The local crop is hillbred crossbred lambs, which are sold each autumn to lowland farmers for fattening. The ewes are hardy blackfaced mountain sheep - swaledales I think, and they have the look of goodtime girls slightly past their best - narrow sweet sootyblack faces, framed by curly horns like hoop earrings, shaggy white coats, and black stockings. They are up for a good time after a summer as single mums, herding together to eat and natter, buck and fight.
The tups are nowhere near as pretty or as bright. Dumb bone-headed roman-nosed Leicester lummoxes, in short sheepskin jackets. All they need are little porkpie hats at an angle to complete the look.
Two rams to a field, and they never stop doing what rams do. I've been out at midnight, in 3 degrees of frost, the air cracking with moonlit ice, and have found them stretching their huge snouts into the air to sniff out the ladies.
1 comment:
noticed our sheep look like they'd been fed on ready brek in the somerset landscape where we walk with Guy. Not much happened round my neck of the woods, well not to us teh rest of teh world comes in via radio 4, TV, our night life, still centred round the jazz scene of Bristol, a very ageing scene with lots of funerals and last trumpets but somehow hanging on in there and push past younger generations to find our seat.
Nice to see Anne and all teh landmarks on the way to Brecon.
Elaien again
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