Adventures in Petsitting—Paws on the Moors
Sheltering from a windswept world with two gentle giants.
By Jane Thomas
Every day, I walked the mile along the rough track to reach the box nestled at the edge of a lonely lane. And every day, the box would be empty. I’d pop in an extra set of six eggs, take the money left in the honesty jar, and head back to the farmhouse—all the while wondering who had happened upon this remote outpost.
“Any ideas, Iris? Olive?” The two dogs didn’t have a clue either, and nor were they interested as long as there were pheasants to flush from the heather or, on very good days, cows to dance alongside.
There were eleven chickens watched over by two roosters who were always fighting for the top spot. I’ve looked after chickens before but never quite so many, and never ones that were that bothered about laying eggs. There’s something extremely satisfying about going through a line of nesting boxes in the morning and taking up the still-warm eggs. Iris and Olive had no interest in the procedure, preferring instead to sprawl in one of their many day beds that were dotted around the house, gardens and outbuildings.
Together, we were a trio of sun worshippers. The old farmhouse, dating back to the sixteenth century in parts, was built around a central courtyard. With trees carefully placed as wind- breaks around the outside, there was always a corner where it was possible to hide from the stiff winds that hurried their way across the surrounding moors.
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