It’s no hoot if you lose your sheep

THE Easter holidays and the start of lambing – as you can imagine, it’s all systems go.

Children and sheep all over the place.

I wandered up Whitsundale valley as the warmer weather had left me missing a few of the flock. As Bill the sheepdog and I strode through the heather we spied little patches of mosscrop.

The yows find this tiny bog-loving plant irresistible and no doubt it was its appearance that prompted their disappearance.

But we soon had nearly a dozen woolly wanderers rounded up and, feeling thoroughly pleased with ourselves, set off for home. I didn’t Me and Bill

hurry, not wanting to put the heavily pregnant yows under pressure.

And it is one of the perks of the job that you have a valid reason to be out on the moors breathing the fresh air (and wiping away the nose end drips).

But pride comes before a fall they say – although I didn’t fall so much as almost trod on an owl, the short eared ground nesting version.

A squawk, a lot of flapping and it flew off.

Bill, sedately moving the sheep, decided the owl was far more interesting and set off in pursuit. Three of the flock made a break for freedom and by the time Bill returned he was too tired to get them back. So it was me left spitting feathers.

We made it home with the remaining sheep – but neither I nor Bill like the sheep getting the better of us.