It might have been Rambo - or it might not. I have not quite got my eye in as it happens. I could have been Querty - if that's how one spells his name. Anyway, whoever it twas was having an issue with his curly horn - which look so lovely on the postcards that sell like hot cakes in the Big City of Stornoway and passes for ART - whatever that is. The curly horn was a day of two away from pressing hard on the ram's cheek near his eye rendering his sight of the lovely ladies nearby impaired somewhat. So now we have the the second act of the day - the first being the penning of the rams - the second being The Sawing of the horn. Eh??
We don't do this sort of thing in Bath Spa where I'm from but I'm assured by Susan, The Crofters Mum, that you get used to it and anyway, it needs to be done. So out comes The Saw! At which point I barely stop myself from fainting and hold on discretely to the fence. The ram is held securely by Crofters Mum and Dad, cloth protecting Rambo's [or whoever it happens to be] eye and sawing off the edge of the horn commences. I'm reliably informed one can't just hack the whole thing off as it bleeds, but like a tooth - that both Mr Crofter and I know a little about having both been in that flippin trade and Mr Crofter Sir is still in - like a tooth, it doesn't always hurt if you saw a bit off. I just hope my very nice and adept dentist in Stornoway isn't reading this......
These aren't not the best pictures of this act but I was getting glare from something in the sunshine. Just wish David would put his hat back on... :-)
On the Isle of Lewis off the west coast of mainland Scotland lies a croft inhabited by an English off-comer. His Mum and Dad live nearby and help him run the croft. This is a photographic record of their lives as it unfolds.