The Pirelli Calendar. A well known, limited edition (20,000 per year) calendar distributed to selected outlets for the purpose of advertising Pirelli tyres. It started in 1964 and sometimes in the past has included photos of partially dressed ladies. This has had to adapt as modern attitudes have evolved.
Certain details have been changed to protect anonymity.
Nowadays there is a professional for just about every animal problem. Cats, dogs, rabbits, birds, frogs, you name it, and if they don’t appear in the local telephone directory, they can be found on the internet.
Unfortunately, in my day, they either didn’t exist or were not available in my part of the UK.
So, it wasn’t uncommon to receive a call requesting assistance for a species totally outside one’s area of expertise.
Having already been questioned about the behaviour of cats, a variety of cage birds, and a snake, plus the bizarre problem of a claustrophobic pot-bellied pig (see Bluebell ), I wasn’t too surprised to be asked for help in the case of Delilah and Daphne, car chasers extraordinaire.
As I listened to the voice of the farmer’s wife telling me the nature of the problem, I initially wondered if this was a wind-up. Fortunately, I dutifully listened, and an appointment was made to visit, but even as I made it in my imagination, I was visually imagining the unlikely scenario.
Hence, I was to be found that afternoon bouncing my Peugeot Estate car down a rutted track heading for Mulberry Farm, convinced that I should apply a surcharge on all farm visits as I was sure that any profit from the visit was lost due to the damage to the underside of my vehicle. I just knew that the next time my car needed a service, my mechanic, Mr Cox, otherwise known as Coxy, would sadly shake his head, and the inevitable sarcastic comment would be.
“I see you’ve been rallying in this thing again.”
Whilst I am on the subject of Mr Cox, I never did find out his christian name as even his own children called him Coxy. Funnily enough, the one person who addressed Coxy as Mr Cox was my mother, who, having moved to Cornwall, needed the services of a mechanic. Try as we might, we could not get her to call him Coxy as my dear old mum considered the correct form of address for the mechanical engineer was ‘Mr’. When I warned her that this was an old-fashioned garage where the walls were adorned with Pirelli-type calendars which came with pictures of semi-naked ladies, my mum, a dedicated nurse of many decades standing, gave me a withering look and stated.
“Raymond, I’ve seen more naked bodies than I’ve had hot dinners!”
However, I digress.
Mulberry Farm had the familiar yard, bordered by outbuildings and a large hay barn, all in need of a lick of paint. A bungalow was adjacent to the yard and set in an immaculate garden bordered by a low wall.
As I got out of my car, the objects of my visit trotted up to greet me, showing none of the signs of shyness associated with their breed.
I observed the attached notice as I approached the gate leading to the bungalow. SHEEP FREE ZONE SHUT GATE. Obviously, while this family earned their living from sheep, it didn’t extend to their inclusion in the immaculate garden!
Mr Quigley was a small, wiry man with a heavy beard.
“It’s all my fault, Mr Hodson, I should have known better. I was a confirmed bachelor until I met Gwen, my wife, who was a widow with 2 daughters. I adore all of them and can deny them nothing, so when the girls wanted to adopt the two hand-reared lambs as pets, I reluctantly agreed. Unfortunately, Gwen and the girls came with their Jack Russell dog, Simon, who has a tendency to chase cars. He only does it when people leave and when it started to be a problem they just put Simon indoors, unfortunately it appears the lambs had already learned the car chasing habit from Simon.”
He gave a big grin.
“It’s quite ludicrous; if it wasn’t for the distress it would cause the girls, I wouldn’t bother, but my wife Gwen is concerned, so here we are.”
Mr Quigley shook his head.
“I guess this is one for your memoirs. A sheep farmer has lambs chasing cars. The more I say it the more insane it sounds.”
It appeared that a ewe had died giving birth, and as was the custom, the lambs were raised by the farmer’s wife and daughters. Twin lambs are not unusual. Most sheep will produce between 1 and 2 lambs; in fact, the average is 1.5 lambs per ewe.
Quite frankly I had no solution to the problem. This was learned behaviour which they had picked up from Simon. It was obvious that they couldn’t chase for long and had no speed at all but whilst a vehicle was still in first gear they were getting awfully close to the wheels. Now, my experience of lambs wasn’t good, but they appeared to display the same lack of coordination that very small children do, looking likely to lose their balance at a moment’s notice.
As always, when faced with a unique problem, I suggested that I give the matter some thought and return at a later date.
‘The solution came to me slowly, but regular readers won’t be surprised and will know that I have never claimed to be the sharpest knife in the draw. It eventually dawned on me that I was looking at the problem the wrong way. Delilah and Daphne had learnt their odd behaviour from Simon, who was a dog, so if I cured Simon, then maybe the lambs would naturally follow.
A phone call elicited the information that I needed, and a second visit was arranged.
This time, the whole family was present: Mr Quigley, his wife Gwen, and his two daughters, Holly and Daisy. Daisy held a pink ball, and Holly clutched a bunch of carrots.
We were all assembled in the yard as I explained what I wanted.
“When I am seated in my car and am ready to go, throw Simon’s pink toy in the opposite direction. What I am hoping is that he will rush off and retrieve his ball and the lambs will follow. I will drive off, and the dog and lambs will be distracted long enough to allow me to leave. When they all return throw the ball again for Simon and give the lambs their favourite treat, a carrot.”
We had a minor hiccup as we discovered Gwen lacked the ability to throw in a straight line much to the amusement and frustration of her children, however, Daisy appeared to be possibly a future candidate for the England women’s cricket team as she launched the pink ball far into the distance. We tried it several times with 100% success. It was obvious that chasing cars came a poor second to a pink ball and a handful of carrots.
I left, but not before I had been given tea and a large slice of homemade Victoria sponge. As I settled comfortably in my seat, ready to depart, a knock on my car window showed Mr Quigley clutching a bottle.
“Do you appreciate a drop of scrumpy Mr Hodson?”
“I most certainly do Mr Quigley.”
“Home brew, Mr H, best not drive for 24 hours afterwards if you get my drift.”
I did get his drift and having drunk it, I didn’t drive for 24 hours afterwards!!
“Majority rule only works if you take into consideration individual rights because you can’t have 4 wolves and one sheep deciding what to have for dinner!!”
Larry Flynt
With subtitle or not?