In defiance of us preventing her from terrorising our party guests she spent the night destroying the sofa - Jill Thorp

We’ve had a shuffle around at the farm. The calves have been moved into the sheep shed freeing up much-needed space for the cows. The small, stone buildings attached to the farmhouse are lovely to look at but no longer practical.

Small doorways and tight passageways are not best suited to housing livestock on a bigger scale. They are a pain to muck out, too small and inaccessible for a tractor, so a wheelbarrow and fork is our only option. The job often gets put off, bale after bale of clean straw goes down to avoid the inevitable misery of barrowing out months of bedding.

The waifs and strays usually occupy the pens and old milking stalls. Pet lambs, OAPs and “can’t bear to part withs” happily take up space, munching through corn and rubbing my husband up the wrong way every time he walks past them.

We’ve finally got round to sorting through them and after a herculean effort from Paul, the big stable-like pens were cleaned out. John-William of course assisted, barking out his instructions and demanding faster work from his ever increasingly stooped father. There was much discussion between the two of them as to what animals they could purchase to fill the empty space.

However, neither my husband or my son were quick enough off the blocks, as by the following morning some of my ponies were moved in. Little was said, just furtive glances and scowls.

The wind that has battered most of the country for several weeks caused some damage for us. We woke one morning to a phone call to say our large shelter over at Farnley had succumbed to a night of high gusting winds.

Paul headed over, surprised at the news, to survey the damage. The field shelter at almost 40-foot long was purchased when we lost our lambing sheds. The farm at Farnley was developed leaving us with nowhere to lamb our Mules and Texels, so the shelter provided us with at least some work space.

We’d positioned it on the edge of a small copse, well sheltered from the prevailing winds, or so we thought. Thankfully the damage was minimal and with two loader tractors the shelter was put back up the right way. That day we spotted several, used for horses, that were completely flattened and beyond repair. I guess we got away lightly.

John-William turned seven at the weekend. A cowboy themed party saw our house filled with Stetsons, lassoes and shrieks of “I’m the sheriff”. My old rocking horse took some stick. Boo had to spend the evening in the pick-up, not being the friendliest of dogs.

That night when the last ‘Texacan’ had headed home, she was allowed back in the house. In defiance of us preventing her from terrorising our party guests she spent the night destroying the sofa. The following morning bits of chewed and splintered sofa lay amongst shredded fabric and foam.

She is currently mulling over her actions in a cold, outside kennel.