Yes, that's a Fresian cow on the table.
I know it's not really Friday but that's not really a cow. I saw it at an antique store in Burford yesterday.
The price tag on this life-sized Fresian cow is £1250. Firm. Sadly, I didn't have £1250 in my wallet so this beauty didn't come home with me.
Somewhere there's a husband who is happy about that.
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"What the hell are you people doing?! Open your government already!"
I know; the government is shut down. (The American government, I mean. Every other government in the world, including that of Belgium (!) is operating just fine.)
National parks are closed. Garbage isn't being collected (in D.C., which oddly doesn't impact lawmakers nearly enough). Food isn't being inspected. Government websites are dark. America as we know it has become a cold, nightmarish, dystopian novel. A really bad dystopian novel.
But never fear, Friday Cow Blogging is operating as usual! Okay, it's actually operating better than usual, since it's been inexplicably missing the last few weeks. But not for a lack of cows! No, cows have been plentiful in this green and pleasant land, and even more viewable, since the tree service came and cut down trees and branches that formerly impeded our view.
The cows seem to like that they can see us better, too. They've been gathering near the fence, munching on the freshly cut willow branches, and puzzling over the Dog That Barks. They don't seem afraid, just...puzzled.
I don't know if Sparky will ever be the Dog That Doesn't Bark. Frankly, I have more ideas about how to restart the government than I do about stopping a dog from barking (it's much, much easier to teach a dog to do something than not to do something).
Has anyone considered clicker training Congress?
Sigh. Enjoy this cow. And hope she doesn't decide to eat your kind one day, at the end of a very bad dystopian novel.
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Cows enjoying the summery weather
We've had a last gasp of summer this week. It was only today that the temperatures turned colder and the clouds rolled in. The rest of the week has been drop dead gorgeous.
I think the cows thought so too. I caught them huddled in a group on Sunday afternoon, while we were out soaking up as much sun as we could.
I must say, this summer has been the best since I've moved here. No complaints from me, although I'd sure like another few months of it.
Maybe I'll have to move to Australia. Are the cows friendly there?
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This sign says "exercising dogs" is strictly prohibited here. I assume they don't mean walking sedately with a dog...
I've had some friends visiting from the US, and fortunately they love walking as much as I do. We've taken lots of walks during the two weeks they've been here, and today I suggested a walk around the neighborhood. Fortunately my neighborhood includes Bulstrode Park.
Bulstrode Park includes a magnificent home, formerly owned by both the Earl of Portland (of Portland Vase fame) and the Duke of Somerset. It's now home to WEC, a Christian missionary organization. A large pasture to the east is home to a herd of horses. Dozens of them met us at the gate as we entered the pasture, and more came running to see us as we walked on the path toward the house.
We had Sparky with us, on lead, and he behaved himself, even being so brave as to sniff a few horses. These weren't the towering giants we usually see being ridden here; they were all small, some pony-sized, and almost every female had a perfectly matched foal with her.
You'll soon be able to see this pasture for yourself—it was the location for a film starring Angelina Jolie, Maleficent, an adaptation of Sleeping Beauty. They brought in Scottish Galloway cows to replace the horses, and blocked access to the park for several weeks.
But today it was just us, a few other walkers, and more horses than I could count—no movie stars, unless you count this beautiful pale horse and her foal:
More photos of horses: (Click on the picture to see a bigger image.)
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Frolicking in the Thames
On Sunday we took the dog to Bourne End, a village on the Thames. It's a place we used to frequent with our last dog. But she was cow-friendly—she never bothered a single bovine. Sparky, however, is a different kind of dog, so we've avoided the spot, knowing there were a herd of cows there. (I've featured them on Friday Cow Blogging numerous times, like this prescient post right after we got Sparky.)
But we wanted to take our houseguests on a nice walk, and it was a fine day to watch sailboats on the Thames. So we parked at the National Trust carpark in Cookham, and hiked around the golf course and through the fields nearby, coming out on the bluff overlooking the Thames. Fortunately, from up high, we could spot the cows before Sparky did, and since they were far on the other side of the railroad bridge, we were comfortable letting him run alongside the Thames until we were much further along.
Sparky got his first taste of the Thames, and my heart just smiled at the sight. Our last dog used to love to frolic in and out of the water, and I was really pleased to see Sparky doing the same thing. What a fun time for him!
And then we spotted the cows in the Thames. Actually in the Thames... We quickly snapped a lead on Sparky, and he walked around them while I went in close for a photo.
These cows also liked frolicking in the Thames. Who wouldn't?
These cows were pretty patient, and posed for me while I took photos. Our guests remarked how much friendlier cows were here than in America. See for yourself:
Goodbye, cows. Until next time!
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Cows, surprised while munching weeds.
Notice the heart on her head.
The other day Sparky told me the cows were close to the fence, and I better grab my camera if I wanted to get some good shots.
Well, maybe he just wanted me to scare them off. But anyway, I slipped on my Crocs, ignored my pajamas, and switched on my Nikon and found the cows were indeed close to the fence. I heard a noise to my left, and there was a cow in the weeds behind the compost heap. In fact, there were two cows, and then a third joined them. Whatever those weeds were they must have been tasty.
Sparky is still put out that I didn't shoot them. I mean, for real. He thinks cows are the biggest menace to mankind, well, dogkind, since bees.
Speaking of bees, it's been a bee-you-ti-ful summer, and yes, full of bees. I've been leaving the doors and windows open and every now and then a bee lumbers in, drunk from the lavender. Sparky doesn't bark at bees; he just leaves the room as soon as he hears a buzz.
I don't think he's enjoyed the summer as much as I have. First bees, now cows monsters attacking the back fence.
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Look who came home!
A strange thing happened with the cows this year. Normally, they appear in the pasture behind our garden (yard, for you Yanks) every spring, sometime between March and May. But this year, for the first time ever, they never showed up.
I could see them in the next pasture over, nearer to the barn. Since we've been having lovely weather, we've been eating outside nearly every evening, and I'd look beyond the pasture to the cows playing in the next field.
Well, yesterday, I let the dog out in the morning, and he ran to the fence, barking. He spied them before I did: his old nemesis, the cows.
I got him in, then grabbed my camera, the hated Crocs, and went outside for some shots.
They're a new bunch this year, hardly any familiar faces. I don't want to know.
In the evening, they came nearer to the fence, and I got more shots of them. They practically were in my neighbour's garden, eating the tall, tall weeds near his fence.
You can see how tall the grass is—normally it would never get that high. But without cows to chew it down, it's grown and grown.
I'm so glad they're back: my summer is just about complete now.
This white cow is new; haven't seen her before.
This cow appears to be eating stinging nettle. I hear it's good in gnocchi.
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This beauty lives at the Berkshire College of Agriculture near Burchetts Green.
On Sunday I went to my first dog show. No, not the beauty pageant kind, where pure bred dogs compete to determine which dog is the comeliest, but an obedience trial. It was held on the grounds of the Berkshire College of Agriculture, not too far from here.
As I drove in, I noticed several pastures with very comely horses. They'd have won, hands down, any beauty pageant held that day.
There were some nice dogs, too, mostly border collies (about 70% is my guess) and the rest were mostly golden retrievers, with a few others tossed in for variety.
Skye, taking a break between competing for obedience to catch some flies.
I went to see my Twitter friend, April, compete with her dog Kez. The good news is, they won, which qualified them for Crufts! (They won Crufts twice the last two years, in the young handler's category). Here's her blog post telling all about her competitions lately, including the BCA win.
Kez is a mixed breed, a real stylish girl who prances around the ring like she was born with a ribbon on her collar. Of course, it was my first dog show, so what do I know?
On the way out, I stopped, despite the heat (it must have been 75F!) to snap some photos of the horses, mindful of Friday Horse Blogging.
Also, I must admit I got a little bit sunburned. Forgot my sunscreen. That'll teach me.
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Jess bottle feeds a lamb at her farm in Devon.
I don't have any fresh photos for Friday Farm Animal Blogging but I did come across this incredibly adorable video today, courtesy of my friend Nancy at Gooddogz training.
It was posted at this site, which says "Jess is a 10-year-old Springer Spaniel who helps out on the farm. According to her guardian Louise Moorehouse, she's been nursing lambs with a bottle since she was a puppy."
And they're in Devon. Gorgeous, isn't it? Told you so.
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Mum has a lie-in while Baby dines.
Last week we went to Avebury, after visiting Stonehenge (with a stop in Cherhill to see the White Horse). By the time we got to Avebury the sun was shining, and I took full advantage with my Nikon.
Avebury, the largest stone circle in Europe, is one of several ancient monuments in the area, including Silbury Hill. The village of Avebury lies within the circle, the road zigzaging through the quadrants of the circle. Sheep graze the grass between the stones, alternating among the quadrants, with their droppings ever-present.
There are always lambs this time of year, though by May they're large enough to be mistaken for full grown sheep. The sheep at Avebury are used to people, so don't usually shy away when you approach with your camera. Still, I try not to bother them too much, approaching from the side and with my gaze fixed on the rock, as if that's why I'm there.
I think we all know I go to Avebury for the sheep, not the stones.
Here are more photos, some with the rapeseed fields in the background, a common site in May:
Rape fields in the distance provide a bit of colour to an otherwise green landscape.
These two sheep with their mouths open appear to be singing to that lamb.
Number 109 prefers the shade of the stone.
One lone sheep; one lone rock.
"Baaahhh."
That's all, folks.
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For you Americans, when we say "Number 10" here we mean Number 10, Downing Street, which is where the prime minister lives. (Unless he lives at Number 11.)
(And yes, I know that if you have to explain a joke it's no longer funny. Fortunately this one wasn't that funny to begin with, so no harm done.)
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Cow lick: Unlike horses, cows just want to love you. With their tongues.
The other day I went on a hike in the Chilterns, near Saunderton and Lacey Green. Toward the end of the walk we saw a sweet cow, standing on the path in front of the gate. He sauntered off as we approached, and then we saw there were several young male cows (technically, they were steers, but who's looking?) in the pasture, on the other side of what would have been a fence if it had been complete.
(No, I did not have the dog with me, for precisely this reason: so many animals are not properly fenced, and Sparky doesn't share my love for livestock.)
I asked this young cow and his buddies to pose for a few photos, and they obliged (as cows invariably do, unlike sheep).
Such friendly guys, just living the bachelor life on the green pasture. And then one of them, who must have been out sowing wild oats in the next field, snuck up behind us and started licking my friend's sweater, leaving a trace of slobber. She seemed a bit upset by this but I wouldn't have minded. Cow slobber, as I found out, is nothing like dog slobber.
Sneaky Cow looks back, hurt that we didn't appreciate his impromptu affection.
One of the cows I was photographing seemed to want to smell me, so I put my hand out, and then he wanted to know what I tasted like, so he licked me. And then another wanted to lick me. (If you give a mouse a cookie...or a cow a sniff...)
Cows have rough tongues, sort of like large, thick cat tongues. None of them showed any teeth, unlike the horses I tried to befriend at the Home of Rest for Horses. (It's no wonder I much prefer cows to horses!)
These guys looked to be less than a year old, not quite full grown, but old enough to be separated from their mums. I haven't seen any spring younguns in the pasture yet; maybe with the late spring their debut has been held up.
I'll have more photos next week, of some sheep we came across in the same place. They were not quite as friendly as the cows, but then few animals are, I've found.
Cows just want to love you. All over. With their fat tongues.
The guys were sad to see us leave.
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A warm summer day in the Cotswolds and a cow.
I think I've mentioned before that I'm having trouble getting out to see cows these days, since my dog isn't very cow friendly. But it occurred to me that I've got thousands of unused cow photos, right here on my computer, that will never be seen unless I expose their pixels to the world via Friday Cow Blogging, Nostalgia Edition.
We all like nostalgia, don't we? Otherwise why is the whole world watching Downton Abbey? It's certainly not for the longlived characters.
I found a batch of cow photos I took during a walk in the Cotswolds, with our previous cow-friendly dog. We walked right through this herd of cows, and she didn't give them a second look. She was good like that.
They lived (I'm pretty sure they don't live anymore, since cows rival Downton Abbey characters for longevity) in a pretty pasture near Minster Lovell, the prettiest spot in the Cotswolds.
We were following a walk that took us around Minster Lovell and the charming River Windrush, and which ended in cow drama. I wrote about that back then, when the moment was fresh. In all my years rambling around cows, it's the only time I've ever been in a situation that could have earned me the bleeding lead on Radio 4's Six O'Clock News: "Ramblers killed by cows," Eddie Mair would have intoned at the top of the hour.
Uh oh, I think I've just given Julian Fellowes a plot idea...
Anyway, read about that adventure here, which we survived intact.
Content cows, sans drama
Looking at the photos of these lovely cows brings back more pleasant memories of that day. It was a particularly hot day in a particularly hot summer. We haven't seen the likes of it since. We're currently shivering in a record cold "Spring".
And let's not talk about last summer.
I'd give anything to ramble out amongst those cows, on a warm summer day. Yeah, I'm feeling a bit nostalgic...but not for the drama.
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A Highland cow with some scary horns.
The white cliffs of Dover Pegwell, near Ramsgate, rise in the distance.
Lovely ginger-haired Highland cow
When I saw these photos of Highland cows on Twitter I got really excited. Of course I happened to be sitting in a theatre, during the interval of a play, since that's when you check your Twitter feed for any random cows.
These photos were taken by my young friend April, who lives in Kent with three dogs. I follow her on Twitter because she's working with a reactive dog like Sparky, and despite her age (she's still in her teens), she's done an awesome job with all three. She's even competed at Crufts in Obedience and won! Twice! She's an inspiration to me. I know if she can manage three, surely I can manage one. Right?
Well, I still haven't managed to teach Sparky not to bark at cows. And that, my friends, is the number one reason why the cow blogging hasn't been occuring more regularly. So, to circle back to those photos in the theatre, when I saw these gorgeous creatures I begged April to let me use them for Friday Cow Blogging.
These were taken at a country park in Kent, near Ramsgate. Yes, that's the white cliffs of Dover Ramsgate in the background. As April tweeted, her dogs were curious, but not too afraid, despite the large horns!
Here's her Kez, getting a sniff of the strange creature.
April has a blog, where she writes about training her dogs. Here's her latest post, about managing a reactive dog.
This park looks like a lovely place to walk dogs. And a perfect spot for viewing cows. Certainly better than the cramped seats at the theatre...although the play was nice.
One of these days, I hope to be able to take Sparky a little further afield where we might actually encounter wild life. Meanwhile, thanks to April for sharing her lovely cow photos!
Not sure I'd want to get that close to those horns...
Update:
April tweets to say these aren't the cliffs of Dover, but instead Pegwell near Ramsgate. I always thought the all white cliffs were in Dover, but Ramsgate is nearby.
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During the construction of the Channel Tunnel, the area was known as Shakespeare Cliff Lower Construction Platform. In 1994 a competition was organised by Eurotunnel and the Dover Express to find a new name for the newest part of England which was reclaimed from the sea. Hundreds of entries were received, from which the judges chose Samphire Hoe.
Gillian Janaway came up with the name. Having been an English teacher, she was familiar with Shakespeare’s King Lear.
"There is a cliff whose high and bending head looks fearfully in the confined deep… The crows and choughs that wing the midway air scarce so gross as beetles; halfway down hangs one that gathers samphire, dreadful trade!".
At the time that William Shakespeare was writing King Lear he was said to have travelled regularly through Dover. It was his familiarity with the cliffs that may well have inspired his descriptions. To this day the first cliff on the West side of Dover is known as Shakespeare cliff.
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