by Primrose
Moocow
"Hmmph!"
harrumphed Phil in the Brookfield kitchen, "I'm still quite capable
of operating the mixer wagon, you know! You two carry on with your...
arrangements...," - he was careful not to let loose an oath - "...and
let me feed up the young stock, all right?"
Ruth looked up from her desperate filling out of the Sheep Annual Premium
claim form (due in to DEFRA by February 4th) whilst simultaneously attempting
to fathom from the farming papers the exact meanings of the words 'decoupling',
'modulation', 'cross-compliance', and a dozen more which were suddenly
very important but contributed not one jot to the day-to-day management
of the livestock. Comforting Benjy, she muttered a brief "Thanks,"
before snapping at David (who was rearranging the furniture) to "For
Pete's sake, just let Matt sit at the kitchen table with his back to the
Aga - it's the warmest place in the whole house, and he might just come
up five hundred quid an acre because of it if we're lucky!" adding
"I still don't understand why you just named a price to him straight
out...!", as Phil made a good show of stomping off.
As he walked to the feed store he congratulated himself on his performance
as Upset of the Older Generation. The Next Generation simply had no idea
- none at all.
A half hour passed and Neil Carter answered his phone, "Oh, ah,
hello Mr Archer," he said recognising Phil at once.
"Neil, I've a quarter load of feed in the wagon that's become a bit,
well, contaminated. It's no good at all for the cattle and sheep, and
I wondered - "
"I can't give it to me pigs, if that's what you're ringin' for,"
Neil interupted rapidly, "I'll tell you straight, an' really you
ought to know, swill's been banned, an' -"
"Oh no, no, I wouldn't dream of compromising your pigs, Neil. No,
what I'd like to know is have you taken the old swill sterilizer out yet?
If it's still usable, I'd be grateful if you'd run the tainted meal through
for me. Then in the time it takes to cook up, I can nip back home, steam
clean the wagon, come back to collect and make good riddance of it."
"Ah," said Neil, "All right. Yes I can do that for you.
Erm, if you don't mind me arskin', what's contaminated the mix then?"
"Well, it's never happened before, and probably never will again,
but David and Ruth both said they'd seen a big fat rat in the yard recently,
and d'you know, I'm positive that that's what's gone in," Phil explained
carefully.
"How d'you know?" queried Neil.
"Oooh, well," Phil said airily, "The gears ground a bit,
you know..."
Neil
and Phil made short work of sanitising the mix and the wagon, and as the
swill was reloaded, Neil blurted, "Poor thing, what a rotten way
to go! I bet you heard a squeak or two, Mr Archer, eh?" and he laughed
darkly, the humour suiting him.
Phil did not answer. He just rolled his eyes.
"Are you going to compost this stuff in with the muck heap, then?"
Neil asked at last.
"No, I thought I'd spread it right away. Don't worry though, I'll
be double safe. I've a field in mind that will be cut late for fodder
this year, and won't be grazed for a few weeks after that. I'll spread
this there, well away from the water course, too," Phil said reassuringly.
"An' where's that?"
Phil could hardly contain his triumph, "Midsummer Meadow."
