Licking my wounds

I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself this morning.  On my left shoulder is an impressive graze surrounded by the beginnings of a decent size bruise. To balance the shoulder injury, my right knee is also bruised, adjacent to the itchy as hell stinging nettle rash.  I never realised farming was a blood sport.

It's all the piggles fault.  After they plowed through the electric fence yesterday, The Boss was on the warpath.

We took our ride-on mower up to The Farm in anticipation of some head to head ride-on racing to get the lawns done in record time. Before we could have some fun, first task was to mow a strip inside the piggles paddock to make sure the electric fence wouldn't short out on any long grass.  The Boss had already weed-eaten a pathway (done in the pouring rain the day before), so you'd think it'd be no big deal to take the grass down a bit further.  Fat chance.

My task was to shift the electric fence out of the way, and pick up any branches or other potential mower obstacles. Hey, I made it safely around three quarters of the fence line before my concentration failed me.  You see I was watching the ground for rabbit holes and sticks, so didn't see the dead tree limb sticking out at right angles right in front of me.  It wasn't particularly big, but it was directly at shoulder height and I plowed straight into it.  Had a wee moment, saw a few stars then went looking for some sympathy from The Boss.

I spotted him stomping across the other side of the paddock and his body language didn't look promising. The ride on was stuck in a hole and he couldn't get it out. We had to push it, but as any ride-on owner knows, you have to sit on the seat before it'll go anywhere.  So The Boss climbed back on board and I assumed the pushing position.  Eventually got it out of that hole, and the next one, then the next one before I acquired injuries number two and three for the day.

The problem with pushing any vehicle on uneven ground is that you never know EXACTLY when it's going to get enough traction to get going.  The problem with long grass is that you never really know what's hiding underneath it.  Anyway, picture the mower suddenly taking off, me falling flat on my face - smacking my knee on the only rock in the paddock before rolling into a patch of stinging nettle.

Bloody pigs.

On a more positive note; there was a light sprinkling of frost on the ground when we went up to The Farm this morning. Figgy and her chicks were all in the chicken run and the piggles were still in their paddock. Just as well.

What I learnt today:

1. Next time I stumble into stinging nettle, there is a big patch of dock leaves growing under the chicken house to rub on the injury.
2. To calculate the weight of your piggle before its trip to the butcher - measure around the pig just behind the front legs and square the result. Measure from the base of the ears to the base of its tail.  Multiple the first figure by the second. Then multiple the result by 69.3 to obtain its weight in kilograms.