It was with a very heavy heart that I laid my faithful little friend to rest. Holly had come to us as a pup 12 short years ago and had flourished doing all the things Jack Russells love to do. Barking at birds, hunting along hedgerows, murdering mice, humiliating hedgehogs and her biggest weakness, chasing the postman. She tackled a rat once, but he bit her.

I recall a grain assurance audit and upon opening the grain store door, five mice scurried across the floor.

“I see a serious vermin problem here,” said the inspector, triumphantly. Well, not for long. Holly, ever the master of timing, had heard the roller door open and rounded the corner quicker than a heat-seeking missile. With ruthless efficiency, she clinically despatched all five mice to kingdom come.

“Every tillage farmer should have one of these,” said the gobsmacked inspector. Every tillage farmer indeed. Holly loved nothing more than riding shotgun in the Bateman sprayer cab with its commanding glass-to-floor visibility.

On hearing the Bateman, she’d appear and wait for the induction hopper to be raised which signified to her (correctly) the tank was full and we were ready for off. If the tank had frothed, she’d hear me swear silently and nod gravely. She could hear me think and together we sprayed thousands of acres.

However, between a dodgy hip and increasing age and body weight, her active life was beginning to take its toll. She could no longer hop into the Land Rover and now needed a boost. But just as I no longer hop into vehicles with the lightness I used to, we were both gracefully going grey together.

Max’s arrival on Saturday morning meant, oh joy of joys, a long crop walk and she knew him by name. Alison was besotted with Holly and the affection was reciprocated. But outside the family, she could be unfriendly and wasn’t universally liked.

On a sunny day towards the end of January we were planting beech trees in a field along the lane and Holly was on the job too. The postman’s van passed and, a little belatedly, she chased him and sheepishly returned to us. She’d wait and get him properly on his way back.

I was going to restrain her, but she’d chased him a thousand times before. But for the first time in her life her timing was out and poor Holly’s gone to wherever dear little dogs go.

Germany

I was on a short but pleasant trip to the Fendt factory in southern Germany. I’d been there before, but that was 34 years ago when we bought our first Fendt. In addition to seeing these tractors being built with precision and care, we visited a 115ha farm in the Bavarian uplands. There were three generations involved in its running and it was a proper mixed farm. The main enterprise was a 60-cow Jersey herd, milked by robot and housed all year round. The milk was sold for 50c/l after bonuses. There was also a 4,000 bird flock of free range hens and the muck from these enterprises – and home-grown maize – were the feedstock for a 250kWh anaerobic digestion (AD) plant. The electricity from the plant was for home use and the large surplus was sold into the grid at 22c/kW. If only our Government would realise the green and economic benefits of smaller farm-based AD plants for rural economies and the country at large. Such plants could convert all this dairy cow slurry into renewable energy, thus mitigating their environmental impact. Minister Creed take note, suckler cow slurry would work equally well.