I’ve come to the conclusion Darwin’s theory of evolution is a load of cobblers when it comes to Jack Russell terriers. I’ll remind you of the gist of his theory, in case you were canoodling at the back of the sixth form biology class. Darwin’s theory is that it’s survival of the fittest which continually evolve to acclimatise to changing circumstances. Those plants and animals (or even people) which fail to adapt die out. I saw a good example of this on television recently.

Idly I chanced upon a programme about Ibex goats. These incredible animals give birth to their young at the top of the steepest mountains. With sheer rock faces that are practically vertical, these goats defy gravity as they jump from tiny ledge to ledge. Think Billy Goats Gruff scaling the Cliffs of Moher. Once they reach the top, they give birth in complete safety – there’s nothing else up there.

But here’s the bit I found incredible. Once their offspring are just a few days old, the goats hurtle back down the mountain in search of food with the baby goats following in their mother’s footsteps. Talk about a baptism of fire. But Darwin’s theory tells us the young goats have evolved successfully to be able to do this. It’s do or die.

Now back to where Darwin becomes unstuck with Jack Russells. Terriers have been around for thousands of years. When St Patrick came along, legend has it he kept a couple for killing snakes and chasing beggars away when he was trying to get a bit of kip. Thankfully, terriers have evolved over the last 1,500 years as they couldn’t be at that today.

But all this terrier evolution came to a sudden stop in the early 20th century when motorised transport appeared. Darwin was pitched right out the window.

Jack Russells have spectacularly failed to appreciate that all motorised vehicles are killers – be it the Hustler lawnmower or an artic. Unlike the baby goat outwitting the cunning mountain fox, Jack Russells treat wheels as playthings. Average life expectancy for a farm-based terrier is about four years. Without some sincere evolution, they’re facing extinction.

We have two brats at the moment and they play chicken with every wheel around the place. I’ve tried telling them that wheels are killers but they don’t listen. Billy came to us as a pup from Dublin’s South Circular Road where he would have lasted five minutes. As I drive in, they dart out of the laurels in front of me, grinning with careless abandon. I’ve shown them their predecessor Holly’s headstone (yes, the postman’s van) but they just grin and think it won’t be them. Darwin? He’s like global warming – full of hot air.

In the fields

It is always amazing once February arrives, the way the sun and wind work off each other (to quote Heaney) and the land begins to dry out. After four months of dull, dreary and plain wet weather, this was never so welcome. Max and I have decided not to re-sow the fields of min-tilled wheat following oilseed rape which I had earlier spoken about re-drilling.

It’s obviously still very patchy – maybe 75% good, 25% very poor or nothing – but a re-drill mightn’t establish a more viable crop.

Better take 3t of wheat than bear the cost of re-sowing with spring barley into a slumped soil to end up with 2t/ac. Yes, it will be hard to look at all season, but I can’t see harvest 2020 looking very pretty anyhow. In fact, if we were a publicly quoted company, I’d be issuing a fall in profits warning for 2020.