A Breath of Country Air
Renowned nature writer Polly Pullar takes a lighthearted look at rural life.
THE problem with owning and loving animals is that they never live long enough. It’s likely that we will outlive them and are therefore faced with the deep sadness that accompanies the demise of a much-loved and cherished friend.
As you know, sheep have long been a part of my life. Now we have a dwindling flock of retired animals, and each one has a unique character with a story attached.
I have written a great deal about my sheep over the years, and some, in particular, have inevitably featured more than others.
Mr Tumnus was one such character. He was born here on the farm 13 years ago and was a pure Shetland with ancestry from the wonderful wirywooled sheep that live on Shetland’s most westerly island of Foula.
His mother was a small black ewe called Bessie who never seemed to lose her nervous disposition. Not so Mr Tumnus. The morning he was born, my neighbour’s children came running excitedly up to the house to tell me that there was a baby badger in the field.
This was due to the lamb’s facial markings, and I laughed when I realised they were referring to one of a twin set of lambs born at dawn that day.
Bessie had been ill with a horrible disease that often afflicts sheep carrying twins or triplets – appropriately named twin lamb disease.
The condition may occur in late pregnancy when the high demand for glucose from the rapidly growing foetuses surpasses the natural ability of the ewe to provide it.
Her ewe lamb was blind. However, the tup lamb was remarkable right from the start.
He was so friendly and always wanted to come to chat with us and be stroked.
On another visit to the farm, the children decided he looked quite similar to the faun character in C.S. Lewis’s fabulous Narnia books and the film that they had just been to see.
So we christened the charming and sociably sweet lamb Mr Tumnus.
Tup lambs usually went to market from the farm, but there was simply no way that was ever going to be a consideration.
For the past 13 years, Mr Tumnus has been everywhere on the farm.
He was always first into the shed and unperturbed by worming, pedicure or clipping sessions. He was a sheep that relished the attention.
When I had the African pygmy goats who frequently got into mischief, he was usually the one that had instigated it.
Once, they all got into the shed and, unbeknown to me, spent the morning bouncing all over the hay – and spreading it everywhere – and tipping over the feed bins and having a feast.
The latter led to a tremendous amount of worry as I thought they were all going to blow up with the dreaded bloat from over-indulging, something that could have killed them.
Mr Tumnus had his fair share of scrapes – the worst when the person who was clipping our sheep one year did not realise he was a castrated male and narrowly missed cutting off a vital part of his anatomy while clipping his tummy!
Phew, that was literally a very close shave.
He has always tolerated the bossy nature of Ruby, our pet hind. When we brought all the sheep in, he would choose to go into her pen with her rather than be with the other sheep.
In fact, the two became very close friends and often spent time lying side by side, happily cuddling as if chewing the fat together.
Towards the end of last winter, we had to give Mr Tumnus extra food as he became painfully thin.
So he came in with another couple of sheep to have dinner, bed and breakfast with them.
But this year, with his teeth failing and his weight loss getting worse despite the lush summer grass, we had to take the dreadful decision to let him go.
It seems so much harder when an animal is still so bright and outwardly seems well. But a friend commented it’s better a day early than a day late.
And neither Iomhair nor I could bear to see him fading further in front of us.
So, the fateful day came when I had to say goodbye and let him go here on the farm where he was born.
We will miss his always cheery disposition and his ability to cheer us on the most miserable days.
He was a beautiful little sheep with attitude, and I loved him from the moment he appeared. This farm will never be the same without him. ■
We’ll take another “Breath Of Country Air” in our Sept 25 issue.