I spent a glorious Anzac Sunday chasing one stubborn ewe back and forth all over a hilly and forested paddock to no avail. Justin was yelling, I was threatening beatings for one and all, it was a wonderful fulfilling day of fun!
So sometimes things don't go to plan. It's not all Rosy. Shit happens.
At the end of the day, we both slipped into a hot radox bath together and discussed the days outcomes - good and bad. We call it our boardroom meeting.
Gritting your teeth several times a day has got to be character building I say. We are getting to the end of the endless rubbish that has been accumulated over many centuries (one has to hope), and things are beginning to look a lot more civilised around here on the farm. We are perfectionist's though.
Roger our second born cat is suffering from a presumed fish bone, and between looking very woe some and sad, is also retching and not eating or sleeping - the poor little darling. So tomorrow I am going to have to take him to the Dannevirke Veterinary Clinic and pray that it doesn't put us into receivership. Cats! You love them and then you have to fork out for them, and then you love them just a little bit less.
So life here on the farm is dishing up some harsh realities by week three. No easing into it here. Just earthquakes, logging trucks and F@#%ing ewe's that can't be caught.
All in all though we are still happy with our decision to move to NZ. Nothing brings you to your happy place faster than thinking about where we have come from...Rose St! Good riddance to that hell hole dive of a place - that is now just a bottled down, therapy requiring nightmare.
No comments:
Post a Comment