There comes a day in every farm animal’s life when he has come to the end of his useful time.  Pretty little Wiggle grew into a ram filled with testosterone, attacking gates and fences and trees and charging humans with his horns and head.  We could no longer allow visitors or children into the field unaccompanied. If we turned our backs to tend to the hay or water or to check on the flock then we were likely to be attacked by Mr Wiggs.  So, sadly, Mr Wiggs is en route to the abattoir in Kimbolton and we hope that his end will be swift and painless.