Marking
By Léonie Cooper profile image Léonie Cooper
2 min read

Marking

Charlie handed me a tin of red paint for marking the sheep. I joked with him about marking the sheep with six pointed stars and swastikas, among other shapes.

I marked the cade lambs, but later noticed the Ewe with the bad bag had also become marked, where she had bunted the cades away from her, spreading the paint among the cades until they were all pink, what a mess.

Pedigree Zwartble, she's eight years old and successfully birthed and reared triplets.
Texel (crossed with Teeswater) lambs are cute, even when their cuteness becomes normalised, moments of cuteness reappear.
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Later in the morning we drove to Newton Saint Boswells, along the way, approaching Denholm we passed by a monument marking the boyhood life of a Scottish indologist named John Leyden, an enthusiastic lover of old ballads and folklore.

Charlie took me to a garden centre restaurant for lunch, we enjoyed fish and chips and a deluxe hot chocolate. I was hoping to find some plants and trees for my balcony, maybe something for indoors but only purchased a scented candle, Charlie purchased a drinks mat, to remind me of our visit. Returning to Hawick we collected some logs, take a look at this grain on this wood.

Early evening, Charlie was cooked a Geordie sausage casserole that my mother cooked me when I was a child; my mothers relatives also used to send us sottie cakes every year. My mother died in 2014, her ashes were scattered by the Marsdon Rock; regretfully I misplayed the event due to poor mental health and not being informed of date and location.

For almost a month there has been a monopoly game waiting to be played underneath my coffee table; but we're either too tired or don't feel like playing it and monopoly is not a game you can play alone. The evening meal zonked me out, I slept heavy late evening, rousing from slumber only to clamber into bed from the living room sofa.

By Léonie Cooper profile image Léonie Cooper
Updated on
Diary Lambing Marking