Diary: May 23

Continued 3/3.

7th

Today the poorly lamb cannot stand up, nor can she swallow milk from the bottle. We've agreed to let nature take the lamb away, her last moments are being spent with her mother ewe. We tried everything to save this lamb, but she was on death's door when we rescued her, and already should have started on solid's.

Alot of our lambs are lame, we are presuming this to be scald which often appears in the season of early spring.

From visiting the two grass keeps (we were chased down by a Asian man in a blue car at the first grass keep) Charlie planned to take us to see the Eildon hills from Scots viewpoint; the view was much greener, emboldened by bright yellow gorse, since my previous visit here.

In the evening we returned to the farmhouse to find the poorly lamb laid in the same place, not moved for ten hours, but still breathing. Twenty minutes later, Charlie told us to stay indoors whilst he put the lamb out of her misery. The mother ewe had wandered up to the top of the paddock, was nowhere to be seen; however, two cade lambs were nearby.

We returned to the flat, seated I served undercooked fried chicken and chips; a half-baked effort that left the kitchen surfaces a greasy mess. It was hard to get to sleep, I watched numerous paedophile hunters stings on Facebook whilst slowly drifting off.

5th

Happy birthday to my friend, she resettles in the Scottish Borders today from a disturbing time in Cornwall. At the farm, the poorly lamb is declining enough for Charlie to say "don't be sad if the lamb dies today". The weather has been rough, walking across the paddock I found the lamb, not with the ewe, but shaking by the ring feeder. I fed the ewes and lambs, then with my friend cornered off the poorly wee lamb from the mother ewe.

The poorly lamb although not suckling still has swallowing reflex. Only a small amount of milk is leaving the mouth, and there is an ever so slight improvement with bottle feeding. The lamb has a temperature and is in need of another anti-biotic shot, diarrhoea appears to have abated. I used the lamb to bait the mother ewe into walking into the warmth of the poly tunnel from the damp, chilling cold of the farmhouse paddock. Sam, Charlie's rescue sheepdog, made the job twice as hard and so had to be retired into his kennel. I plan on feeding the wee lamb again at lunchtime, she finished just over half a bottle this morning; she needs two bottles a day, yesterday she drank just over one bottle, so I am aiming for one and a half / two bottles by the evening. I am deliberating on introducing the poorly lamb (when temperature as abated) to the cade lamb gang.

The agenda is in hope that the wee lamb will watch and mimic the behaviour of the other cade lambs and begin to eat lamb pellets, but Charlie believes the wee lamb won't eat because it will miss her mother ewe. If we can incite hunger and then get the wee lamb to eat pellets, we've stopped the lamb from starving herself to death. The mother ewe is protective over the lamb, her teats are clean, she has milk, we're a bit amiss at how her two lambs gave up eating.

Midday we took Sam out for a walk, the scenery was surreal, in the distance Scottish Blackface sheep walked in a line across the heath; a newborn lamb could be heard in the distance calling out to her mother ewe. As we reached the summit a red car drove past us, noticing the strange number plate my friend spoke the words "deny Cornwall"; strange that we'd both come to the Scottish Borders from Cornwall. The driver a friend or foe, I don't know.

She is aware of the same synchronicities I am aware of, and has similar trauma inflictions unto her mental health. She states that she was followed and targeted whilst she lived in Cornwall. In the afternoon I taught her how to bottle-feed the poorly lamb, she managed to feed the lamb half a bottle; If I can get Charlie to feed the lamb another half bottle tonight, then today's target will be reached.

Charlie returned, but our friend bottle fed the poorly lamb, a whole bottle, so the lamb drank two bottles today. Flies around the straw bedding have increased eightfold, Charlie took the tractor and tipped a load onto the paddock; we have to wait for dry ground to do this as a sliding tractor can be really dangerous. We separated the poorly lamb from her mother ewe and placed her with two cade lambs. The two cade lambs are unhappy at been penned from the openness of the paddock, but are essential in that they are needed to lure the poorly lamb into eatting pellets, once we baited her hunger enough with the bottled milk. Early evening we returned to my flat and readied to go out to celebrate our friends birthday. We visited the Exchange in Hawick first and recieved a warm welcome, after a pint we moved to the stag pub, I wished we hadn't. Me and Charlie left our two friends outside Coopers bar, returned to the flat and fell asleep. The day had been long, worrying for the lamb but not stressful; our friend recieved the keys for her flat today, what a birthday for her.

4th

Charlie gave me a lift to Galashiels to get my reading glasses fixed. I dropped them in a field whilst lambing, they were found scratched up, and as I found out today, beyond repair. To get replacement lenses and additional anti-glare coating cost ten pounds less than ordering a new pair of replacement glasses, so I have new pair of reading glasses to pick up in a few days time. Relieved I am not going to be moving to Galashiels, the town makes me unwell when I visit. Have received news that my friend is to be rehoused within the Scottish Borders; it's awesome to know I've helped her settle somewhere during the last two weeks; perhaps other people won't let people be terrorised and chased down; have a spine, and make a stand, do something to help each other from those who would have us ostracised as though we never existed. I know that I am not the only person to have been subjected to the agenda of "strangers", there are many people across UK that have been psychologically tortured.

3rd

Early rise this morning to return to the farmhouse to nurse the sick lamb we rescued last night. The lamb has forsaken eating and forgotten how to suckle, but this morning, after a feed last night, she is looking more aware. I plan to feed her a quarter bottle every 3–4 hours, to see if I can recover her suckle reflex, she swallowed a quarter of a bottle of milk. Today I flicked through my Facebook account, I don't post there much. I found a New Age Traveller festival, which bought back memories, a different world to the nowhere land I reside in today; I wonder if they know about the Martinist plan to reincarnate them into Africa.

It's a warm spring morning at the farmhouse, the birds are singing, the rabbits are bobbing about, birds are scavenging for seed, and the Scottish Blackface ewes that roam the road now have lambs. Last night I had a message on the road to Ashkirk, that we'd left the dagging sheers behind, we returned to the farmhouse and found the sheers in the bucket, exactly where the message stated they'd be. I wonder about the thousand of other messages I get, mostly stomach churning negative, but the dark void never penetrates the ancestral light nurtured inside.

Spent most part of today nursing the poorly lamb, it's different when they are younger, at this lambs age it is definitely much harder to stave off its weakness; feeling extremely sad at the sight of them both. And I know that nature will come to collect her lamb very soon if this dire starvation situation doesn't quickly improve. When you try your best, and then you somehow falter from everything you think could have been done, despair begins to settle in. Feeling beside myself with this, but must keep a brave face, and believe this lamb is going to get well.

2nd

Woken early this morning, cooked both my friend's breakfast at the farmhouse. We gave our new friend a lift to Galashiels before tending to sheep at both grass keeps. Charlie counted a lamb missing today, we searched, the absent lamb was found laid along the side of a hedgerow, slumbered over roots of a tree trunk. Irony that we had arrived to cade that lamb. Charlie placed the dead lamb in a plastic bag, in a bucket, then covered with an additional plastic bag, we agreed to not let our friend know about the dead lamb; as she would be sitting in the backseat, near to it. I tooked some pictures of a loch / sssi nature reserve near by, a scenic watery view I used for this months blog head image above.

Returning to Hawick we stopped in Selkirk, I love this seemingly endearing small town, this is where my grandmother grew up. Whilst Charlie walked to the post office we had a look in the red cross charity shop, received a "look what the cat dragged in stare" whilst we ruffled around, sliding rails, between tired, limp glad rags. Oh, how they resented that new feeling.

I feel a sporadic anger at people in this town, not triggered or directed at them, but moreover a reaction at their techy contempt and their icy silence which I find abhorrent. Still, the wee red bakery's cream cakes were delicious and service was civil; out of all the irrationalised social dejection, whilst "fleshed for fantasy", professionalism never faltered, strange that.

Early evening we took the trailer and returned to the grass keep, entering we was warned about the state of the other surviving lamb, connected to the ewe that refused to feed them. We coerced the ewe and lamb into the trailer via the run with food. They were visibly stressed but settled when inside the trailer.

Returning to the farm house, we quickly constructed a run using the length of the tractor with a few hurdles. We got the ewe and lamb into the back of the poly tunnel, and penned them in. Charlie sat with the sick lamb, patiently bottle-feed her milk whilst her stressed mother circled the pen.

We reached the flat, finishing a long overdrawn day at 10:30pm. Our friend (who I have been helping to resettle, because nobody unofficial helped me whilst I was psychologically terrorised) had cooked us a yummy beef stew and dumplings, seated, fed and watered; a mere twenty minutes I was ready for bed.

1st

Very quiet day today, I acknowledged Beltaine, but did not partake or participate in any ritual / festive celebration; outcast with anxieties provoked by "who are you?" alienations inflicted by demonising ostrifications of Martinism. Identitarians, watchout for this cult, they'll deface you unrecognisable and debase you hapless with marginalisations.