Twitchy bum syndrome (From Gazette & Herald)

Twitchy bum syndrome

WE'VE got a field full of shivering sheep. Several of them were displaying signs of the "twitchy bum" syndrome and turning to gnaw at their rear ends. A sure sign of maggots.

Although early in the season for the problem, the combination of sun and rain producing lush grass and encouraging flies out of hibernation, or wherever they go in the winter, has moved the whole cycle into much earlier production. The sheep are all carrying very heavy fleeces, which in turn provide lots of surface area for the clarts so beloved by flies. When we walked the ewes along the lane for their latest worm drench dosage, the fleece could be seen to be lifting away from their necks, a true indication that they were ready for clipping.

As we are going away for a week to Ireland, John thought it best to pre-empt any further maggot outbreaks and clip the whole flock. As a result, the sun has ceased, and the temperature plummeted. Instead of balmy spring showers, we now have freezing sleet. Luckily, the lambs are all doing well and none of them is any danger of perishing from cold. But I am packing plenty of jumpers for that holiday.

Talking of colds, coughs, sneezes and diseases, for the last two months I have had a stinker. Starting off as an irritating cough, it progressed to the whooping cough variety, degenerated into a cold, came back as a chest infection and even after mega blasting with antibiotics, still lurks as green and sticky goo in my lungs. Too much information, I know.

Throughout this, John has remained sneeze-free. Not a sniffle. Until last week, when he suddenly started with hot flushes, atishoos and clammy forehead. My emergency boxes of Lemsips were emptied. The whisky bottle drained to the dregs. My sympathy stretched to twanging point. After all, when I've been ill it's been a slight chill; when John has a cold, it's flu combined with pneumonia plus all the probability of the first SARS infection in the area.

Then the sheep clipping began. Two sweat-drenched changes of clothing later and not a sign of the cold. "I've sweated it out," he declared, and I do believe he's right. Wonder if there is a marketable cure in there somewhere? It could be that where the cause of the virus is supposedly based in a chicken, the cure could come from a sheep.

Taking the flock back down the fields, and casting an eye over the lambs, John and I once more sent a prayer of forgiveness to our late, much-lamented and ridiculed Texel tup. For the last three years, I have written about what a useless article he was and how we only ever averaged about eight Texel lambs from a crop of about 200. This year, with Mr Texel gone to that great butcher counter in the sky, the flock is teeming with sturdy Texel lambs.

Why? Did it take him three years to get to know which end was which or to improve his chat up line with the ewes? Practically, it was probably down to the demise of the three older tups we had had with the flock, and who were probably grabbing all the action when Mr Texel was but a novice. Last autumn, we brought in two young tups and for the first and sadly, as it now seems, the last time in his life, Mr Texel became Mr Irresistible.

John, however, becomes Mr Irritable if he even senses that I am going to start a conversation off with "isn't it a pity" or "just look at those Texel lambs, aren't they grand". So I don't.

Mrs Tact. That's me.

Updated: 17:02 Wednesday, May 28, 2003