Mrs Down's Diary

John soon sorts them out, though, riding to the rescue to pull newly born lambs out of dikes and ponds and enacting his King Solomon role over the true identity of a lamb's parentage.

Fortunately, so far he has been accurate and all the ewes have accepted their lambs. Two are having to be bottle-fed as their mother has so much milk her teats are engorged and they can't get a grip but in a day or two, when the hormones have settled and the lambs grown, nature should sort that particular problem out.

In the foldyard the cows have nearly all finished calving. Just a few left in the herd to calve before we turn them out at the end of April.

The twin calf that would not feed from its mum and who has not latched on to another cow is still being bucket-fed with a milk substitute.

John is going to build it a pen in the bull's yard and wean it on to a calf ration. Then, when all its friends go out to play in the fields, it will have to stay inside with the big boys.

When you think winter is ending and one's old pets have survived the worst of the weather is exactly the time they decide enough is enough.

Our old horse Rupert died at this time several years ago.

"He's made it," we thought. Another summer out with the tups with the prospect of unlimited access to apples from the orchard. And then one morning he was down when we went to give him his breakfast and he never got to his feet again. We had had him nearly 20 years and it was such a wrench to lose him.

As it is for friends who have just lost their beloved pony Sally.

Val's father, Sam, had sanctioned the purchase of this 'bomb-proof' pony for their daughter Sarah, after seeing Sally's reaction to a child riding a trike under her belly and using her as an equine trampoline.

"She's either perfect or on drugs" he said. Which she was and wasn't. She did have one or two addictions, however. Such as toast and jam fingers for breakfast and being partial to nibbling Sam's bottom when he was tightening her girth for Sarah.

Sally is now at rest, wrapped in her rugs and horse blanket in an idyllic setting.

Rather as in ancient burials, she has been given everything she treasured in this life and that was personal to her to accompany her in the next. It has been a great source of comfort to Sarah and Val.

n Being a pet in this household is being dealt one of the best hands in life possible.

Fly, their 14-year-old Jack Russell, sleeps next to the Aga in a bespoke wicker basket. Raised, of course, off the floor so that no draughts threaten her comfort. She will not go to sleep at night until tucked in.

I mean it. She has a little pillow she lays her head on and is then wrapped up in a blanket and tucked up before her goodnight kiss.

"Now she is getting older we often come down in the morning to find she is in exactly the same position as where we left her and still fast asleep." Ahh.

This was first published in the West Sussex Gazette March 26 . To read the features first buy the West Sussex Gazette every Wednesday.