Tybalt and Juliet Ch. 03

Author's Notes

All characters are at least 18 years old, except where stated otherwise.

Jake, Amy and their schoolmates are preparing to take their A level exams in late May and early June, before they go on to university in September or October.

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Despite some pre-match nerves all round, lunch with my parents was a great success. Mum liked Amy, she told me afterwards, and the conversation between them flowed easily. Dad was quieter (as farming-types often are), but was friendly enough.

Lunch over, I took Amy on a tour of the farm. The lambing shed had emptied somewhat during the preceding week. Most of the newborns and their mothers were already strong enough to have been put out to pasture and it was only those who'd been rejected by the ewes that remained.

"Do you wanna have a go at feeding them?" I asked her.

Amy turned and looked up at my, her eyes bright with excitement.

"Can I?" she asked.

I nodded. "Why don't you sit on that straw bale there and I'll make up some milk?"

I prepared a few bottles as she sat down in the centre of the barn. A few of the older lambs came over to her, anticipating their feed.

"They're very tame," she remarked as they started jostling for position around her.

"They are at this age," I explained. "These ones haven't been outside yet and they're the orphans, so they don't know to be wary of us yet."

I shoed the more eager lambs away from my girlfriend and presented her with the first bottle of milk.

"It's warm!" she said in surprise.

"Same temperature as mum!" I replied.

"So how do I do this?" she asked.

"Best thing is to let them come between your legs one-by-one," I explained, conscious of the double entendre. "If the others start jostling you as you're feeding, just be firm and push them away."

Amy looked a little doubtful, but I smiled reassuringly and brought the first lamb over to her. I showed her how to support the animal's head as it began to suckle.

"Can I pick him up?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No, sorry," I said. "This is the best way of doing it. They drink so fast, they can choke if their head isn't the right orientation. If he was drinking from mum, he'd be stretching his neck out in the same way."

I took a few photos of Amy with her phone. Then I sat down next to her with the clipboard and wrote her initials 'AN' and the time against the lamb's identification number. Once it had finished feeding, I showed her how to check for any signs of injury or disease.

"I hadn't realised it was so technical," she said. "All these records you have to keep!"

"We have to," I said. "If a lamb gets ill, we need to deal with it quickly, otherwise the rest of the flock might catch something. And we need to know how much each one has fed, otherwise some get too much and others don't get any. Plus, Lauren fed them this morning, we're feeding them now, Dad will probably do the next feed late afternoon, and then it might be Uncle John before bedtime! We need to let each other know what we've done."

"Yes, I suppose it's obvious really," she said. "But it's just not what I was expecting."

"People have this image of milkmaids in gingham dresses singing to their animals and knowing them all by name," I said wryly. "But farming's not like that, it hasn't been like that for a hundred years, probably a lot longer.

"So how long have you been doing this?" she asked. "I mean feeding the lambs?"

"Oh years," I said. "With Dad or Uncle John at first, then with Lauren - it's easier with two. But certainly for the last two or three years on my own."

"Your dad must really trust you," she said, with a slightly sad look in her eyes.

"He does, and Lauren too," I replied, "but he can easily check to make sure I've done everything properly - he can see the records. And if I'm not sure about anything - say a lamb doesn't look right, I can send him a photo, or even a video and, if he needs to, he can call me or come over. Now it's fine, we've just had lunch together and I know he's five minutes away tops, but on another day, he might be the far side of the farm, maybe twenty minutes by tractor."

"And do you have to do this, or are you doing this because you want to," she asked slowly. "I mean, your parents aren't forcing you to help out?"

"No," I said. "I'm doing it because I want to. I love my animals - I don't sing to them, but I do love them! Plus I do get paid for what I do. If we had a herdsman, then we'd have to pay a full-time salary and probably give accommodation. But if Lauren and I do a couple of hours a day during the busy times, then, well, everyone in the family wins."

"And you don't find it a bit repetitive?" she asked.

I took a deep breath. "Sometimes," I admitted. "Doing an hour or so a day is fine and especially this time of year there's so much going on, it's not boring at all. But I think if I was doing this for a career, then yes, I would find it a bit dull. It can be very solitary at times and I'd miss being around other people. I've got too much of my Mum in me!"

Amy smiled at me.

"But kocaeli escort bayan I'm not going to be a farmer," I said. "I'm going to be a vet."

-

Lambs fed, inspections completed and records updated, we secured the shed and struck out across the fields. My phone buzzed in my pocket - a photo from Lauren of the rowing boat prepared and ready on the millpond. 'Cool bag in the hut,' she'd written.

'Thanks,' I typed back, 'I owe you one.'

'Taking car out now,' she texted. 'Back at six.'

Amy looked at me expectantly.

"Only Lauren," I said, indicating my phone.

"Not trying to steal you back, is she?" Amy teased.

I laughed, taking her hand to help her over the stile and into the second field.

"How old are these lambs?" she asked, looking over to the flock.

"Almost two months old," I replied. "These ones were born at the end of February. It won't be long 'til we take them away from the ewes," I explained.

"Oh," said Amy, "that's sad."

"Well, that's farming," I said. "Circle of life and all that."

We were walking across the field now, moving closer to the flock.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing her finger over to a taller animal with slightly darker wool.

"That's one of our llamas!" I said. "They chase away foxes and dogs - anything that tries to attack the flock really."

"Can we go and say hello?" she asked.

"Probably best not to," I said. "They're bred for their snootiness. They can spit if you get too close. And that one there has a particular problem with me," I added.

"With you?" she asked. "What did you do to upset it?"

"She's jealous 'cos I started going out with you!" I teased.

Amy rolled her eyes at me and we walked on for another minute or so.

"You have horses?" she asked wide-eyed, motioning to the animals in the adjoining field.

"Yeah," I said, "but those ones there belong to the Stables near the village. It's our field, but we rent it out to them for grazing."

"So where do you keep yours then?" she asked.

"Oh, they live at the Stables too," I said. "We've got a very good relationship with Jackie - she's the owner; she looks after our horses and we let her use a couple of our fields. We used to own the Stables too, but our grandparents sold them to her about five years ago when they retired. We still own the farm workers' cottages next door, but they're mainly used by people on equestrian holidays. We used to do B