Page 13 of Christmas at Hollybush Farm
‘Gah!’
I slam on the brakes. There’s something or someone in front of me on the drive.
I pull on the handbrake and push open the stiff door with my shoulder, holding my other arm over my eyes.
A woman, almost camouflaged in a dark green wax jacket, dark brown boots and leather hat, is waving at me, and not in a welcoming way.
‘Is everything okay?’ I ask, concerned.
‘No! It’s not! There’s a bloody big sheep and a horse loose in that field. They’re chasing my dogs.’
‘A sheep?’
I turn to look at the field beside Gramps’s. I’d put Bertie and Harriet into their own field this morning. Now Bertie and his sidekick Harriet are cavorting around this one. I frown. ‘They’re not supposed to be there. Not in with the flock at this time of year! Not again!’ And then I do a double-take and point. ‘Are those your dogs?’
‘Yes!’ she replies angrily. ‘And your animals are chasing them! You need to get them away! They could kill them!’
Suddenly my hackles are up. ‘Shouldn’t it be you getting your dogs back and leaving our stock alone? What are they doing running around this field in the first place?’
‘It’s a good walk for them!’ she says indignantly. ‘And on our doorstep!’
‘On your doorstep? You live here?’
‘Not exactly. Well, partially.’
I try not to roll my eyes. ‘You have a second home here,’ I say flatly.
‘Thinking about it. I’m renting while I decide.’ She pulls herself up to her full height. ‘We keep the economy going here. If it wasn’t for the likes of us …’
‘Well, right now, you need to get your dogs back on the lead. This is private property.’
‘But there’s a footpath that runs along the edge of this field.’
I’m looking at the dogs and suddenly I can’t bite my tongue. ‘A footpath, yes. Not the right to let your dogs run amok on our land.’
‘Your land?’
‘My father’s land. It’s his farm. Our land.’
‘Well, perhaps I should speak to your father. Get him to put better notices up. Fencing maybe. Where is he? He should be out here, keeping these animals under control.’
I sigh loudly. I’m feeling crosser by the moment. ‘Call your dogs. I’m on my way to pick up my father from hospital.’
She looks as if she’s about to say something but thinks better of it.
I’m watching the dogs and Bertie, kicking up his heels, with Harriet in hot pursuit. For a moment I want to laugh, but I do my best to suppress it. If Dad could see this, he’d laugh too.
‘Cosmo! Hubert!’ calls the woman, and raises a whistle to her lips, but Cosmo and Hubert just keep running in circles.
‘Cosmo! Hubert!’ Still nothing.
‘Cos—’
‘I don’t think they’re listening, do you?’ I say, folding my arms.
The woman glares at me, then storms off in thedirection of the dogs. I take a deep breath and walk towards the chaos. The woman, in new designer outdoor wear, is shouting, ‘Cosmo! Hubert!’ at two excited black Labradors. ‘That sheep is out of control! I could sue!’
Harriet is dipping and bucking but eventually I grab her forelock and pull her towards me. She swings her head back to the action, the woman trying to lasso her dogs with the leads. ‘Very bad! Very bad!’ She gasps.
