No exciting build-up, frantic packing of the wagon and washing of ponies. The lovely drive down through mid Wales and joy as the famous showground comes into view.
No frenzied search for a level parking spot or relief that your wagon has made the long trip down. Although the Great Yorks is my favourite, the Royal Welsh really does take some beating.
To be in that spectacular main ring with a Welsh Mountain pony, tail up over its back, head held high, nostrils flaring, crowd roaring, is something else.
But alas, we are at home, staring mournfully at the heavily-laden rain clouds looming above.
We’ve had some bad news this week regarding Ozzie, our young bull. Despite our best efforts and perseverance, his condition continues to deteriorate and sadly our vet delivered the worst news possible.
He is suffering from Osteochondritis dissecans, a developmental disease that affects the cartilage and bone in the joints. It’s not a good prognosis for him and a real blow for us as we had hoped to get him back on his feet and reunited with his girls.
It came as quite a shock to us to witness a huge explosion of a vehicle on the local news. A huge mobile crane had set on fire, unfortunately right outside our house and had been completely engulfed in what can only be described as a giant fire bomb. It was impossible to tell from the footage if our house or any of the buildings had been affected. We were away, but Paul dropped everything and rushed home, to discover everything was okay.
It took them some time to remove the smouldering 60-tonne mass, whilst the driver watched on. The surrounding roads quickly became gridlocked, and the congested traffic was further exasperated by the continued closure of Scammonden Bridge. The crane was eventually removed, the eastbound carriageway was reopened and normality resumed.
Our new sheepdog, Sam, has settled into our home and is proving to be a big hit with John-William. An incredibly friendly chap, his tail never stops wagging, eyes bright and alert. Much to John-William’s immense delight, he takes his commands readily, as we discovered on one of our walks.
A Herdwick lamb that had clearly inherited it’s mother’s right to roam attitude was out on the lane. Sam sunk low and started to creep towards the lamb just as a little voice hollered, “way”.
A look of surprise and then elation spread across John-William’s face as Sam set off and brought the lamb hurtling back towards the gate I was hurriedly opening. Thanks to a certain degree of luck, it shot past me into the field.
After a few frantic “that’ll do” and “lie downs” we eventually got Sam back to us and continued on our walk. I didn’t have to wait long before the little voice piped up, “lucky I was here mum, you’d have never managed Sam without me.”