The galloways continue to take winter in their stride. A good dusting of snow fell on the hill last night, and the beasts were utterly unfazed when I went out to feed them this morning.
We have decided not to do pregnancy tests. Finances are tight as we approach Christmas, and I found it hard to justify an additional vet bill merely to learn facts which will become all too evident over the next month or two. I can understand why many farmers PD their cattle, but I’m inclined to grin and bear the uncertainty in this first year. Working on the assumption that they are all in calf, the heifers are being carefully fed up as the days continue to shorten. None have shown any real loss in condition and there is still some usable grass here and there, but their hay ration will have to increase if this cold weather is here to stay. I can’t ignore the beautiful circularity to feeding the hay which we harvested with our own hands in sunny September – perhaps it’s a little mouldy here and there, but it’s truly ours.
It’s hard to imagine what farming would be like if you were not proud of your animals and took pleasure in seeing them prosper. My galloways scratch an additional itch because they have a profound connection with this landscape – their ancestors have been reared and bred in these hills for centuries. I never looked twice at cows until a few years ago, but I must admit that these beasts put a swell of pride in my throat.