Rare treat

Just about the only benefit (other than the highly dubious one of ‘getting some exercise’) of spending hundreds of hours chasing your farmer friend's cattle across field and moor is that, every once in a while, you get to eat your arch-nemesis:


Two sirloin steaks formerly known as ‘Daisy-May’ yesterday.

Daisy-May had it coming, believe me.

Best steaks we ever ate. (And I'm not just saying that.)

Cattle drive redux

It's that time of year again: time to help our farmer friend bring her cows down off the moors. Which is what we spent this afternoon doing, in the driving wind and pissing rain.

If you've been paying attention, you won't be at all surprised just how difficult it is to find cows on a moor. Today, we only managed to find about half of them. They were several miles away, well on their way to Haworth.

Just in case you're thinking I'm exaggerating just how wet and windy it was, I did you a crappy video:

If you've ever wondered what free-range beef looks like before they put it into plastic packets, now you know. (Obviously, I'm referring to the cattle, not the dogs.)

It took us about two hours to defrost.

See also: Cattle drive

In the blood

Jen and I spent the morning rounding up cows with our farmer friend.

At one point, I found myself walking along a track, talking with the farmer's four-year-old grandson:

Farmer's grandson: [Waving blue drain-rod around his head] I've got a walking-stick!
Me: That's not really a walking-stick. Do you know what it's really for?
Farmer's grandson: Hitting cows with.

I must say, he's a very observant young lad.

See also:

It's sorted. It's gripped. Let's Off-Road!

Jen and I helped our friend the farmer chase cows today. We'd got them out of the field and they were heading in the right general direction, when the farmer suggested I head them off at the pass in her LandRover Defender.


I'd never driven a LandRover before. I almost fell at the first hurdle, trying to start the bloody thing (handy hint: the ignition is on the left side of the steering column), then I was off down the rough, dirt track at a blistering 10mph.

After a short while, I got a bit cocky and changed up to second. Easy-peasy! But then I came to a slight bend in the track and…

Nothing happened. I turned the bloody steering-wheel and nothing bloody happened!

I was about to scream and slam on the brakes, when the LandRover suddenly turned as I had wanted it to. Then another bend came along and exactly the same thing happened. It turned out there was a two-second delay between turning the steering wheel and the message getting through to the wheels.

I reckon I'll stick with Murphy.

Earlier cow-herding yarns:

Needle in a haystack

Lordy, is it that time of year again already? Jen and I spent several hours traipsing across the local moors with our friend the farmer yesterday. We were looking for some cows that had been grazing up there over the summer. We needed to bring them down into the lower fields for the winter.

Unfortunately, although cows are damn big animals, the local moor is roughly the size of Belgium, so finding them wasn't as easy as you might think. Mind you, unlike a year ago today, at least the cows hadn't split into two groups, and they had only wandered a mile away.

Flickr: More photos (or should that be moor photos?)