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This is a question Down on the Farm

Have you ever been chased from a field by a shotgun-wielding maniac? Ever removed city arseholes from your field whilst innocently carrying a shotgun? Tell us your farm stories.

(, Thu 24 May 2012, 13:19)
Pages: Popular, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

There are stones out in the back paddock.
I went up to a farm where my besty Alex was working for a year. The property was his great-uncles. A fair sized wheat/sheep farm near Goomaling (gotta love those aboriginal place names).

1 night we went for a wander with a 6-pack and a big, fat doobie out into the fields.

We had a few drinks, smoked the joint and spent a few hours staring at the clear, un-clouded sky & talking on our backs in a big wheat field.

It was fun and we both learned a lot about each other (even tho we'd been friends for about 7 years by then).

About 2 years later Alex decided to top himself.
I remember that night with a lot of warmth and happiness.
(, Mon 28 May 2012, 11:49, 5 replies)
Never underestimate poodles
A friend of my father had two poodles.

Yes, I did say poodles. Not the miniature pampered fluffballs that so many have been cruelly forced to become, but the original, tall, lanky hunting dogs. Very loyal, very intelligent, very intimidating.

Anyway, he took them with him while working, and on one occasion had to call at a deer farm. He tied them up outside, provisioned them with a water bowl and a blanket to lie on, and the client came out to meet him.

"Oh, let them run around," says he. "The deer will give them a good bit of exercise."

"Sure?" asks my Dad's friend, "They're afwully fast."

"Naah!" says the farmer, dismissively, "They'll never catch anything."

Predictably, half an hour later, through the window of the farm office, the client was greeted by the sight of two poodles hauling the carcass of a medium-sized deer from the nearby copse.
(, Mon 28 May 2012, 11:49, 4 replies)
Anyone who has ever fantasised about making love in a field...
...has obviously never tried it.

Earth clods, stubble, insects, thistles, animal poo, etc. all intrude with unwanted reality into the erotic idyll.

However, the lanolin does make your skin lovely and soft.
(, Mon 28 May 2012, 11:36, 7 replies)
special tractor training
They call it 'the farm' in the movies. You're not authorised to know more than that.
(, Mon 28 May 2012, 11:12, Reply)
In 1977, I lived in a semi-rural area, and some local parents got together to arrange a screening of a public safety film called "Apaches".

The basic premise was that farms are dangerous (which they are), and you should watch out. Fair enough.

But the way in which the group of kids in the film were relentlessly massacred by farm machinery, slurry pits, poisonous chemicals and falling gates left a very different impression on my mind. If you step on a farm, it seemed to say, there's a very good chance you won't be leaving alive!

Having sat through this Anglian Farmyard Massacre, I avoided farms like the plague for many years, and even now view slurry pits with some trepidation. For anyone who'd like to be similarly traumatized, here's a YouTube link.
(, Mon 28 May 2012, 10:43, 2 replies)
Did you hear about the magic tractor?
No - because "magic" is merely theatrical presentation and sleight of hand, practiced in a social atmosphere contrived deliberately to give the practitioner credence due to the gullibility of their audience.
(, Mon 28 May 2012, 9:57, 7 replies)
My brother and his girlfriend were out on a horse ride once, and went past a farm.
What they didn't realise was that the farm was part of a wildlife park. Apparently the conversation went a bit like this:

"Loads of cows there - must be a farm"
"Yeah, reckon so."
"Oh wow look, deer!"
"Blimey, yeah. Cool!"
"More over there look" *points*
"Yeah. And some giraffes" *rubs eyes in astonishment* "Giraffes?!"
(, Mon 28 May 2012, 9:42, 4 replies)
It's a beautiful sight.
(, Sun 27 May 2012, 23:34, 16 replies)
Mmmm bacon (could be a repost)
Whilst out walking with my wife, after she’d recently given birth, we arrived at the back of a farm. Over the fence we could see a huge pig and my wife ever the animal lover beckoned it over and began to stroke it. At this point she totally underestimated the size of her new breast and one of them touched the fence, which turned out to be an electric fence. The current travelled through her boob down her arm and directly into the pigs nose. The pig screamed a scream I would never want to hear again and ran off. It was hilarious.
(, Sun 27 May 2012, 20:57, 4 replies)
Something about Russia or Cyprus, or Iran maybe.
Then something about Turkey and Greece helping.
(, Sun 27 May 2012, 20:55, 2 replies)
How does a Welshman find sheep in long grass?
He finds them very nice.
(, Sun 27 May 2012, 20:24, Reply)
A hundred cows standing in a field. Which one is on holiday?
The one with a wee calf.
(, Sun 27 May 2012, 20:24, 5 replies)
Terry Pratchett lived in - I think he still lives - in rural Somerset.
I remember hearing him in interview saying how, during the 1970s, I think, he was sitting in very rural pub with his wife, behind two farmers, who were discussing the difference between fox and dog tracks. From their speech he said they were clearly using the grime and/or dust on the table to illustrate their thoughts, and one said "No no - a dog - 'er'll make these tracks ... but renard - 'ee'll make 'em like this ... "

Pratchett said to his wife "Listen to that, and remember it, because it's probably the last time you'll ever hear someone un-self-consciously refer to a fox as "renard" ... "
(, Sun 27 May 2012, 17:03, 8 replies)
Did you hear the one about the poultry farmer from Ankara?
His business took a turn for the worse, and with no money to feed them, his wife and two daughters all died of illness or starvation. Depressed and weak, he decided to leave his home and travel to Dubai, where he hoped to find a job doing menial labour, never to see his beloved chicken or Turkey again. (chicken or turkey!).
(, Sun 27 May 2012, 16:41, Reply)
Just this afternoon
I'm cycling thrugh Europe at the moment, and am currently near Caen in Basse-Normandie. I stopped to fiddle with my panniers for a bit and looked up to see the entire herd of cows (about 80-100) in the field next to where I had stopped had shimmied over to have a gawp at what I was doing and were iterally climbing over each other to see.

Lovely, but slighhtly daft creatures them French cows...
(, Sun 27 May 2012, 16:20, Reply)
Q. What type of long-range weapon did a group of sheep farmers develop during the Cold War?
A. An intercontinental baaa-listic (ballistic) missile!
(, Sun 27 May 2012, 15:49, 5 replies)
Farm Sledding.
Ross-on-Wye, middle of winter, lots of snow. Mr. Farmer and I have fed the hanimals, and there's not much else to do, so we spend the afternoon having a competition to build the best sled. Rules are simple: it must be able to transport two grown men. Fastest sled wins a carton of beer.

Mr. Farmer gets all serious and builds a very pretty timber sled with runners and a bizarre steering mechanism. He is quite the craftsman.

I'm not, (Australian, you see) I opted for the low tech version; found a long sheet of sharp, rusty corrugated roofing iron, clubbed one end until it curled up in the air, nailed a timber pallet to the other end, tied baling twine from the pallet to the curly front, to ensure the curly front wouldn't dig into the snow and impede forward motion. So, with all the weight toward the back, there was a good amount of "rocker" (think surfboard) to the whole shape. And it took about 10 minutes and 40 nails.

Anyway, we drag our respective sleds up to the summit of the steepest field. Mr. Farmer makes a lot of derisive comments about my sled's aesthetics. I make lots of derisive comments about his fancy-boy sled.

The slope looks a lot steeper from the top, with the steely cold Wye River below. Mr. Farmer's sled was up first, he sits in the driving seat, and I sit behind in the navigator's seat and shove off.


Another shove.

Nothing again. The runners are too skinny and merely sink into the snow. It doesn't even move with 1 person aboard. He sulks.

No worries, let's hop on mine. I sit up the front of the pallet, Mr. Farmer sit on the back, shoves off and FUCKING WHOOOSH, we are very quickly sliding down the slope with very little control. There is so much velocity the wind is getting under the sled, making the front flail around and slap the snow, throwing up a blinding snow cloud. I realise we have no way to stop the contraption, but what the fuck, we are really moving!

We are nearing the bottom of the slope, and Mr. Farmer screams something incomprehensible in my ear, but the wind is too loud. I then feel the sled lighten and realise he has bailed, tumbling down the slope behind me.

I turn around and yell abuse at him for being a big poof, just as the previously unseen single strand of barbed wire catches me fair across the chest.

Fucking. Ouch.

Apparently I briefly resembled a pole-axed teddy bear, arms and legs briefly pointed forward, cheeks puffed out in a big OOF as every bit of air was driven from my lungs. Tore the shit out of my jacket too.

I still won the beer. Couldn't drink it for a few days, hurt to raise my arms. Also, had to wait 2 days for Mr. Farmer to stop laughing.
(, Sun 27 May 2012, 13:14, 21 replies)
& now for the creepy shit.
As I have said earlier - I lived in an old abandoned church on a farm in Africa.
My dog Sam slept with me.

1 night Sam wakes all of us going ABSOLUTELY FUCKING BAT-SHIT MENTAL. I let him out of my room and he headed straight to the kitchen (which used to be the altar). In there we had several tallboys with glass doors full of crockery.

All of the crockery was broken into small pieces yet the glass panels were completely intact. And Sam during this was still losing his shit despite me repeatedly telling him off - he was a very well trained dog who would obey commands instantly (once he was aware of them).

Never found an explanation. Don't really want to.
(, Sun 27 May 2012, 10:37, 32 replies)
Sam's defense.
I was raised on a farm outside of Lusaka in Zambia by an Indian Sikh family. They had several dogs which all were working dogs & slept in a compound (unless they were let loose to catch the wildlife). My pet dog Sam slept with me. Sam was a pure bred bull-terrier - deaf as a post.
We lived in an old abandoned church and I slept in 1 of the rooms that was the refectory. Sam used to curl up on my the end of my bed.

1 night someone broke in. He came into my room. Sam woke up and bit him. Hard. on the leg. Sam's jaws locked (as they do when you're a bull-terrier). The guy woke all of us up screaming with Sam attached.

2 men had to push Sam's jaws closed and then squeeze the side of his mouth in order to open them again (no-one was brave enough to try the finger-up-the-bum technique & I can't blame them - Sammy was a mean dog). By that time the cops had arrived. They thought it was funny. We thought it was fairly hi-lar-ious. The thief clearly felt differently.

If he hadn't come into my room he would've got away with everything.
Silly man!
(, Sun 27 May 2012, 10:16, 6 replies)
"I had (lived on) a farm in Africa."
I have a gazillion stories to tell you.
But a farmer's progeny has to have some secrets, right?
Anyway - now I'm (living) out of Africa.
(, Sun 27 May 2012, 9:32, 2 replies)
Had Piggy Fun!
Well this was few years ago...

Lost my job a system developer at Siemens, didn't know what to do next, I was about 21.

I was looking around for a job, something different (I was trying to go for an apprenticeship as a Toolmaker, but had to wait for a few months) when my mother suggested to help my cousin's brother-in-laws farm.

I live in South Africa,
I can bore the living crap out of you about my life here...
Blah Blah Blah Blah!!!

My cousin's brother-in-law got a nice little farm near the Drakensberg highlands. This farm was near Mooi River, which is situated in Kwazulu-Natal to be precise.

My new job?
Contract; Farm Supervisor; 4 months; Jan to May.
To manage, look after, cultivate, fertilize, weed, whatever, for 10 hectares of cabbages!
I was promised 10% of the net profit after the end of May!
All I had to do was manage the casual labour, and some permanent staff, all of them were Zulus!

This is when I learnt alot about the Zulus...
Fascinating people! (too much tell BTW!)
For those who did some history, will remember about The British Empire had alot of fun with the Zulus... especially Battle of Isandlwana, ouch!
Present Day, you don't see them wear their animal skin skirts, weilding sharp spears and, sorry horny dudes, there are no topless woman these days.
Only in Shaka Land and DEEP into the Zulu rural lands will you see traditional Zulu folk (and the topless woman!).

Anyways, managing my team of "Zulu Warrior" Men and Woman was nightmare!
The Men were lazy! I kid you not, they were smoking weed most of the time! (ok, there was the odd few that were hard workers)
The Women worked harder than the Men!!!
And guess what, their children worked hardest of them all!!!!!

I just gave the children some money to say "Thank you for helping you parents." (such nice children!)

Seriously, nice people.
Live a simple rural life and very content, well most of them.

It was fun!
Got fresh veggies everyday! ( Including Cabbages! )
One whole lamb everymonth! ( Which almost filled the freezer! )
Loads of pot! ( Which got me higher than pope! )
Even got to have fun with a farmer's daughter!!! ( Only to find out she was screwing my boss too! )

Before my contract expired, I had a PLAN!
My boss had a pet pig called POG.
He went away, with his family, during the easter weekend.
Asked me to look after his place, feed the dogs, cats... and POG!
POG was a sow, yep, female!
The day he went away, I took the Bukkie (it is like a small truck), went to the nearest farm and asked for the horniest boar pig available!
Course I told the other farmer my PLAN, loved it and was happy to loan a horny pig!
I dropped my horny boar near POG.
Started nudging at her tummy (to get the ovaries working!)
Kept on nudging her the whole day and tried to mount her!
3rd day he was on top of her every hour! (thats when learnt a pigs cock looked like a cork screw!)
The day my boss was coming back, I took the insane boar back into the bukkie, with the help of 15 Zulu Warriors (They were sh** scared of the pig! LOL!)

My contracted ended, went back home to the City of Johannesburg.
Got a phone call a few weeks later from my farmer ex-boss:
I just couldn't help myself from not laughing!
But he soon too burst out laughing saying I got him, but he will get me back! (he has never got me back to this day)
That's my farm story.

Still, I wonder what happened to the little piggys? Bet you they ended up on my plate for breakfast a few months later!
(, Sun 27 May 2012, 5:44, 6 replies)
Is there a law in Britain
that comically rural types are allowed to shoot at people?
(, Sun 27 May 2012, 5:21, 10 replies)
rectangle hay bales
Are excellent for building stuff. One year sticks particularly in mind - the year we built the fort out of the hay bales. Walls were put together in an offset pattern for strength, 3 bales deep and twice my height. some of us were inside, defending, others outside attacking. It was all great fun until one of the lads, fully bought in to the theme of medieval sieges, lobs a burning arrow (or stick, if you will) over the wall into the castle.

Yes, all hell did break loose. The front page of the county rag the next night indicated the blaze could be seen for quite a number of miles
(, Sat 26 May 2012, 23:14, 2 replies)
Summer job ends badly.
One summer I was sent to assist some farmers who had need of expert help. And despite the lack of support and generally unfriendly attitude I think I did a pretty decent job.
Ungrateful bastards put me in a big man made of wicker and set it on fire.
(, Sat 26 May 2012, 18:50, 2 replies)
A young city dweller found himself spending a summer in a small village

(, Sat 26 May 2012, 13:44, 4 replies)
When I worked for a surveying company
there was one afternoon when one of our field crews came back early from their site, looking rather pale and shaky. They had been sent out to establish the boundaries of a farm that was going to be sold to a developer. As they were establishing a baseline to measure the locations of boundary markers a 12 gauge shotgun blast tore the air over their heads, and a man in bib overalls stepped out of the trees. "What the hell are you doing here?" he roared.

"We're surveying this farm. Your neighbor hired us."

"Git offa my land!"

"But we're not on your property! We're on our client's property!"

"Ah don't care! Mah daddy said never to trust them surveyors! Now git!"

And they got.

No, this wasn't Alabama. This was near Syracuse NY in the late 1980s.
(, Sat 26 May 2012, 11:39, 8 replies)
Farmyard filth.
In this world, there are many wonderful things one can seek out to find enlightenment. There are so many sources of inspiration. So many new avenues of knowledge to peruse in order to gain self-fulfilment.

However, personally, I like writing poems about fucking pigs (up the arse). And yes, I did enjoy the first episode of Black Mirror.

Piglet’s Little Curler

I Think of You

Pig Raping

The Seventeenth Amish Vivarium Meniscus

Etiquete (my personal favorite)

From my other "nom de 'net": redhotpig.
(, Sat 26 May 2012, 10:12, 4 replies)
Its not a farm, but Grandma lives in a house in the countryside and keeps Shetlands, ducks, geese quite a lot of dogs and goats. She adores her goats. Shes bred them for about 45 generations now and milks them everyday (goats milk is NOT NICE by the way)
These goats are pretty stupid, on one occasion she went on holiday for a week and left my not so smart uncle in charge. The eejit forgot to lock the billy goat away properly (who lives a few fields away from the females) who, as a result broke into the goat enclosure, hopped into every single goat shed, fucked all the female goats and in impregnated them. This was a nightmare as most the female goats where relatives. He fucked his grandmother, his mother and all his aunties. That spring we had 22 kids, most of which born with defects. Honey (who I got quite attached too) pooed out her wee-hole. No word of a lie. Most of them got donated to the local zoo that year for animal feed.
Another time one of her goats stood on a bucket and put her head through a fence to steal some feed. The bucket slipped and she was left hanging, choking to death. I was there when we buried her in the garden. My Dad dug the hole which turned out to small. Not being bothered to make it any bigger he just tried to stamp on this dead goat to force it into the hole 'Get down.you.stubborn.....Bastard!' It was not a pretty site, the sound of goat being crushed under DC martins conjured with my fathers colourful language 'cunting, cunting BASTARD!' As stupid as they are, I'm rather fond of the big dopey bastards, lug eyed and bleating away. Grandmas got some month old kids at the moment, oh they are adorable! so small and soft, I could spend all day just playing with them. If you ever see an excited kid or lamb leaping... It is one of the most lovliest sites. There was also the time my Aunty tried to milk the billy goat, she got quite the shock.
(, Sat 26 May 2012, 9:43, 4 replies)
A farmer near me..
.. put up a big keep out warning notice, being the ever frugal type he made it out of herbs.

It is a sign of the thymes.
(, Sat 26 May 2012, 7:43, Reply)

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