just enjoying the Spring sunshine.

Mushroom, fennel and paprika-stuffed pork leg (in loving memory of Karina)

Karina was somewhat camera-shy, and by the time she was
all dressed up with stuffing, everyone had forgotten
 about photographs. This is Kim and some of her last litter of
piglets, all of whom hope to be just like Karina when
 they grow up.

1 leg pork, boned, skin on

1/2 small red onion, diced finely
1 pork, fennel and paprika sausage*, casing removed
1 rasher bacon, finely chopped
100 grams breadcrumbs

1/2 t salt

black pepper

1 egg

2 cups mushrooms, sliced

1 T butter


Combine breadcrumbs, egg, red onion, salt, pepper bacon, and sausage meat. Sauté mushrooms in butter, until just softened, and add to the breadcrumb mix. Mix thoroughly using a strong plastic spatula, chopping the mushrooms into smaller pieces as you go.

Place stuffing mixture inside pork leg, rolling the pork leg around the stuffing. Tie together with string (this is more difficult than it sounds), and place in a roasting dish with about 1cm water in the bottom of the roasting dish. Bake at 150 - 175°C (depending on how much time you have) until pork is cooked, about 2 to 3 hours, depending on the size of your leg of pork. Make sure there is always a bit of water in the bottom of your pan, to keep the pork nice and moist.

Serve with pumpkin and some nice, fresh, green vegetables, and then do your very best to get someone else to clean the roasting pan (thanks, Trusty Sidekick, for volunteering so selflessly).

*we have refined the sausage recipe again; for every 1kg pork mince, add 1t fennel seeds, 1t salt, 1t coarsely ground pepper, 2.25T paprika, 81g breadcrumbs. Thanks to Ken (wood) for providing the original  sausage flavour.

Snoods, scandals and summonses

Bob is a handsome turkey - or so he would tell you. He spends hours, all puffed up, snood extended, admiring himself in the reflection of the conservatory. This self-admiration is only a recent activity; a few weeks ago, Bob spent hours, all puffed up, snood extended, strutting around behind Yortu. Anywhere Yortu went, Bob would be there, right behind her, all puffed up, snood extended, with that dreamy, yearning-turkey look in his eyes.

Bob in Handsome Turkey Mode 

(certain members of the farm find this a little creepy)

Martha's double-yoker - not idle
gossip after all.

Finally, Bob's relentless attention got to Yortu. Yortu laid some eggs and pretended to nest, just so that she could get some alone time. Eventually however, Yortu grew tired of listening to the idle gossip of the bantams (did you know that Marcy laid a double-yoker yesterday?), and so Yortu abandoned her nest, only to discover Bob, all puffed up, snood extended, with that dreamy, yearning-turkey look in his eyes, following one of the leghorns around. The guinea fowl thought the whole situation was terribly funny, until Yortu (who used to be a member of their gang, and remains an associate) voiced her displeasure and stormed off in a huff.

Irresistible...

Since the incident, Bob has done his best to make it up to Yortu, following her around, day and night, all puffed up, snood extended, with a guilty look in his eyes. We've even caught him sneaking into the house, undoubtably in search of a telephone on which to order his jilted lover a bunch of forgive-me flowers. Despite the aforementioned leghorn's best efforts to keep a low profile, she has still been labeled a harlot and a home-wrecker by certain gossiping bantams.

Handsome...

Notwithstanding Bob's continued efforts to woo Yortu, with his extended snood, puffed-up feathers, and folds of skin that change from bright red to brilliant blue with the twitch of a feather, Yortu has been giving Bob the cold shoulder. This isn't just idle bantam-gossip - the two turkey eggs that made their way into last night's experimental quiche were both cold and unfertilized**. Indeed, Bob was also spotted, deflated and with short snood, chatting to Albie about his now purposeless existence - an interesting choice of companionship, given that Albie doesn't exactly enjoy Farm Stud status himself. Mr Farmer, who likes to look out for the other males on the farm, and was no doubt worried about Albie's ability as a counsellor, stepped in and came up with a solution - he invited Bob and Yortu to join us for Christmas dinner.

...Ever so slightly comical.

Since Mr Farmer's invitation, Bob has been practicing his feather-puffing and snood-showing in front of the reflective conservatory windows with newfound enthusiasm, in order to regain his Studly Allure (and resultant Purpose On The Farm). Mr Farmer's invitation seemed to be just what Yortu needed, too, to give Bob a second chance, as Yortu has been spotted eyeing up Bob's reflection with a very approving stare, from just behind the flax bush, out of sight from prying bantam eyes.

**For those who are curious, the turkey eggs were rich and tasty, and the experimental quiche was a success.

A replacement for the Ride-on Mower (or, a new buck pen)

The Ride-on Mower left the farm some months ago, to go cavorting with a handsome gelding out West. Back then, it was the middle of Winter, and there wasn't much work for her anyway, so nobody really missed her (especially Helen, who made it no secret that she hated having to share all the attention).
When Spring arrived, nobody was prepared. The lawns slowly got longer and longer, but there were more pressing issues. Kim and Cliff had gone their separate ways and needed help packing, the piglets needed a new house, the second vegetable garden needed Chicken Protection, and Albie needed a buck pen.

Albie, surveying his new plot of land, complete with
Swiss-Style chalet.

Kim and Cliff were duly shipped off in a horse float and a caged trailer, and the piglets had a bus shelter modified to include a stunning deck with room for a barbecue and some outdoor furniture, and views out over the bush. The tomatoes got a new (and hopefully) chicken-proof fence. But everybody conveniently forgot about Albie and his need for a buck pen, because new pens generally mean new fences, and new fences generally mean digging, and digging generally means Hard Work. Hard Work is technically Mr Farmer's department, but Mr Farmer alleges it isn't in his contract.

Albie, inside the Bachelor Pad, which is located in a great
neighbourhood, just across the fence from the sheep and
the piglets.

Happily, someone else came up with a better solution. Since Albie can't work as a buck until Autumn (despite his best [successful] efforts to rut), he was approached about the Spring/Summer position of Lawn Mower. With the help of a few electric fence standards, and a bit of wire, Albie could have his pick of the best grass and weeds in all the places the sheep can't graze, and the plants (who are the reason the sheep can't graze in these locations) could relax in the knowledge that neither insidious grass growth nor hungry animals would harm them. With a bit of coercion (okay, a lead and some dragging), Albie was today enlisted as the farm's new Push/Pull Mower. His package includes limitless grass, and a Swiss-chalet-style bachelor pad.

"This is, like, the perfect location for a deck. Mr Farmer?"

Helen has never been happier. Finally, some freedom from that annoying one-and-a-sixteenth-horned buck. Albie is still trying to figure out exactly how he ended up on the front lawn, but is pretty happy with the variety of grass and weeds that have been growing plentifully since the Ride-on Mower left. The only slight disappointment for Albie is that the fruit trees are on the wrong side of the electric fence. The fruit trees are hopeful that our electricity company can refrain from having a power cut, at least until Autumn.

Mr Farmer solves a pressing problem

The Balancing-Bucket Cheese Press: outdoor use only.
Multi-purpose: doubles as a catapult.

Every year, Mr Farmer gets upset about the lack of space in the fridge, due to the growing number of batches of feta. Last year, Helen and I were proactive, and used some of her milk to make a cheddar cheese, so that Mr Farmer could have a little fridge space. The only problem with cheddar is that it requires a cheese press - because we didn't have a cheese press on hand, Helen and I had to get creative, both with our press, and with our weights. After some failed attempts balancing bricks and cans and bottles of water on top of the cheese (which resulted in some rather loud crashing), Mr Farmer stepped in with the Balancing Bucket Cheese Press. The buckets, which are full of bricks, are balanced on a fence paling which sits on a can that is just slightly smaller than the cheese mold.

The Balancing Bag Cheese Press: the indoor, but
 light-weight alternative.

The Balancing Bucket cheese press was excellent, and and made a good job of pressing the cheddar. However, as the fridge began to fill to capacity this year, we were faced with a major problem: the fence paling that had formed such an integral part of last year's cheese press was now firmly attached to a fence. Further, the Balancing Bucket Cheese Press is best suited to outdoor use, partly because of the space it takes up, and partly because of its potential to act as a catapult in the event of an imbalance - but this year's Cheddar Weekend was wet. So, we had to come up with an alternative: the Balancing Bag Cheese Press.

The Balancing Bag Cheese Press comprises two bags, full of cans and bottles of water, hanging off the end of a piece of oak that used to be part of a chair (the oak was thrilled to have avoided becoming firewood). We added a plastic jug with its bottom chopped off to the cheese mold, both because our cheese mold was too small for the volume of curds we had, and because it gave added stability to the press. We thought we had found the solution to our pressing issue, but it soon became clear that the amount of weight we were able to use was going to be limited by our bag size. We were also a little worried that the bags would not be strong enough to carry 23 kg of bricks, cans and water-filled bottles. The other pressing problem was that the Balancing Bag Cheese Press became easily unbalanced, as evidenced by the loud crashes that regularly echoed from the dining room.

The Im-press-ive Cheese Press: suitable for indoor use,
heavy weights, and entire nights without mysterious crashing
sounds echoing from the dining room.

Finally, Mr Farmer stepped in, with the Im-press-ive Cheese Press. The Im-press-ive Cheese Press is constructed from the upside-down base of a chair, and a long board with two holes in it to allow it to slot over two of the legs. The weights sit on (or hang off) the board. The legs of the upside-down chair give added stability to the press - so much so that the 23-kg of weight required to press the cheddar has been sitting quite happily on the press for the last 20 hours (a record time for weights staying where they are meant to be). The bags are full of potatoes, and the bricks (in black plastic bags), bottles of water, and cans sit on top of the press. Despite the existence of (fancier) cheese presses made from materials that were always meant to be part of a cheese press, we think the Im-press-ive Cheese Press is the peak of perfection - thanks, Mr Farmer, for saving the day.

The Unicorn in the paddock

Albie, the unicorn with a headache, about 12 hours
after the injury. Note that he is covered in dew, not fresh blood.

First it was a turkey. Then, the week later, on the 21 July, Mr Farmer arrived home from work to find a unicorn in the paddock. Leastways, what Mr Farmer actually found was a very despondent Albie, who had lost a fight and one of his horns to Roger the ram. Roger was strutting around the paddock with a minor cut on his head, telling all and sundry that he was going to change his name to Shane Cameron, and everyone should call Albie Dominic Vea.

The missing horn... ouch.

By the time Mr Farmer arrived home, the fight was well-and-truly over, and the crowds had dispersed. Albie's head-wound had even stopped bleeding. The only remaining evidence of the fight was a lone horn, lying unclaimed in the middle of the paddock. Oh, and a tearful one-horned goat, sobbing as quietly as he could about his new position as a unicorn. Mr Farmer went to tend to Albie's head wound with the bottle of iodine.

The next morning, Albie was still sniffling about the black abyss his life had become, but physically he was ok, and still not bleeding. Big Suffolk and Helen were keeping a close eye on him (obviously Roger hadn't considered the impact of the sympathy close). A google search revealed that unicorn goats are not as uncommon as everyone thought - indeed, this member of the unicorn community bears striking resemblance to Albie. In fact, the goat-to-unicorn transformation can even be done surgically.

Albie, 6 days on and recovering well.

The fact that Albie is now a unicorn (and is resigned to remaining this way for the rest of his life, unless he gets a prosthetic replacement or has another fight with Roger to get rid of the other horn) will probably not do his career as a stud goat any favours. With this in mind, Albie headed for the neighbour's paddock later that day, glumly contemplating life as a lone unicorn.

Mr Farmer, who has a secret soft spot for Albie, invited Albie to move in to the alcove under the back doorstep until he felt well enough to patch things up with Roger. Albie lived there for two weeks, with a dream diet of hay, chaff, grain and vegetable scraps - he was so miserable to start with that it took him a couple of days to get back to his old self and start complaining about being alone. His wound was clean, and healing nicely.

"I am a suave young unicorn..." Albie, three months on.

Around 1 August, when Helen decided to move next door with the cows, Albie had grown a nice, clean scab over his horn hole (for want of a better word). He and Helen were tethered on the back lawn, and Helen was bored. "Itch it." said Helen. "Go on, I dare you." Albie follows all of Helen's instructions to the best of his ability, and one deft scratch of the food later, the scab was off. Albie had a fifty-cent-coin-sized hole in his head. He was resigned back to the alcove for another week. Then, just as Albie was getting really, really bored, someone snuck up and smeared Marmite all over his horn hole, then let him loose in the paddock (satisfied that the wound was sufficiently waterproofed). Albie didn't even notice the Marmite waterproofing, but Helen did. Albie may not have been a great conversation partner, and he may not have been the coolest animal in the paddock, but all of a sudden, he sure tasted good. In fact, Albie tasted so good that Helen even let him follow her around the farm for the next couple of days. Albie is still trying to work out why Helen kept trying to lick his head (though he reckons it's because she loves him).

A 1.05-horned goat (read: lopsided).

During his recovery, Albie grew rather fond of his one-remaining horn, becoming so protective of it that he would not even share the same paddock with Roger. Although it took Albie just over a month to recover physically, it wasn't until Albie realised that being a unicorn could be a career option which would put him in touch with beautiful ladies and immeasurable fame, that he cheered up. Now, just over three months after the incident, Albie is glum once again, because he is losing his unicorn status, thanks to a scur that has just started growing where the second horn used to be. Life as a lop-sided goat doesn't seem very attractive when compared with the glamour of being a real, live unicorn.

Lonely turkey hen finds Prince Charming

Turkey eggs - no relation of Yortu or Bob.

Yortu the traveling turkey arrived on the farm in early July. At that time, she was a lonely turkey hen, searching for somebody to love her. Although Yortu had long believed that Mr Right would be a turkey, the wit and charm of the Guinea Fowl was too much for Yortu to resist, and she moved right on in.

Although the Guinea Fowl can indeed be charming and witty, they have developed a bad reputation around the farm as being bullies and scoundrels. Certain members of the farm were worried that the Guinea Fowl had taken advantage of Yortu's loneliness and burning desire to belong, and so Yortu was set up on a date with a handsome young turkey named Bob.

Bob was a 6-month-old turkey from a stable, family-oriented background. He had everything that a lonely turkey like Yortu could possibly want - looks, no brains, and a reasonably-sized snood. Yortu was smitten from the moment Bob arrived on the farm (August 13), and Bob could hardly contain his excitement at the thought of a lonely turkey hen, just waiting to be swept off her feet. Bob went bright red and started gobbling, and Yortu puffed up her feathers and did the most sultry walk she could muster past Bob's cage. The pair have been inseparable ever since, but the relationship has clearly become more serious than just a couple of lonely turkeys having a good time. Marriage might even be on the cards, although sources say that it could well be a shotgun wedding. The reason for this rumour? Yesterday, two large, speckled turkey eggs were spotted in the agapanthus opposite the chicken house.

The mating game

There is great scandal on the farm. When Spring began, everyone thought that all the new-borns had already arrived. Everyone except for Roger's daughter Little Romney, that is - Little Romney had a big secret. Little Romney's big secret arrived yesterday - in the shape of a tiny wee boy named Fritzl.

Fritzl, the only lamb to actually enjoy a cuddle with a farmer.

There is some confusion over how Fritzl came to be. Little Romney is keeping mum, but there are really only two suspects (possibly three, if you recall that Mr Farmer is from Southland, but he claims to have an alibi).

Roger the ram is the most obvious suspect, but he has always been able to be trusted with his daughters. He's always said he would never go there, and certainly, none of his daughters have ever had a Fritzl before. However, a google search would have revealed to Roger that inbreeding is quite acceptable on some farms, especially when you call it linebreeding. Certainly, Roger and Little Romney both have genes to be proud of...

Albie the buck is the least likely suspect, but the evidence for his paternity is compelling. Little Romney and Roger are both white all over, but Fritzl has a black nose and a brown patch on his ear (not pictured). Fritzl is also unusually friendly and calm for a lamb, and is quite content to sleep in a patch of long grass while his mum goes off and eats - just like a goat kid. Nobody thought that sort of thing was actually possible, but according to Wikipedia (and a number of other sources), goats and sheep have been getting together since 1969. In fact, it would seem that Fritzl wouldn't be the first shoat/geep to be born in New Zealand - even if you exclude the nasty rumour that Roger started about Vindie-Lou. Finally, there has been much friction between Albie and Roger, over Helen, and everyone is quite convinced that impregnating Roger's daughter would be Albie's ultimate revenge (especially if the rumour about Vindie-Lou is true).

In any case, little Fritzl's mum seems quite happy to raise her son on her own (despite questions from a certain farmer after Little Romney lost her son in the paddock today - but sheep are not known for their excellent memory). Nobody has been tactless enough to mention the daddy-identity issue to Fritzl. Helen is also adamant that Albie really is Vindie-Lou's biological father.

Spring rush

Vindie-Lou, some days prior to her departure.

Apparently, Spring was not worth waiting for. The lambs, Vindie-Lou, and the piglets all arrived weeks before Spring did. Even the first daffodil was early. So when Spring arrived nine days ago, nobody took much notice, except Albie, who started rutting (apparently in preparation for Autumn, after he heard Mr Farmer talking about how prior planning prevents poor performance).

Then, things on the farm started getting busy. Vindie-Lou moved up north to live on 23 acres, with five human kids and two calves. Trusty Sidekick enjoyed having another small, energetic white animal around, and will miss Vindie. Helen took it well, surprisingly - it is rumoured that this had a lot to do with Vindie's dental development, and with Mrs Farmer's contrastingly gentle milking technique. Vindie's departure meant that there were twice-daily milkings, and (what with Helen being so productive), daily cheesemaking and endless searches for recipes that call for milk, to make room for some non-milk food in the fridge. Eventually, Mr Farmer suggested the piglets be weaned and employed as milk-drinkers (since their parents Kim and Cliff have separated and are looking for new homes). Weaning the piglets isn't as simple as it sounds, here on the farm - it involves a lot of chasing on the part of the farmers, and sometimes also on the part of angry mother pigs... However, now that the piglets are weaned, and Kim is back living the life of a young, single and apparently attractive sow, there is ample space in the fridge because the piglets are skilled and dedicated milk drinkers.

Although there was never any DNA evidence, it is quite widely accepted (by everyone except Roger) that Albie is Vindie's biological father. This pleased Albie for a while, until he thought more about the responsibilities of being a father, at which point he got cold feet and moved into the neighbour's paddock. Clearly, since Vindie has departed, Albie has forgotten how daunting fatherhood can be, as he started rutting as soon as Helen came on heat. Happily for Helen, Albie was living on the front lawn by himself at that time, so nothing ever came of it.

Vindie-Lou, intrepid explorer

Vindie-Lou, intrepid day-old explorer.

Vindie hasn't been bothered by recent weather conditions, except at 2 yesterday morning, when she decided that it was too cold and too dark and too early to come out for milk, which upset Helen (who got vocal enough about it to wake me up). In Vindie's defence, it was so cold that there was ice on the ground outside, and she did look really snug. However, Helen was worried, so Vindie was roused out of bed and transported to the milk bar so that the rest of us could go back to sleep.

Vindie-Lou, day-old figure skater.

Albie met Vindie yesterday. Vindie wanted to know if his udder produced milk, but couldn't find the teats. Albie found the whole situation kind of embarrassing and awkward - apparently it isn't a dad's job to educate one's kid about that sort of stuff.

Helen has been producing milk overtime. Her teats are nearly as big as Vindie's head. Vindie does her best, but she just can't keep up with production (it's exhausting work, apparently - Vindie spends much of the time asleep). I milked a litre and a quarter from Helen on Tuesday morning, and a litre and a half yesterday morning, and a litre today because Vindie was up early. Helen still has plenty to spare (not that she was overly appreciative of my efforts to relieve the udder pressure).

Two-day-old Vindie-Lou and new BFF Trusty Sidekick,
just chilling.

Vindie-Lou, two-day-old mummy's girl.

Tuesday and Wednesday's milk has been made into a miniature batch of feta, following the same method I used early last season, but using rather elderly acidophilus yogurt as the starter culture (that was all we had), and the exciting new floating dairy thermometer that Mr Farmer brought home. The exciting new floating dairy thermometer is exciting because it replaces an old thermometer that recently decided that everything would be 15°C. The major downside is that the exciting new floating dairy thermometer floats with the temperature side down, and the temperatures (when yo can see them) are in Fahrenheit - somewhat confusing for someone who has converted her cheese recipes to Celsius - but it makes up for that by having labels at various temperatures for "freeze" "churn" "cheese" "pasteurise" and "water boils". The curds are currently draining in home-made cheese molds, which replace cheesecloth because they claim to be less messy. This claim pleases Mr Farmer immensely.

Proud mum Helen and two-day-old Vindie-Lou.

Helen has been mowing the lawn next door, which is steep and, with the current sodden ground, inaccessible even by our neighbour's seasoned ride-on mower (a petrol-powered one, not a grass-powered one like we had). Vindie usually wakes up in time to join Helen for lunch, then has a long afternoon nap in the bushes, after which it is about time to come home with her mum for the evening.

Happy birthday, Vindie-Lou (finally)

Thursday was day 150, but Helen had heard from the sheep that a cold front was coming later in the week, and, according to the ewes, there is no better time to give birth than when it's wet and cold. So Helen held off.

Vindie-Lou, just minutes old, having a bath.

By day 152, there was a strong suspicion that the gestation period had been incorrectly calculated. Albie was starting to get nervous. Roger was still gloating confidently.

On the morning of day 153, the polar blast arrived. By 9 am, Helen had bagged up. The contractions started after 11, and Albie whipped down to the local store to buy some cigars (where he ran into Roger, also there for cigars). Helen started doing her breathing exercises, and declined an epidural. Finally, at 12.30 pm, Vindie-Lou was born. Although a team of medical experts were standing by, Helen managed to do it all by herself, for the first time ever. Quite a feat, for a small goat with a rather substantial-sized kid. The last part of the birth was caught on camera - the video, below, is not for the faint hearted, and (says Helen) highlights the benefits of a caesarian section.

Vindie-Lou, modeling this season's latest in lamb wear
(much to Albie's horror)

Vindie-Lou and Helen are spending the night under cover (Mr Farmer declined to let them inside by the fire for the evening), Vindie-Lou wearing her new lamb jacket, tired out after an afternoon of milk drinking and wobbly skipping.

There is one small problem, as identified by Roger. Vindie-Lou is completely white. Albie is not. Vindie-Lou has small, slim (slightly lop-sided) ears. Albie does not. Vindie-Lou has an unusually long tail for a goat. Albie does not... but Roger does...

Who are you, and how did you get into our paddock?

Anonymous Equine: short, dark, handsome and mysterious.

That's the question the sheep are asking (in addition to "is it safe to approach it?").

It's not the Ride-on Mower (too slim, for a start, and it's a boy).

It's not the goat kid we were expecting (or the sheep-goat kid Roger was hoping for).

Even more puzzling, our paddocks are fully-fenced, and while these fences are goat- and Pitt-Island-penetrable (what fence isn't?), they are miniature-horse proof (just ask the Ride-on Mower). Perhaps we have a grand-prix jumper?

Just kidding about kidding

Three of today's new arrivals, barely 30 minutes old, at the milk bar.

Helen may not have kidded today, but Kim gave birth just after 3pm. Cliff now looks to be the winner of the "Who Can Father The Most Children This Season" competition, though Roger still reckons he's in with a chance if Helen gives birth to quintuplets. Everyone suspects Albie would be happy just to be able to enter the competition.

Maybe tomorrow, then...

Pregnant Pauses

Helen's colostrum was milky this afternoon.

Kim is building a nest.

Cliff and Albie are standing by nervously, holding trotters in a very masculine gesture of support. Roger, just over the fence, is waiting with his flock (or what remains of it, after the Pitt Island girls were lured into the top paddock with the super-secure fences).

Nicole Ritchie agreed to appear on camera,
shortly before helping us to lure her mum
back from the neighbour's paddock, and
into the top paddock with the super-secure
fences. She declined to give autographs,
although Albie asked so nicely.

Roger is still convinced that he is the father of Helen's unborn kid, however Albie says that Roger ought to be content with his four current children. Big Suffolk doesn't seem overly concerned about the variety of mothers that Roger's children have, and the Pitt Island girls are still trying to figure out how they got trapped in the top paddock with the super secure fences. Nobody has challenged Cliff's paternity (who would go there, say the sheep, Kim's such a pig).

Paternity and maternity issues aside, we are all very excited about tomorrow.

Saturday's slow-roasted shanks

Saturday, who looks just like Nicole Ritchie only smaller.

Yesterday, Saturday was born. Saturday is an Arapawa Pitt Island cross. Roger his proud, because Saturday looks just like her dad, and nothing like her mum, Arethra (the Pitt Island ewe with the scurs and the inability to spell). Saturday is Nicole Ritchie's younger half sister - the two are almost identical, but Nicole and her mum Whitney are currently residing in the neighbour's paddock, and refuse to be photographed. Nicole was born about two weeks before Saturday.

To celebrate Saturday's arrival, here is a recipe that we have called Saturday's Slow-Roasted Shanks (even though Saturday still has all her shanks, and will do so for some time)...

2 lamb shanks

1 cup celery, sliced
1 cup carrot, sliced
1 cup onion, finely chopped
6 small-ish potatoes

2 cloves garlic, crushed
1 teaspoon dried thyme
1 teaspoon dried rosemary
1 large bay leaf
salt and pepper

4 tomatoes, puréed
1 cup white wine
1 cups chicken stock

Combine all ingredients in a roasting pan with lid. Cover, cook long and slow at no hotter than 150°C (302°F), for about 2 hours, or until the meat is falling off the bone.

In other news, after some trouble with the big bad wolf, the last of the three little pigs moved to the freezer last weekend. Karina and Petra, aged just 17 weeks, moved into the three little pigs' house shortly afterwards. Karina plans to grow up and have children with one of Kim's offspring (due later this year), while Petra has plans for a more more culinary career. Kim and Cliff have been toying with the idea of finding a new home, and are thinking about moving out after Kim has her next litter of piglets.

Helen is still pregnant, moody, hormonal, and due to kid this Thursday (despite an early mix-up with dates which had us expecting the kid two weeks ago). She's been spending time with the cows next door, and hasn't been keen to come back home for anyone. The cows next door have accepted Helen as a senior member of the herd, and will follow her all the way to the fence when she gets dragged back home. Back in our paddocks, Roger and Albie are both excited about the prospect of fathering Helen's kids, but that is another story...

Countdown...

The expectant couple

Three days ago, at feeding time, Helen asked if she could have hers to-go, in the neighbour's paddock. The reason, we suspect, is that she has grown too large to fit through the boundary fence. Two days later, the lure of feeding time became too much, and Helen decided to brave the fence. She almost got stuck, but after a lot of pushing and pulling, the fence gave a satisfying twang, and Helen popped right through. She hasn't ventured back since. Yesterday, Mr Farmer discovered a very small amount of colostrum in Helen's udder. The countdown has begun - Helen should kid at the beginning of August. Albie is super-excited to be a dad, and (having been led back home from the neighbour's paddock), has not left Helen's side.

Wet weather gear

Big Suffolk (left) inspects Paul
(centre) and Stevie's (right)
new wet weather gear, with what
we would like to describe as
gratitude (but is probably more
like suspicion).

Big Suffolk timed the twins' (now Paul and Stevie) birth right on the edge of a very big storm, which is a bit of a sheep tradition. Mr Farmer didn't think much of my generous offer to bring Paul and Stevie inside and raise them for Big Suffolk, but he did suggest that Paul and Stevie might like some bread bag rain coats for their birthday. Stevie models this season's latest look from Pak n' Save - the white toast slice (baked fresh in store daily), and Paul models this season's latest look from Budget - the white sandwich slice. For smaller lambs, Vogels have a wonderful range of petite-sized wet weather garments - happily, Stevie and Paul are more the size of your average loaf of bread. Helen is disappointed that the two bread bags wandering around the paddock are full of lamb, not bread - she gave the bags a very thorough inspection before they were transformed into rain coats. Big Suffolk didn't really seem very grateful for her twins' new gears, stamping her feet and glaring at me while I put the jackets on Paul and Stevie. One can't expect too much from a sheep, I suppose.

One of the leghorns (right) doing her best to ignore Yortu
(left).

Yortu the traveling turkey is still with us, and is currently watching me type from a sheltered spot under the eaves. Yortu roosts alone, right outside our bedroom (and will need to re-assess her idea of acceptable hygiene habits if she wishes to continue roosting outside our bedroom). She rises before the guinea fowl, and hasn't quite figured out how to get up into their roosting tree, so wanders around calling out "I am a lonely turkey hen, looking for company". Yesterday, Yortu was almost coerced into eloping with a wild pheasant from next door while the guinea fowl slept. This morning, the guinea fowl rose a little earlier. No marauding pheasants have been heard so far.

Albie and Helen seem to have had a falling-out, and Albie has disappeared off into the neighbour's paddock in a huff. Although usually very pleasant-natured, Helen has been known to be difficult during the later stages of her pregnancies. The rumour in the paddock is that Albie thinks Helen is a bit too friendly with Roger, and is having some doubts about the paternity of Helen's unborn kid (obviously Albie has a splash of Nubian in him). Some of us are suspicious that Helen may have left Albie in the neighbour's paddock on purpose. I think it is time that Albie was shown the way back into our paddock, but Helen is all for leaving him next door.

Two birthdays

The two new lambs, some 12 hours old, as yet
anonymous. Mr Farmer apologises for the blurry photo.

When we checked on Big Suffolk last night at around 8 pm, she was muttering things about epidurals and cesarians. The lambs, however, hadn't even started to arrive. Helen and the flock were nearby, just in case, and Albie was just over the other side of the fence, saying some very soothing things to Big Suffolk.

At 12.30 am, Big Suffolk was found in the paddock nursing twin boys. Albie, from the other side of the fence, said he'd never been through such a life-changing experience. Helen has been all clucky since - hopefully she is due in August. In the meantime, everyone is thinking very hard about names for the two newest additions to the flock.

Yortu is still here, but has fallen in with the wrong crowd. Early yesterday evening she was inducted into the Guinea Fowl Gang as a prospect - the Guinea Fowl Gang comprise two (possibly) male guinea fowl who wandered up the driveway one day, several years ago, with a little bit of coercion from Mr Farmer.

Yortu and the Guinea Fowl Gang, cruising the 'hood.

Initially, the guinea fowl lived as one with the chickens, even starting a romantic relationship with one of the Rhode Island hens. It never amounted to anything, and, since said hen decided to end the liaison, the guinea fowl have taken to chasing all of the chickens away and stealing their food. Yortu is currently happy to share with the chickens, but we wonder how long it will be before she becomes a patched member of the GFG. The search is on for a suitable partner for Yortu - someone from a stable background who is interested in settling down with Mrs Right, and starting a family, and might be able to convince Yortu to get back on the straight and narrow. Single gobblers are hard to come by at present, however.

Albie is still on the other side of the fence, in exactly the same spot as he was yesterday. He claims he needs the alone time to think hard about names for his two wee god-children, but everyone knows he's just forgotten how to get back through the fence.

Christmas and a birthday

Yortu, checking out the pigs.

It's been an exciting day on the farm. First, Mr Farmer spotted Yortu in the front garden. Nobody is sure where Yortu came from, but it's been several hours, and Yortu is still hanging out with the sheep. She's been invited to move in full time, and is allowed to bring a boyfriend and raise a family (or come for Christmas dinner).

Big Suffolk, in labour.

In other news, Big Suffolk was spotted in the top corner of the paddock shortly after Yortu's arrival, looking sheepish. On closer inspection, her water had just broken - Mr Farmer claimed that he could see not one, but two, water bags. We might be expecting twins. Big Suffolk is still in labour, but Helen is standing by as her birth buddy, trying to redeem herself. Helen is in trouble because she took Albie into the paddock next door yesterday, and left him there. Albie has been sitting patiently by the fence ever since.

This little piggy... (or, pork, red wine and mushroom pie)

These are not the three little pigs. Inglis (front, centre) is
just dreaming about pie. The three little pigs refused to
appear on camera, and the pies disappeared too quickly to
be photographed.

In response to the dismal, wet, cold Winter weather, the three little pigs have been in the kitchen, making a rather tasty pork, red wine and mushroom pie. Here is their recipe:

700 g pork, cut into cubes
seasoned flour

15 ml oil

half a clove of garlic, finely chopped*
1 brown onion, diced
1 stalk celery, diced
1 small carrot, diced

300 ml beef stock
3/4 c red wine
pinch thyme**
2 bay leaves

20 g flour
200 g button mushrooms, quartered***

1/4 t red wine vinegar

Coat the cubes of pork with the seasoned flour, shaking off any excess flour. Heat the oil in a large pan over a medium heat, add the pork, and brown (about five minutes).

Add the garlic, onion, celery and carrot to the pork, and cook five minutes or so, with the lid on, until the vegetables are soft. Reduce the heat to a low heat.

Add the beef stock, red wine, thyme and bay leaves. Simmer very very gently for two and a half (maybe even three) hours - with the lid on for the first hour and a half, then with the lid off for the remaining time. Now is a good time to start making your pastry (or to get your pastry out of the freezer, or to whip off to the supermarket).

Add the mushrooms, and simmer very very very gently for a further half an hour. By this time, the meat should be starting to fall apart. If not, keep simmering very very very very gently. Once the mushrooms are in, start rolling out your pastry, putting it into pie tin(s) and baking the empty pie shells in the oven until only just cooked.

Sprinkle the flour over, combine, and mix until the sauce becomes smooth and thick. Season, add vinegar, and spoon into your pie shell(s). Put the lids on your pie shells, glaze if you can be bothered, and bake at 180°C for about 15 minutes, until the pastry is cooked.

Pastry****

225 g flour
100 g butter*****
1/2 t salt
1/4 c water

Rub butter into flour and salt. Add water a little at a time, until a stiff dough forms. Leave to rest 20 - 30 minutes in the fridge, then roll out into your desired shape. Pastry makers with time constraints can skip the resting part, but do be aware that your pastry will not behave nearly as nicely as it should without a good rest before rolling.


In other news, the Ride-on Mower has found a full-time position elsewhere (no grass for her here, no more work until Spring), Helen and Albie are still very much in love, and we are now saving for a donkey to replace the Ride-on Mower, much to Mr Farmer's distress.

*you could use more garlic, but Mr Farmer's stomach and garlic don't get on, so I didn't.

**or try rosemary, if you're adventurous. That is what the three little pigs will try next time.

***field mushrooms would also be excellent, but it's not the right time of year for them here.

****this is short-crust pastry. If you have time on your hands, or a supermarket nearby, this pie would be excellent with flaky puff pastry.

*****or use 50 g lard, 50 g butter - apparently lard makes an excellent pastry, but we don't often have it in the fridge. Margarine works wonderfully, too.

Got milk?

The offending
cow's milk

Helen hasn't. We had to buy a bottle of cow's milk yesterday, because Helen has been dried off. Mr Farmer, who secretly doesn't mind goat's milk, opened the fridge this morning with a spring in his step, and greeted the cow's milk joyously. What a treat, he exclaimed. Cow's milk in his coffee. I thought Helen was out of earshot, but she looked awfully smug when Mr Farmer later announced that his tummy felt queazy - after all, any goat who can use google knows that cow's milk is comparatively less-digestible, more allergenic, and higher lactose goat's milk, so Helen is convinced that the cow's milk is the culprit. Helen is sure that now is a good time to reintroduce the Build-A-Milking-Shed campaign. She has her sights set on something like these goats have, although slightly more suited to a single doe, and perhaps with an adjoining apartment for her hygienically-challenged boyfriend.

Helen and Albie, BFFs

In the meantime, we are counting down to kidding. Helen misses her daily milking meal of apples, grain, and other treats (apparently sharing vegetable scraps and the odd slice of pizza with the sheep just isn't the same). Because Helen hasn't been spotted engaging in public displays of affection with Albie since 14 March, we are expecting her to kid around the beginning of August. This morning, Helen and Albie were spotted discussing kid names in a rare patch of late-Autumn sunshine.

Scandal

Helen, looking smug, just prior to
letting her secret out

Yesterday, Helen was spotted tenderly licking Albie's face in the paddock, when she thought nobody was watching. Her secret is out. She is in love. With Albie.


Today, Helen was spotted with Albie in tow, eating gorse in the neighbour's paddock. Obviously Helen has shared her secret getting-through-the-fence technique with Albie, which means the relationship must be getting serious. Unfortunately Helen omitted to tell Albie how to get back through the boundary fence. Since Helen had to come back through the fence for milking, Albie is now crying nervously beside the fence, because he cannot work out how to get back through.

Helen is having some tether time in the paddock, to think about how mean it was to get Albie stuck on the wrong side of the fence.

Peace and quiet and a happy buck

A nervous herd wondered how they had yet again been
fooled into being penned...

Move over Will and Kate, Albie and Helen have been
spotted together in the same paddock...

Two days ago it was Sheep-drench Sunday. We moved the sheep into the upper paddock, to herd them into the pen. Albie came too, of course, and when Helen heard him (you can't help but hear Albie - for a miniature goat, he has maximum volume) she changed her mind about helping with the herding process. Mr Farmer and Trusty Sidekick helped instead (well, Mr Farmer helped, and Trusty Sidekick lost her composure right at the end and chased the sheep back out of the pen, and was excluded from herding thereafter). The Ride-on Mower looked on from the front lawn, vaguely amused (she has been involved in the herding process before, but Helen got jealous and butted her, so now she just sticks to her main job, which she does with exceptional skill). The sheep finally ran into the pen thanks to some brilliant herding on Mr Farmer's part, and some remarkable restraint on Trusty Sidekick's part. Poor Albie, not being familiar with the sheep mentality of "everybody run in the same direction if someone is chasing you", got stuck in the top-most paddock. He cried. The sheep ignored him - they were too busy worrying, because last time they were in the pen, someone gave them bad haircuts (I disagree with this - the mohawk was so hot last summer). Happily, this trip to the pen only involved a squirt of slightly bitter drench, although the sheep are now upset because the Ride-on Mower popped her head through the fence and told them (with a certain smugness) that her drench tasted like apples.

Clearly, it was only a matter of time before Helen fell prey
to Albie's irresistible charm...

By the time I had let the sheep out into the upper paddock, Albie had worked out how to get back through the fence. He was excited, because he had just remembered that this was where he had last seen Helen. In fact, Helen had spent most of the previous week in the upper paddock - she claims this was because it has better access to the neighbour's paddock (less staples in the boundary fence), but I suspect it was because Albie was with the sheep in the lower paddock. Whilst I admired Albie's optimism, I suspected that Helen would now start using the lower paddock, or just not bother coming back at all.
Albie was right. Helen was waiting impatiently at the gate in the upper paddock on Monday morning. Even so, I suspected she would pop straight back through the fence after milking, but judging by the eery quiet that has descended over the farm, it would appear that she hasn't left the upper paddock since. There is some debate as to the status of their relationship, but sources (the sheep) say that the pair have decided to go their separate ways, but remain "good friends" for the sake of their unborn kid (again, this is only rumour, but judging by the lack of amorous behavior and Helen's subtle but sudden mood swings, there may be some substance to it).