tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76240798706712014282024-02-01T20:33:11.557-08:00Writing On The EdgeI have moved to <a href="https://markhuntleyjames.wordpress.com/"> My New Site</a> to continue my monthly(ish) ramble on whatever amused, irritated or intrigued me out here on the edge of Bodmin Moor.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-57862663861947527802019-01-31T13:24:00.001-08:002019-01-31T13:24:51.323-08:00Knee-Trembler
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<span style="font-size: small;">No two cats are the same, but an awful lot of them are
very similar. Faced with an inward-opening door, most will press
their nose against it and decline to back up. Our little ginger will
indicate a food bowl needs topping up, but then is in such a hurry
that only the first few biscuits make it into the bowl, with the rest
bouncing off her ears. As for pointing – you can’t point to
something for a cat’s attention, because they stare at your moving
finger.<!-- IGNORING for now
Though you can put your finger on the thing. Mind you some then stare in your face --></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Then there’s Piper, six and a half kilos of black-and-white, ex-feral
tom cat, the cat with a difference. Actually, multiple differences.
Just like any of our cats, he will sit and stare pointedly at a door,
expecting it to be opened, even if there is a perfectly functional
cat-flap. Just because he <i>can</i> go through without troubling his
people doesn’t mean that he <i>should.</i> And then when you open
the door, he actually <i>steps back</i>, if necessary giving an
impatient stare if the gap isn’t wide enough fast enough. This is
not what I regard as conventional cat behaviour.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgErhmeMOwMs4jDwfbCCd4BXDnR4RydNuH7kO9g1gpIvxiC_aINy19YaQAhXCFhEKSZszHvB8XGA4T_83xudzRbhjYU3vcwPEX9QGqRmoWuye_V_9g5LBDvmV-PxNF80gfS8JGEmXoaTFBW/s1600/Heavy+and+heavier.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="558" data-original-width="647" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgErhmeMOwMs4jDwfbCCd4BXDnR4RydNuH7kO9g1gpIvxiC_aINy19YaQAhXCFhEKSZszHvB8XGA4T_83xudzRbhjYU3vcwPEX9QGqRmoWuye_V_9g5LBDvmV-PxNF80gfS8JGEmXoaTFBW/s320/Heavy+and+heavier.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piper (rear) and Oatmeal, or Heavy and Heavier.</td></tr>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">As for the food-bowl... We have a diet arrangement,
because although Oatmeal is now down from being a seven-kilo bundle
of fluff, he still needs calorie control. The high-calorie food is in
a bowl on a window cill on the principal that when Oatmeal is light
enough to jump that high, he’s allowed the good stuff. Piper, who
may now actually be heavier than Oatmeal, can jump that high. In
fact, he tries to lead his people round there so that if the bowl is
inadequate once he’s up, the service staff are on hand to fix it.
Unlike Ginge, he sits back and waits for the filling to be done –
no kitty-nibbles bouncing off <i>his</i> ears. </span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5niVtUbji3Bb1SNRGfWx6CgUjXtiTjaz6F57ngTJDRForLJdi3elDmy7WFYNfBAH0Tr1LgPNTPUsb_qUlfTWwoEtkDhUrtqJtk-rzAqsdmHUm2YqCyI_39HXeT2nRAM1F2Tzoyx2JXQyK/s1600/You+know+I+can%2527t+read%252C+right%253F.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="559" data-original-width="772" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5niVtUbji3Bb1SNRGfWx6CgUjXtiTjaz6F57ngTJDRForLJdi3elDmy7WFYNfBAH0Tr1LgPNTPUsb_qUlfTWwoEtkDhUrtqJtk-rzAqsdmHUm2YqCyI_39HXeT2nRAM1F2Tzoyx2JXQyK/s320/You+know+I+can%2527t+read%252C+right%253F.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piper with a book - he can't read, but it adds an air of sophistication</td></tr>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">In fact, Piper also has his own unique set of
communications and processes for ensuring the correct level of
service. Perhaps the most notable is <i>I want something</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Casual but persistent stropping round ankles usually
means <i>walk with me to the window and attend to that food bowl</i>.
That’s just the basic brush-past, not that different from what the
other cats do. </span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">There are higher, more aggressive levels.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">After brush-past is figure-of-eight, which is fast and
sufficient to upset my balance. It starts with a more forceful
brush-past, which is noticeable from a tall, six and a half kilo cat, and then a quick turn to make another pass, then turn again to come
back. It’s like being buffeted by waves on a sea shore. It usually
happens when I’m cooking and the approximate translation is <i>I
really want that, whatever it is, put some down and let’s find out
if I like it.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Then there is a heavy-treading variant of the
figure-of-eight, which usually means <i>I already know I like that
stuff, put some down</i>. It’s a slower cycle which goes something
like this: step up, stand on the human’s foot, brush past, beat the
shins vigorously with the tail, step down, turn and repeat. It’s
surprisingly uncomfortable when Piper puts most of his weight on one
paw on my foot. The furry truncheon makes an impact as well.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Finally, there are the two absolute-extreme-urgent <i>put
that stuff down for me now</i> signals. First, there’s <i>the
scratching post</i>, the sharp attention-grabber. Reach up, rest paws
against the human’s knee, extend claws and pull down, adjusting
grip like playing with that that rope-covered post that's been mauled almost bare. </span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Secondly, there’s the culmination of the
heavy-treading figure of eight. This final trick is where the
repeated impacts makes the human move, creating just enough space for
the Piper-nose to pass between the legs, and then work like a wedge
until the rather wider waist can follow through. In the most extreme
version, the front paws can hold down one of the human’s feet, and
then the tail starts lashing – not a genteel waft but laying it
about with the furry truncheon, swaying hips to get the motion going
– more like a dog wagging its tail – until the human’s knees
are ready to buckle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMy1WUS2vJB1BVBK61NZchIhrFsQCrPUMpq8I4L3b95x3q3ptANkdYXC3F2ze92tCEeJnrNbLh84sHjPX4De9nxo9qX0PGjjDw3YKIGrUDni5X6kJFZWWpEKQqtYE8WK8iSwtjOTc7dPhb/s1600/Piper+in+the+grass.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="948" data-original-width="684" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMy1WUS2vJB1BVBK61NZchIhrFsQCrPUMpq8I4L3b95x3q3ptANkdYXC3F2ze92tCEeJnrNbLh84sHjPX4De9nxo9qX0PGjjDw3YKIGrUDni5X6kJFZWWpEKQqtYE8WK8iSwtjOTc7dPhb/s320/Piper+in+the+grass.jpg" width="230" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just a normal cat, really.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;">I don’t always understand what he wants, and I would
love to point out to Piper that sometimes he mixes his signals. I
know what the answer would be. Understanding is not required, just
prompt obedience.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Of course, I can’t point anything out to Piper. For
all his differences he’s just like any other cat when you try to
point, staring at the finger and wondering what new game is about to
start.</span></div>
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<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-86206515845453969252018-12-24T04:24:00.001-08:002018-12-24T06:21:41.566-08:00Sheep Are By The Dozen<style type="text/css">
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<span style="font-size: small;">I don’t do festive blogs. Apart from this time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Performance notes:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I’ve only done the final ‘verse’ and performance
details are left up to the reader because whilst I’m fine lugging
25kg feed sacks around, I can’t carry a tune to save my life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">My personal recommendation is that this should be sung
in four part harmony, two parts vodka, one part orange juice, perhaps
with a side-order of cheese.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Enjoy.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEvWnN97LJJO8BnJfrqFs9s_zqz6K6QZk2TxOSXt8XzG74DMbsjLP-1UWXEdt1vKL63hRqkqIZGSRc7hkCZ7woOzERmnh-JV0u9nBVUvKmAE5n36XyfgB1Hh5fFPmQjgSh4kQc4aUApwWj/s1600/Christmas+Card+2009_sm.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="641" data-original-width="855" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEvWnN97LJJO8BnJfrqFs9s_zqz6K6QZk2TxOSXt8XzG74DMbsjLP-1UWXEdt1vKL63hRqkqIZGSRc7hkCZ7woOzERmnh-JV0u9nBVUvKmAE5n36XyfgB1Hh5fFPmQjgSh4kQc4aUApwWj/s320/Christmas+Card+2009_sm.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">On the twelfth day of Christmas my livestock gave to me</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Twelve ewes escaping</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eleven lice a biting</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Ten fleas a jumping</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Nine muddy gateways</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eight fences falling</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Seven rams a running</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Six geese a-honking</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Five blank stares</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Four fighting cats</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Three drenched hens</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Two dirty gloves</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And a crisis in a far field</span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-47689491180819524802018-12-20T13:03:00.002-08:002018-12-20T13:03:56.670-08:00Old Man Biskit
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<span style="font-size: small;">Notes:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">1: Elsewhere online, and in parts of that real-life
thing, I am known as Biskit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">2: I got asked why I blog about the animals on the farm.
The short answer: because I enjoy it. The longer answer...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidPtVduba4-WbdSZZuwBakiWY9qzVDnfBH2eCGmK3FFv9cp76Ii9gwxK4XRf6QJEhlDV6Dzv7yYfKhF4_ZU71KDVRBTFOu6sb19JwZOy6qW7F-zZ6DIxpC3Q_sev-TWlxhxMBYgxiRgOFo/s1600/You+looking+at+me%253F.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="725" data-original-width="698" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidPtVduba4-WbdSZZuwBakiWY9qzVDnfBH2eCGmK3FFv9cp76Ii9gwxK4XRf6QJEhlDV6Dzv7yYfKhF4_ZU71KDVRBTFOu6sb19JwZOy6qW7F-zZ6DIxpC3Q_sev-TWlxhxMBYgxiRgOFo/s320/You+looking+at+me%253F.jpg" width="308" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You talking about me?</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Old man Biskit had a farm,</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Blog it, write it, now.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">On that farm he had some cats</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Blog it, tell it, now.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">With a cat-scratch here</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">And a furball there,</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Here a scratch, there a ball</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Everywhere a cat fur</span></div>
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<br />
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Old man Biskit had a farm,</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Blog it, joke it, now.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">On that farm he had some sheep</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Blog it, show it, now.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">With a poop-joke here,</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">And a ram horn there,</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Here a joke, there a ram,</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Everywhere a poop-horn</span></div>
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<br />
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Old man Biskit had a farm,</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Blog it, quote it, now.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">On that farm he had some geese</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Blog it, hype it, now.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">With a honk-hiss here,</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">And a beak-bite there,</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Here a honk, there a bite,</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Everywhere a beak-hiss</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Old man Biskit had a farm,</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Blog it, share it, now.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">On that farm he had some chickens</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Blog it, spread it, now.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">With a cock-fight here,</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">And a cute chick there,</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Here a fight, there a chick,</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Everywhere a cute-cock</span></div>
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<br />
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Old man Biskit had a farm...</span></div>
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<br />
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">And now he needs an hour or two to put his feet up.</span></div>
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<br />
</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-22428439638707835022018-11-28T07:35:00.000-08:002018-12-01T07:44:27.172-08:00Hands Up – An Educational Experience<style type="text/css">
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<span style="font-size: small;">The saga of Thug (aka The Purring Death, aka Drang as
his actual owners call him) continues, very much an evolving
experience for all concerned. The routine surrounding his visits has
become both simpler and more complex – where once my partner picked
him up and popped him into the car, nose next to tempting kitty
nibbles, now he races there and waits impatiently for me to catch up.
He has learned that breakfast (or other meal, depending on time of
day) happens in the car, on the way home. If I am slow, he races
back, just to remind me that there are things to do, places to go,
large and adoring cats to feed.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">As any theme-park operator will tell you, yesterday’s
thrill is today’s old news and the only way forward is innovation.
For Thug, having taken the half-mile plus walk up the hill, there
needs to be some entertainment, and he’s looking for that
innovation. Of course, if said innovation also runs away making
frantic squealing noises, all the better. </span>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7u0k594qKYE7b_V4p6-A-54gulDF-IArc2Uv9zWtrKaCLqSj1PLylD151rflqTUa85VtO9DF_IM75gKnGIImX4YnM0hMtWxj-ybJELrGleh9lfUA_SD5_JZcGUqiokXeKxIPVtPl_tsvA/s1600/I+can+see+you.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="518" data-original-width="691" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7u0k594qKYE7b_V4p6-A-54gulDF-IArc2Uv9zWtrKaCLqSj1PLylD151rflqTUa85VtO9DF_IM75gKnGIImX4YnM0hMtWxj-ybJELrGleh9lfUA_SD5_JZcGUqiokXeKxIPVtPl_tsvA/s400/I+can+see+you.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can see you...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;">So, for instance, several minutes of fun can be had by
lurking outside the front door, staring through the new cat-flap to
the spot where Piper has taken to sleeping. Then all it takes is a
plaintive mew and Piper is awake, acutely aware that the Ginger
Nemesis is close and watching. Think of it as a waking nightmare –
wake-up and there’s the nightmare, not yet red in tooth or claw,
and just itching to get his wonderful whiskers dirty.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Of course, Piper has also learned a few things, in
addition to <i>run for your life</i>. In particular, he’s
established that the new cat-flap doesn’t open for Thug. It’s
safe to glare back, perhaps growl a little. Then run, just in case.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Alternatively, Thug hangs around by the back door, after
all there’s no telling when Piper might be outside, strolling by
and needing another bite taken out of his backside. It’s amazing how
these hyper-alert, super-hunter felines can wander around, thumb up
tail, brain in neutral, and not notice six or more kilos of ginger
monster sitting in plain sight, just waiting...</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxWxXyJwcPZac0jOzJ871vRNMitxHGuuQC6ptzGUSZVqvm4Dd6mlt3OOUpB6kqbCXDfbCXEAc3nhYLWwH6mX0piIX9npeixV3EX1uBQ0ITN5-B6co6jiZCWlHxOhfw1ToCUieqBksO-4Zw/s1600/I+can+reach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="877" data-original-width="410" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxWxXyJwcPZac0jOzJ871vRNMitxHGuuQC6ptzGUSZVqvm4Dd6mlt3OOUpB6kqbCXDfbCXEAc3nhYLWwH6mX0piIX9npeixV3EX1uBQ0ITN5-B6co6jiZCWlHxOhfw1ToCUieqBksO-4Zw/s320/I+can+reach.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can reach</td></tr>
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<span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;">However, kitty nibbles from a bag do actually trump
prey-cat on the run. Once I open the back door, and Thug knows he has
my attention, as well has his next meal, he then races round the
house to be waiting for me out the front. There, the new cat-flap
means he can peer in to watch me put my shoes on and be ready for our
race to the car as soon as I step out. It also gives him a chance to
see when I’m </span><i style="text-indent: 1.27cm;">not</i><span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;"> coming, so that he can gallop back round
the outside of the house to find out what I mistakenly thought was
more important than an adorable ginger cat.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Thug has also learned that if I’m carrying an old
yoghurt pot, that’s where his breakfast is. With a normal cat that
might not be overly significant, but Thug is big with long legs and
even whilst jogging along beside me, he can reach up and take a grip
on that pot with both paws. Sometimes he just takes a hold of my
hand. Six or more kilos of cat hanging by his claws in my skin is a
learning experience – lower that pot quickly to avoid extensive
bloodshed, or remember to keep my hands well above cat-reach height.
As it turns out, the most frequent donor for Thug’s
red-in-tooth-and-claw is me.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The important thing is that I have learned the lesson. I
probably look like an idiot, walking to the car with my hands up, but
I’m not a <i>bleeding</i> idiot. Pain is a great teacher.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1OCDGv_Y6T12LrCznSnyg75YqC9uNveJKUBYtOWhoxX1_6aDaVLlyHyOBov-tH2zNjOlZG_JxFpJJM-mlVbDX8sUuMfBKUVLa1XdMXt2mtP5tl7e2lEHAzDg13tvlzM8kT27TqXvoWDVu/s1600/let+me+at+it.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="698" data-original-width="549" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1OCDGv_Y6T12LrCznSnyg75YqC9uNveJKUBYtOWhoxX1_6aDaVLlyHyOBov-tH2zNjOlZG_JxFpJJM-mlVbDX8sUuMfBKUVLa1XdMXt2mtP5tl7e2lEHAzDg13tvlzM8kT27TqXvoWDVu/s400/let+me+at+it.jpg" width="313" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Let me at it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Not that Thug has this all his own way. Some time back,
in an earlier instalment, I mentioned his sister, Storm, a very
spooky and perfectly normally sized cat. I’ve seen her from time to
time as I return Thug home, but she’s not really a people cat, and
certainly not keen on strangers. However, the cat definition of
stranger is variable, experience-based and subject to change on a
whim, a purr or the discovery of food. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">In the last month or two, Storm has learned a part of
the routine herself – when my car arrives at the official Thug
residence, there will be cat nibbles on the doorstep, because that
provides enough of a distraction to keep Thug from racing me back to
the car if there’s no-one home to let him in. I started to notice
that, as I walked back to the car, Storm would emerge from hiding and
demonstrate her expertise at getting her nose under Thug’s chin and
separating him from breakfast.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Now that she has learned the routine, Storm has finally
decided that the Great Cat Whisperer is OK, and taken the next step:
why go to the effort of stealing her brother’s food when she can
mug me and cut out the middle-cat? It’s easy enough to do, a quick
sniff of my ankles, a strop round my legs, the look that says <i>stroke
me and I’ll let you hand me cat nibbles.</i></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">As ever, Thug management is an ongoing educational
experience. I await developments – perhaps Thug will start to
learn Storm management.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"> # # #</span><br />
This month's blog was partly prompted by <a href="https://blogbattlers.wordpress.com/2018/11/13/stories-educate/" target="_blank">#BlogBattle: Educate</a>. Please go and take a look at the other entries,</div>
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<br />
<br /></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-42395516219389473412018-10-28T08:10:00.002-07:002018-10-28T08:10:48.516-07:00Five Great Ways To Roast Live Clickbait
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<span style="font-size: small;">Life online can be something of an obstacle course – I
know what I want, I’ve found the right web-page, and now all I have
to do is dodge the adverts, the animated gifs, the sly popup windows,
and then, just when I think I’m there: <i>clickbait</i>.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi88XicIXO4gISug7x8eWZGiavwn2i3-ceUhh_UGuZDyi7HDlu33Iof1T871t3AIcn33a0Vl4r5gPEJBY66oGNIv253abBSM9j2s4s0_4FkBQlt1Br23_fZs5oli_olBSuraSrGXwyuGdBJ/s1600/Hot+Chick+Horus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="594" data-original-width="566" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi88XicIXO4gISug7x8eWZGiavwn2i3-ceUhh_UGuZDyi7HDlu33Iof1T871t3AIcn33a0Vl4r5gPEJBY66oGNIv253abBSM9j2s4s0_4FkBQlt1Br23_fZs5oli_olBSuraSrGXwyuGdBJ/s320/Hot+Chick+Horus.jpg" width="304" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Three Ways To Get Your Hands On A Hot Chick</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;">Not </span><i style="text-indent: 1.27cm;">interesting</i><span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;"> clickbait, not something I want
to look at, but clumsy coarse rubbish on the menu. A digital dietary
option that I know will be high in polyunsaturated facts. I know it’s
digital junk-food because it follows the standard form that says
</span><i style="text-indent: 1.27cm;">clickbait, but eat me anyway</i><span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;">.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It’s a pattern and in a moment of former-programmer
irritation I started designing a search formula to automatically
track and net cheap clickbait. So, the underlying design of the
clickbait headline goes something like this:</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcy5MvyLCm7exnAf0P0Eqcq_79VtuJK-TOjG1Xft7cdgGnQDyuq5cppi6H8aVePn1hGriqA9aR9UuMzmsWcx45ynod29oO_HWG7XC10BE8OUuezJcM0sSBvNhhLiM0pB_ZW1NYE3Z1ru-/s1600/ginge+on+a+gate+post.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="486" data-original-width="680" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcy5MvyLCm7exnAf0P0Eqcq_79VtuJK-TOjG1Xft7cdgGnQDyuq5cppi6H8aVePn1hGriqA9aR9UuMzmsWcx45ynod29oO_HWG7XC10BE8OUuezJcM0sSBvNhhLiM0pB_ZW1NYE3Z1ru-/s320/ginge+on+a+gate+post.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seven Foolproof Ways To Talk To Cute Redheads</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="__DdeLink__22_9015716072"></a>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">1: </span><i>Five</i>
Great Ways to Roast Live Clickbait</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">First there’s a number, certainly greater than <i>one</i>,
generally more than <i>two.</i> Really, <i>three</i> is a good basic
starter, <i>four</i> if absolutely necessary, whilst five is a
perfect choice. Going on upwards, six through nine are bearable, ten
is another perfect number, eleven just wrong and twelve has such a
deep resonance that it’s beyond perfect. Thirteen is an absolutely
no-no, unless this is Halloween clickbait – thirteen ways to
pretend there’s no-one home when the trick-or-treat mob arrives.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="__DdeLink__22_90157160721"></a>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">2: Five</span> <i>Great
Ways</i> to Roast Live Clickbait</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Secondly there is a standard tag such as <i>things</i>
or <i>ways</i>, perhaps something more adventurous like <i>styles</i>
or <i>destinations</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, ideally
augmented with a well-chosen modifier like </span><i>perfect</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
or </span><i>great. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">Now the
pattern is coming together – </span><i>five great ways...</i></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="__DdeLink__22_90157160722"></a>
<span style="font-size: small;">3:<span style="font-style: normal;"> Five</span> Great
Ways <i>to Roast </i>Live Clickbait</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="__DdeLink__22_9015716071"></a>
<span style="font-size: small;">Thirdly there is a basic grammatical link like <i>to</i>
or <i>for</i>, leading into the necessary verb, which can be just
about anything, but again there are some stock favourites like <i>get</i>
or <i>make,</i> perhaps <i>find</i> or <i>save,</i> but I’m going
to go with something a bit more punchy: <i>roast.</i> Five Great
Ways to <i>Roast</i> Live Clickbait – Yes, bland is fine for the
clickbait pattern, but for the wildest, most dishonest clickbait the
verb wants a bit more <i>pop.</i> You can probably do a search for it
along the lines of ten ways to make your clickbait sparkle.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="__DdeLink__22_90157160723"></a>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">4: Five</span> Great
Ways to Roast <i>Live Clickbait</i></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Finally, you need that eye-catching topic. It can be
anything from a single word to a detailed phrase, but shorter is
better, and there are clear winners to choose from. Number one is
sex. So, twelve rules for perfect sex – clickbait dream. Money is
another good one, five ways to be a millionaire. Just feel that mouse
movement. And then food, clothes, cars... really, it doesn’t
matter, just so long as it gets attention.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt9PS5pV47nHrnDKEUDB7-sVuDxWzDQK7DWweB78nAWUdqPO1wovRGKsU5dF-ua06fcwFKBI7Kujkjuhzq85ux-TkIspfPc_ej0v62MTJpzal21MXlD7-nv4bXDhBXQ1K0Xm85u9RkmgoL/s1600/Thug+waiting+for+the+next+contestant_sm+copyright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="598" data-original-width="934" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt9PS5pV47nHrnDKEUDB7-sVuDxWzDQK7DWweB78nAWUdqPO1wovRGKsU5dF-ua06fcwFKBI7Kujkjuhzq85ux-TkIspfPc_ej0v62MTJpzal21MXlD7-nv4bXDhBXQ1K0Xm85u9RkmgoL/s320/Thug+waiting+for+the+next+contestant_sm+copyright.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nope. Not buying it.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So, there you have it, Five Great Ways to Roast Live
Clickbait.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Of course, when you click the link, the destination
page probably barely mentions clickbait, certainly not live
clickbait, and might not bother to offer the promised <i>five</i>
distinct points. You can forget learning how to roast, boil or fry
it, or not until you’ve clicked past a dozen pages crammed with
adverts, because that is the point. After all, full-fat fried, or
lean and roasted, the clickbait is only there to expose you to
advertising. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">By the way, would you like to buy my book?</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Or a handy aerosol pesticide, guaranteed to kill one
hundred percent of all clickbait. Only four-nintety-nine a bottle.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I could offer you a link to Thirteen Ways To Permanently
Eradicate Clickbait, but it would be a total sham. There’s a reason
for that pattern – it works. Even when you recognise it, clickbait
is like chocolate cake – you know it’s bad for you, it can be
resisted, but it takes an effort of will. Let’s face it, long
before the internet was at the end of a list of Ten Really Useful
Applications For Computers, newspapers and magazines had been drawing
in readers with a promise of Ten Ways To Have A Bigger (insert
sex-related term here).</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">By the way, did I mention buying my book? Five Killer
Runes to Save You From the Demons as you read <a href="http://relinks.me/B01N94VXBC" target="_blank">Hell of a Deal</a>.</span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-12231799511978635612018-09-30T08:16:00.000-07:002018-09-30T08:16:24.523-07:00Second Best
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<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 1.02cm; orphans: 2; page-break-inside: avoid; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Everyone wants to be the best, supposedly, but so far as
I can see our Alpha Male cockerel is very content to be <i>second</i>
best in some things. It’s a very precarious position once you’ve
<a href="http://writeedge.blogspot.com/2014/02/reached-top-butch-and-you.html" target="_blank">Reached theTop</a>.
After taking the position from Party Pants, Neo has been top cock for
a couple of years now, with no-one to challenge him until recently.
Earlier this year we hatched some chicks – known at the time as the
Fast Food Five – who turned out to be four hens, and the one we now
call Spotty Cock. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 1.02cm; orphans: 2; page-break-inside: avoid; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkiawiteOyjb1SJeIIuUCXwXM__tgCx_M-X8AxplvG1XPASZ_v8stzM9PxXPzzOKUd8_ngBx9zqdGtIH357MSjX-3jA90-uZ27DjVVFMk9K-t8g_8E7coeoXEgEoRJudeH_jrpFey46S5e/s1600/Neo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="727" data-original-width="540" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkiawiteOyjb1SJeIIuUCXwXM__tgCx_M-X8AxplvG1XPASZ_v8stzM9PxXPzzOKUd8_ngBx9zqdGtIH357MSjX-3jA90-uZ27DjVVFMk9K-t8g_8E7coeoXEgEoRJudeH_jrpFey46S5e/s320/Neo.jpg" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm in charge, right?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So, Neo has competition.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Spotty, being young and testosterone super-charged, is
courting the hens. Neo, being a perfectly normal
testosterone-powered psycho, wants to keep them all for himself. This
is all perfectly standard – new guy comes along, some of the girls
fancy a change, established guy kicks the proverbial out of the
newcomer on a regular basis. New guy eventually figures out how to
hang out with the girls somewhere established guy can’t see. </span>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigbrZM_Ho64JaHKFqLMsLReLBmmRbGzNrUUnk6pqy065WYwjaOTjzYGssUU-Fk9mH3SAWp-8bstVjo-YsLedHLqIbWzOg3u-RCZyk1ozcmKoR8Kir4MfKUdChHLqNeGA5IiuE-3NQHcAgP/s1600/Spotty+Cock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="646" data-original-width="578" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigbrZM_Ho64JaHKFqLMsLReLBmmRbGzNrUUnk6pqy065WYwjaOTjzYGssUU-Fk9mH3SAWp-8bstVjo-YsLedHLqIbWzOg3u-RCZyk1ozcmKoR8Kir4MfKUdChHLqNeGA5IiuE-3NQHcAgP/s400/Spotty+Cock.jpg" width="357" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm younger, faster and have more testosterone...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Fortunately, Spotty has learned the all important skill
of <a href="http://writeedge.blogspot.com/2017/03/run-away-run-away.html" target="_blank">Run Away</a>. Not
only has he learned it, but he keeps in regular training and has
proved that he is the fastest cock on the farm. Even though it’s
only a two-bird competition, being the fastest means no blood-shed,
because when two cockerels decide to fight it out, there is blood
everywhere.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Now it seems to me that although Neo is now a mature guy
of over two years old, it’s not that long since he was practising
the fine art of being the fastest cock on the farm, keeping out of
reach of his predecessor, Party Pants. Of course, the day came when
Neo decided not to run, had it out with Party Pants, and became Top
Cock in a significant blood-bath. At the time, my first thought was a
fox attack but, as is so often the case, it was just another round of
chicken-on-chicken violence. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Maybe I’m misreading it, but Neo is still fast,
probably more than capable of catching Spotty and putting him in his
place. There are certainly occasions where the chase results in
Spotty being trapped in a corner, because no matter how fast his legs
are, Spotty is still a chicken and not terribly bright. Even then, Spotty <i>gets away</i>. So I’ve
become convinced that Neo is not really trying to catch him.
Somewhere deep in that intellectually challenged bird-brain is the
knowledge that Spotty is younger, faster and if forced to fight quite
possibly destined to be the new Top Cock.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It’s all a matter of perception. Provided Spotty keeps
running away, the status quo can remain. Neo is Top Cock, but the
second-fastest bird. Sometimes, second best really is the best thing
to be.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<br />
</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-91670165708300260452018-08-31T06:45:00.001-07:002018-08-31T06:45:18.542-07:00Take Another Lap
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<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">We’re well into Autumn now, because it started in
early August, but there are hints of better weather for September,
which means the chance to sit outside and write. Of course, that
brings its own challenges, especially at lunch time.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">There are marauding chickens, they know what a plate is
for, and with a little effort can manage the vertical-launch to swipe
lunch. Having lost half a sandwich to chickens in the past, I am
wary, I keep an eye on them, but there’s only one of me, twenty of
them, and their hunting strategy evolves. I’m not sure if the
latest trick is a diversionary tactic, or just wearing me down.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr0rN_2huigOYSe2WhnmZjcg__qbyIKPOUafgRru2ph4U8VGEAUc8XDjAlAcIHBtwUoyBzFGR0a_Zm238cgcx-fCoYx1EO2e2Jbot92uIultLIv-BquAhDnYV8sXWFtifkXO5_7s1RG1h2/s1600/Spotty+Cock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="646" data-original-width="578" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr0rN_2huigOYSe2WhnmZjcg__qbyIKPOUafgRru2ph4U8VGEAUc8XDjAlAcIHBtwUoyBzFGR0a_Zm238cgcx-fCoYx1EO2e2Jbot92uIultLIv-BquAhDnYV8sXWFtifkXO5_7s1RG1h2/s320/Spotty+Cock.jpg" width="286" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cock-a-doodle-BOO!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">We have two cockerels, and the younger of them has
taken to standing behind my chair and delivering his best, most
deafening cock-a-doodle-ahhh! I know it’s supposed to be a ‘do’
on the end there, but he’s young and hasn’t had enough practice.
Neo, the senior bird, does a serious
cock-a-doodle-dooooooooooooooooo! The way he strains to get every
last bit of breath into that finale makes it look like he’s the one
laying the eggs, not the hens. Either way, it’s three strikes and
then I throw something light enough to do no harm, but change the
lyrics to cock-a-doodle-EEEEK.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Naturally, it’s a conspiracy, because the cats also
get involved. It does happen that I get sat on when I’m working
inside the house, but for some reason being out in the sun makes me a
far more attractive target. My best explanation is that if I’m
guarding my lunch from chickens, that improves the chances for a cat,
specifically Piper, to swipe something tasty.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5aEJ40qO6xIv-XYSbCEI5d9whgqeSbm7FR90d2PSNkmIDuVrJYG7v00YgfqKwGm_xr-PvEhhSE1Q0R3ndXkRnFJ0oxrBHrbn4sDWl64UfETH4TnkVijMrQs1O02gnGBVxeEyANo00UVpv/s1600/Are+these+my+size.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="617" data-original-width="662" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5aEJ40qO6xIv-XYSbCEI5d9whgqeSbm7FR90d2PSNkmIDuVrJYG7v00YgfqKwGm_xr-PvEhhSE1Q0R3ndXkRnFJ0oxrBHrbn4sDWl64UfETH4TnkVijMrQs1O02gnGBVxeEyANo00UVpv/s320/Are+these+my+size.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm not sure these are my size</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The thing is, Oatmeal often hangs around his people when
they are sitting outside. His preferred spot is under the chair, or
on our feet, because whilst he has many fine and adorable qualities
Oatmeal is not an agile or athletic cat. He <i>can</i> jump, but not
very high and not reliably. The essential pain-avoidance activity is
to watch him and, when he does make the lap-leap, give him a boost up
because the alternative is to have claws latch into your leg as
nearly seven kilos of cat finishes the jump with a climb.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFmaJ1URc3VtHlJjnOzqgzBXg8LOg-lqaXl8M2oX-L1z6hHdHl33JIGuvJDLIYHjUGscE4m5GVYibNw7MlRolDJQ0vh9SpH-VIKsTI0ebD12cbc-PtzMLeY3B2kNXmLDquXgD_7m1reDb5/s1600/I+can+wait+all+day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="749" data-original-width="624" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFmaJ1URc3VtHlJjnOzqgzBXg8LOg-lqaXl8M2oX-L1z6hHdHl33JIGuvJDLIYHjUGscE4m5GVYibNw7MlRolDJQ0vh9SpH-VIKsTI0ebD12cbc-PtzMLeY3B2kNXmLDquXgD_7m1reDb5/s320/I+can+wait+all+day.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Give it up, Two-legs - I can wait all day and this laptop is warm.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="tw-target-text"></a>
<span style="font-size: small;">Piper, on the other lap, launches and <i>almost</i>
floats up. I say almost, because little Ginge is the one who really
floats up, but she’s not much of a one for stealing my lunch.
Piper is. Piper arrives, plants his six and half kilos on my lap, or
on the laptop, and then goes reaching for lunch. It doesn’t matter
whether or not the plate carries anything that Piper actually likes –
it’s the principle of the thing. Supposedly this is a case of <span lang="zxx"><i>mi
comida es su comida</i></span>, but since neither I nor the cat speak
Spanish, it’s anyone’s guess.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The only solution is to show him the plate, make it
clear that neither bread nor fruit is for cats, and hope he doesn’t
notice the cheese. And hope he doesn’t sneeze.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I like sitting outside to write, but I have to be alert
and remember the golden rule: the cat is like an Olympic runner in
training – he can always take another lap.</span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-38611784565228376912018-07-22T03:36:00.000-07:002018-07-22T03:36:07.889-07:00And Swallow
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<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Piper, six-and-a-half kilos of ex-feral tom, has a bird
problem. He’s been stalking swallows, by hanging out close to a
nest, and now the swallows are fighting back. Poor Piper got spooked
and abandoned the hunt when they started dive-bombing his ears. Now
he just runs for cover. It <i>was</i> very funny, until the little
feathered devils started doing it to me.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The nest (one of many around the farm) is tucked up
under the eaves of the old stables, just outside the door of the old
tack room where we keep the geese over night. Before the eggs
hatched, I would get the sudden flick and flap above my head every
time I walked underneath and a swallow took off, nought to whatever
crazy speed they reach in seconds. Now that they have hatched, the
parents zoom in, feed and zoom back out.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcuQT-N55lnc0hZcycDJT6pQbe0j8agy33Vnh6VxlZ5U47XYaOmvtRgYbtCh-5Og2_Gf2xzwJxBckhaLDvDInZH0ohwV878hLCCop5iPalLfZbaXKZjzO0K2l8afdpY7vIDtz8us79YBQw/s1600/swal1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="586" data-original-width="670" height="348" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcuQT-N55lnc0hZcycDJT6pQbe0j8agy33Vnh6VxlZ5U47XYaOmvtRgYbtCh-5Og2_Gf2xzwJxBckhaLDvDInZH0ohwV878hLCCop5iPalLfZbaXKZjzO0K2l8afdpY7vIDtz8us79YBQw/s400/swal1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">They are busy little birds – we have photos from about
two weeks back, taken from inside the tack room. The parents came in
and attended to the lone, wide beak just poking up above the edge of
the nest. Back then they lingered long enough to get pictures. A
week ago there was no time to waste – in and gone again in two or
three seconds.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj54JqIQnlBEluXp5MP6rKN1xOKXIPRWfSTIwt2Nev_l4KSJ-62ljYBO8LDDTIst6yJdD6QSjApgLhTzIJgu_pAP0QDtG-twPtdUDK_yeXIAc-VgRSHqm-EG7dhd3X_3tbsTJaIGJ15Up3a/s1600/swal4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="475" data-original-width="817" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj54JqIQnlBEluXp5MP6rKN1xOKXIPRWfSTIwt2Nev_l4KSJ-62ljYBO8LDDTIst6yJdD6QSjApgLhTzIJgu_pAP0QDtG-twPtdUDK_yeXIAc-VgRSHqm-EG7dhd3X_3tbsTJaIGJ15Up3a/s400/swal4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The pattern is relentless. In, feed, out – unless I’m
too close. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I’ve watched the incoming flight pattern. The adult
bird comes in from the field, straight along the yard, turns sharply
a quarter of the way along, takes a long loop over the house, and
then ducks under the stable block eaves and into the nest. However,
if I happen to be standing near the nest location, they keep doing
that lazy loop over the house, coming back, turning again just above
my head. Every one of those jinks is a sharp snap by my ear and a
furious cheep, before they race off for another run.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">As I said, it was very funny when it happened to Piper,
but I’m not laughing now. It’s like someone clapping in my ear
every five seconds, accompanied by shrill screams of outrage.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">That one lone beak was also misleading – it just
happened to be the only one visible. The current best estimate, now
that the youngsters are bigger, is four, and as they grow the adults
are getting more aggressive in explaining to me that this is their
patch now. It’s understandable, I suppose – two busy parents,
stressed out by the price of grubs and insects these days, and four
beaks to feed.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Last week, I just happened to pause in the stableyard,
staring out over the field beyond, and a swallow came in just over
the gate, aiming for me at face-level. It <i>did</i> miss me,
flicking aside at the last moment, but it all happened so fast that I
had no time to duck. I don’t know how fast a swallow flies (African
or European) but it covered the five meters from the gate in a blink.
Looking at the nest, I’m sure the pressure is really on now –
those youngsters are getting big, their down almost entirely replaced
with feathers, so the big day must be coming and the food demands
reaching a peak.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The harassment is also multiplied. At times there were
at least four adult swallows strafing the yard and I suspect that
some of these are stroppy teenagers from an earlier hatching. We know
that there’s been at least one previous set this year, because they
built the nest in the rafters of the corner box where the chickens
hang out. We had to leave the door open until after dark so that the
swallows could finish their day’s feeding.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjizMNSfSb2nt30D_EoLBuyoa0TgGcbxaqRfr2izvHB7FBwmOdnRG6B6KG2-Yjsi1lG0cWNWz-Q1vZGReifbf2ki_VlNVd4_Tyn9KaSigQSrC4V-bmsfbGJptWooaB9UhRK_wrQoCDDtNzr/s1600/swal2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="424" data-original-width="687" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjizMNSfSb2nt30D_EoLBuyoa0TgGcbxaqRfr2izvHB7FBwmOdnRG6B6KG2-Yjsi1lG0cWNWz-Q1vZGReifbf2ki_VlNVd4_Tyn9KaSigQSrC4V-bmsfbGJptWooaB9UhRK_wrQoCDDtNzr/s400/swal2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It’s not just Piper and myself getting harassed. My
partner saw a half dozen swallows mobbing a buzzard until it
retreated, and more recently a falcon coming in low and fast across
the paddock, chased into the tree-line by three swallows on its tail.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Now the yard can return to peace and quiet. Over the
last few days, the number of chicks visible in the nest has dropped.
It’s tricky to keep count as all we can go by is the beaks or tails
sticking out over the edge of the nest. As of yesterday, we are
pretty sure that the last of them has finally flown the nest. </span>
</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgX53uNGs93rb7qqMcnjDWimkhwoE0LfUA7nSguj7XwrAUuP3Rwu8K0AOQxOtYy6SNNATJ0rlwP9nzdimMazXRZYke0DVxr-sE92ffx8EqcMAKzm22LE7NK6kKE0P6BE2NRPjiMkVx2TqK/s1600/swal3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="504" data-original-width="849" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgX53uNGs93rb7qqMcnjDWimkhwoE0LfUA7nSguj7XwrAUuP3Rwu8K0AOQxOtYy6SNNATJ0rlwP9nzdimMazXRZYke0DVxr-sE92ffx8EqcMAKzm22LE7NK6kKE0P6BE2NRPjiMkVx2TqK/s400/swal3.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">However, according to Google, there’s time for them to
raise another batch before the autumn migration. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Gulp.</span></div>
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<br />
</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-20443757178911852862018-06-17T13:25:00.005-07:002018-06-17T13:25:52.053-07:00A Bit Of A Flap
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<span style="font-size: small;">Thug, aka The Purring Death, has settled into a routine
of sorts – turn up, look hopeful, walk with me down to the car,
have something to eat (other than his gourmet preference of <i>other
cat</i>) and be driven home. Usually he comes for breakfast, but we
do get the occasional evening visit, but either way the key thing is
to take him home so that <i>our</i> cats can get out and about in
safety.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkO3vbMZPCfnbIpIUy7LlCk60C50yMsl0bLX1buPZmXnSBeEGSY1tbi6UlEAjbWxLnJFqM0knt_ZU_2MXAzlv1LHNTWxRVZmDA_GWo3-fsITNxSUkexzD_aVmmDP1DEmPn-wbHFYIVSYz1/s1600/I%2527m+watching+you.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="518" data-original-width="691" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkO3vbMZPCfnbIpIUy7LlCk60C50yMsl0bLX1buPZmXnSBeEGSY1tbi6UlEAjbWxLnJFqM0knt_ZU_2MXAzlv1LHNTWxRVZmDA_GWo3-fsITNxSUkexzD_aVmmDP1DEmPn-wbHFYIVSYz1/s400/I%2527m+watching+you.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I can see you in there</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">There is still a single, small window we leave open for
Ginge, but that’s fine because she is the only one small and agile
enough to use it. Piper sometimes jumps up from the inside and
stares at the outside, then he gets back down again, because the drop
is awkward, and a long way down for a big cat.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So, imagine my surprise at finding Thug in the bedroom,
just as I was going to bed. I wouldn’t have noticed so soon, but
Ginge was very surprised and told <i>everyone</i> about it very
forcefully. I picked Thug up, put him outside, and performed the
routine – down to the van, something to eat (Ginge is not on the
menu) and drive him home. Fortunately, his owners are night-owls, so
there were people up and about to let him in.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">As a precaution, we shut that small window – Ginge can
use the cat-flap like everyone else. Or not. A small and insistent
ginger cat made it very clear that she likes her window open, likes
being able to pop outside for a pee, rather than, for instance,
digging a hole in the carpet behind a piece of furniture,
pretty-please, you know you want to do this my way.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Thug dropped by again the following <i>very wet</i>
evening, as we were going to bed. My partner spotted him first,
corralled the soggy moggy and I did the drive home. Then we looked at
the paw-prints. None on the window cill, nor anywhere close to the
window. In fact, there was a very clear trail <i>from the cat-flap</i>,
to the food bowl, and then onwards.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEupR5wH1OxMZMTQ95Woc0S6Xs82ebi_rxPN2cABTjPztpzsfA5LQOdb6WHLRhuENDyjVY3xW0gQFq0OWIj9Ykz0VWAlr2_j3rN8HLwV0DNdafnL-ZXNjLfYqP0OWdu0vyge9L6UMmqQ5D/s1600/So+I+press+here.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="440" data-original-width="525" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEupR5wH1OxMZMTQ95Woc0S6Xs82ebi_rxPN2cABTjPztpzsfA5LQOdb6WHLRhuENDyjVY3xW0gQFq0OWIj9Ykz0VWAlr2_j3rN8HLwV0DNdafnL-ZXNjLfYqP0OWdu0vyge9L6UMmqQ5D/s400/So+I+press+here.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I push here, right?</td></tr>
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<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Thug has made that dangerous leap of comprehension –
how to use a cat-flap. Once might be a fluke, but twice is the start
of routine. He dropped by on the third night, got spotted on the
final approach, and we locked the cat-flap. A large ginger nose gave
it a nudge, and then a proper shove, and then the sort of head-butt
that only a big ginger Thug can deliver. Fortunately the latch held.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The whole point of the cat-flap is ease and convenience
– the cats can get in and out without us having to hang around.
Yes, they will sit beside a shut door, with a perfectly serviceable
cat-flap, and wait for one of their people to open the door, but if
there’s no service staff around, they can still get in or out. As
now can Thug.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So, we have bought new cat-flaps – electronic ones
that only open for the designated micro-chips. The first one went in
the back door, and now Thug is puzzled. He knows they are supposed
to open, he can see the others go through, but it just doesn’t work
for him.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Not long before Thug discovered how to use cat-flaps, we
were about to put a new, extra-large one in the front door, mostly to
help our extra-large cat, Oatmeal. I had a new door panel made up,
hole cut, just waiting for a gap in some adverse weather to make the
change. Sadly, the new electronic cat-flap needs a different shape
and size of hole, so I had to re-do the panel.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Since the changes, Oatmeal and Piper have taken to
sleeping just inside the front door, perfectly positioned to watch
out for Thug through the new, clear plastic catflap. In reality what
happens is a big ginger face lurks outside and watches them sleep,
whilst wondering why the shiny new cat-food dispenser won’t open.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">We have won, for now. Thug is big and smart, but
hacking a microchip is beyond him. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Probably.</span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-89956158501994490312018-05-29T12:32:00.002-07:002018-05-29T12:50:20.091-07:00The Naked Sheep<style type="text/css">
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<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">One of the <i>key features</i> of our sheep is that they
shed their fleece naturally, so there is no need to shear them.
That’s the theory, anyway. Come spring, the stock fencing, the
gorse bushes, anything with a bit of rough texture picks up tufts of
fleece as the sheep brush up against them, or scratch the serious
itch that comes with the shedding. It mostly works. There’s really
just two issues...</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Firstly, some sheep opt out of the natural shedding
process, or only do half the job, which means we do have to do a
partial shearing when the weather warms up. Our oldest ewe, Cilla,
is an absolute devil for not shedding and her fleece develops into a
semi-rigid shell – a sheep-armadillo cross. Partly because of her
age, we only trim when the weather is really good, and by the time
that comes round I feel the urge to get out the angle grinder, just
to cut through that outer layer.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Cilla passed the trait on to her son, Softy. Perhaps if
he hadn’t had the snip, he would shed like a ram, but instead he is
an enormous wether in an armoured jacket. We did a partial trim
recently, because the weather suddenly got warm – not a full
shearing, just enough gaps so that the rest might unravel like a
knitted jumper with a pulled thread.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTWpJuI61UgzS5_rsi6qVD0zzhTpzzEfkY1WBABs3GJ2F9nL6uDqVgkBYzPEmEjT_tufTHg8BRfQBDweIQIQ_iZiaDqj1tw4l04lSo2hCApqFfggsHVZFNt5nJxyO2KTUMPlinYIDFi89c/s1600/Butch+as+a+mature+ram+with+a+missing+horn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="498" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTWpJuI61UgzS5_rsi6qVD0zzhTpzzEfkY1WBABs3GJ2F9nL6uDqVgkBYzPEmEjT_tufTHg8BRfQBDweIQIQ_iZiaDqj1tw4l04lSo2hCApqFfggsHVZFNt5nJxyO2KTUMPlinYIDFi89c/s400/Butch+as+a+mature+ram+with+a+missing+horn.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Butch, with a proper winter coat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Secondly, and most significant in late Winter, the rams
get in a bit of a hurry. Butch, our oldest ram, and his half-brother
Monk had already started shedding, just as the cold weather arrived
back in March. In winter, both have a dense fleece that keeps almost
everything out, and a very fine hairy chest wig to show what splendid
lads they are. (OK, in Butch’s case, a splendid older gentleman,
with half a horn missing and a spot of bother with his right knee.)
But just as the snow came, our woolly lads were looking a bit
moth-eaten.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBBQVMKzqDQ0FRcMd6fvrIIMabkwBhhwbCC-bNxz4r1Cjz9mEr2lA62BNAU89wwAnw-rtB9IMWt99n_pCC3pi4bTauGOGr9dOrrb1QsssYQtwhLINdweRz0slFLfSqkgX7S0dYoq1gyouO/s1600/butch+shedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="604" data-original-width="736" height="327" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBBQVMKzqDQ0FRcMd6fvrIIMabkwBhhwbCC-bNxz4r1Cjz9mEr2lA62BNAU89wwAnw-rtB9IMWt99n_pCC3pi4bTauGOGr9dOrrb1QsssYQtwhLINdweRz0slFLfSqkgX7S0dYoq1gyouO/s400/butch+shedding.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Butch getting scruffy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Just to clarify – this isn’t like a cat moulting,
swapping a thick, dense winter coat for a thinner, lighter summer
casual. When the sheep shed their wool, there’s a change in the
growth pattern – the fibres get thinner and more fragile near the
skin. The shedding process is not a light trim at the barber’s but
a skin-hugging buzz-cut. In the middle of this year’s round of
sharp easterly winds, freezing conditions and abrupt snow or hail,
Butch and Monk developed bald patches.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6ALrCtYCTPyu_MB560HzX0zmldq5uo9P05A_xlOrT7ewZkV-FI4uB4yc3jAn9afsbkMFzrq3LEwzyFp-thr2CNKpbGJEabrF15qU_Jxa89tJVDBoTYMdSdoniuq-qSkmYtZUtRZ1GkLF/s1600/monk+shedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="567" data-original-width="538" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg6ALrCtYCTPyu_MB560HzX0zmldq5uo9P05A_xlOrT7ewZkV-FI4uB4yc3jAn9afsbkMFzrq3LEwzyFp-thr2CNKpbGJEabrF15qU_Jxa89tJVDBoTYMdSdoniuq-qSkmYtZUtRZ1GkLF/s400/monk+shedding.jpg" width="378" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monk, just chilling, in patches</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It does all grow back, of course, but for the coldest
few weeks it got pretty chilly round their nethers. It’s not funny
being an ageing ram in skimpy underwear when the temperature drops.</span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-32140738856842060042018-04-17T09:40:00.003-07:002018-04-17T11:44:31.503-07:00Happy Old Sheep Day<style type="text/css">
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<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It’s more than twelve years since we moved here, and
nearly twelve years since we took on the Soay sheep. The number of
original members of the flock is diminishing and the oldest is a
black sheep called Cilla. And today is her birthday – seventeen.
This time next year she could vote, if she weren’t a sheep.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGOuuitB8QiiZtERVdI36bPMJp-SuHvMagnuSadka6L7NoJolOtBqzVf-oOPaI4v2Z9_rndePeBzs2PfemfCmyAnuqMhH3EXxDJy-h9RZ7-DFRSgIet7UANc7u8jtqTuB8dNFlUJi_oxMC/s1600/birthday+breakfast.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="694" data-original-width="533" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGOuuitB8QiiZtERVdI36bPMJp-SuHvMagnuSadka6L7NoJolOtBqzVf-oOPaI4v2Z9_rndePeBzs2PfemfCmyAnuqMhH3EXxDJy-h9RZ7-DFRSgIet7UANc7u8jtqTuB8dNFlUJi_oxMC/s400/birthday+breakfast.jpg" width="306" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The birthday breakfast today</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Ten years ago, our then-oldest sheep called Oakapple
was taken ill and couldn’t stand. The vet was quite amazed – she
so rarely heard such serious heart murmurs in sheep because they
don’t usually live that long. Despite everything the vet could do,
Oakapple died later that day, and she was a mere youngster compared
to her grand-daughter, Cilla. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Not only is she our oldest ewe and oldest ever ewe, but
also one of the most laid back. After our first lambing – eleven
years ago – we called her Aunty Cilla, because she was the
principal lamb-minder. The other ewes could go off grazing and Cilla
would potter along at her own pace, with the lambs, until the big
reunion and frantic scramble to match eager noses to the right udder.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCFkjZxqJApn4zc8llWpV9Gb-hU6WgTRXhX_8vdFYtIa75oTlxpaULQlUsbGB25yhE6L6z9Mdt84C37apA1v9nENRcR-MUBNIdxvAMu_s-Z4GfiWMqRkzH2HswbIITuMZxQ_7BFtbshwSA/s1600/Cilla+and+lambs2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="449" data-original-width="508" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCFkjZxqJApn4zc8llWpV9Gb-hU6WgTRXhX_8vdFYtIa75oTlxpaULQlUsbGB25yhE6L6z9Mdt84C37apA1v9nENRcR-MUBNIdxvAMu_s-Z4GfiWMqRkzH2HswbIITuMZxQ_7BFtbshwSA/s400/Cilla+and+lambs2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cilla with her lambs in 2008</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGiBBI1a_RdXdIKNm5xEaacGJpHFzxbwvM4id-kIUekFTCkdknNO-DUWYvTOfuH2JYyQQUcZ2sEegyc1LuXXjVRvUVCoXd7C06mf7RGkbDPYQqrU3GHpmFBIzKWqjBKSbOi3b1Ye1VAgGr/s1600/Cilla+and+lambs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="505" data-original-width="683" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGiBBI1a_RdXdIKNm5xEaacGJpHFzxbwvM4id-kIUekFTCkdknNO-DUWYvTOfuH2JYyQQUcZ2sEegyc1LuXXjVRvUVCoXd7C06mf7RGkbDPYQqrU3GHpmFBIzKWqjBKSbOi3b1Ye1VAgGr/s400/Cilla+and+lambs.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometimes having lambs gets on top of ewe</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Cilla has stared in <a href="http://writeedge.blogspot.com/2016/05/baby-be-mine.html" target="_blank">one of my earlier blogs</a>,
because even an ageing and laid-back sheep can make trouble when she
really puts her mind to it. At least two years running, at lambing
time, the great lamb-minder has decided that some of the new crop
must be hers.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8LMCkswmi1tperBIL_3xjkQhAFmSxTcgkto77pkP8xdbLGr2FeBYQ3gw-0VVqWU_68JrI3UF5ZI8bhiyNJdAp5lF8MiVz8i0vULHUcAmu02D4QJLp_TmvvEip4b-G8OuFQthRf-doQFB5/s1600/this-one-is-mine-s.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8LMCkswmi1tperBIL_3xjkQhAFmSxTcgkto77pkP8xdbLGr2FeBYQ3gw-0VVqWU_68JrI3UF5ZI8bhiyNJdAp5lF8MiVz8i0vULHUcAmu02D4QJLp_TmvvEip4b-G8OuFQthRf-doQFB5/s400/this-one-is-mine-s.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few year ago - Are you sure this one isn't mine?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;">Cilla also has the dubious honour of being the last of
the Ladies Wot Lurch – a group of four older ewes who took things
at their own pace and walked with a bit of a wobble. When we were
down to two, we renamed them the Baggages.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiov34s18FJhGnR5keHuR33Vyo72KjRtbFmukztUe3QMbQnPlifNlOfkiPWg1xtOUoeIItPhsyfUNNCjG3HsJj98g2MNhZeflLFWfqNluIQdEARuLWMpU-sNvq4o5wNv3FQgQ4WTHgyr7H2/s1600/sunbathing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="515" data-original-width="737" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiov34s18FJhGnR5keHuR33Vyo72KjRtbFmukztUe3QMbQnPlifNlOfkiPWg1xtOUoeIItPhsyfUNNCjG3HsJj98g2MNhZeflLFWfqNluIQdEARuLWMpU-sNvq4o5wNv3FQgQ4WTHgyr7H2/s400/sunbathing.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Catching a few rays</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Cilla now lives with three other ewes who are just
easing into middle-age because the rough and tumble of the main flock
is too much for her, and it’s the only way to be sure she gets
enough food. This time last year, we didn’t think she would make
it through the Summer, but now, perhaps she will be up for voting
next year.</span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-3585081687737815362018-03-03T08:46:00.001-08:002018-03-03T08:51:25.753-08:00Let It Snow?<style type="text/css">
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<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">No. Forget cheery Christmas songs, this is March. It’s
supposed to be Spring. Please make it stop snowing.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I know this imported Siberian weather has been around
for less than a week, but it feels like forever, and the snow just
makes it worse. A whole four days back I took advantage of the
sudden cold and <a href="http://writeedge.blogspot.com/2018/01/let-it-slide.html" target="_blank">moved hay bales</a>, ten to the trailer-load, because the
mud was solid and I could get traction. So, there’s an upside.
Just the one, mind you.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Jb-2M5V1BcSnAEnWbjsb_OrzguTOCRZE3ZKZnh0k4fvWufwZaW69OyRsC_S55U_JAcd93xpgdIHbGHIiocLYXp7t2ZrI36ED5ylitsimA28kCOhFSQv90GHS3VcKN8kuHk-sf3z9g_gB/s1600/EarlInTheSnow2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="518" data-original-width="691" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Jb-2M5V1BcSnAEnWbjsb_OrzguTOCRZE3ZKZnh0k4fvWufwZaW69OyRsC_S55U_JAcd93xpgdIHbGHIiocLYXp7t2ZrI36ED5ylitsimA28kCOhFSQv90GHS3VcKN8kuHk-sf3z9g_gB/s400/EarlInTheSnow2.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Earl enjoying his frozen food</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The downsides...</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The animals need water, the liquid stuff, not the
crunchy version that has suddenly become the default. The water
troughs froze, taps on the water tanks froze, the hoses to get water
from place to place froze. At least the sun was out. For two days, we
laid hoses out in the sun, lined up down the slope so that any ice
inside would melt and drain. Then the sun stopped coming out.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">By Thursday, a bucket of water would start to freeze
over within an hour. We now have an ice-cube graveyard, although
they’re not cubes but bucket-shaped cylinders of ice because it was
easiest to tip out the frozen and refill, adding a kettle-full of
boiling water to each and then carrying out across the fields. The
outside tap had to be defrosted by carefully dribbling hot water from
a kettle. The re-freeze time was five to ten minutes.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOjI55PcYTHHUWEiUKeWevh3z3IZEyHuSU_w6QwHNWf__lcdPk7a07G7JQvjGlt2dPyJoH3sKLh4mVCjA923X4w1jTX_L5rZ9o4AUkTYXgVVM8EoszHxjTtasJvBeTiE4EDkWul9YJo6bP/s1600/the+ice-mould+graveyard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="461" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOjI55PcYTHHUWEiUKeWevh3z3IZEyHuSU_w6QwHNWf__lcdPk7a07G7JQvjGlt2dPyJoH3sKLh4mVCjA923X4w1jTX_L5rZ9o4AUkTYXgVVM8EoszHxjTtasJvBeTiE4EDkWul9YJo6bP/s400/the+ice-mould+graveyard.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The start of the ice-mould graveyard</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Thursday afternoon, the snow arrived. Just as the first
scattering of flakes were coming down we drove over to the nearby
reservoir as we had been told the water was freezing on the shore.
By the time we got there it was frozen all the way across. We lasted
less than five minutes, taking photos, before the wind chill forced
us back into the car. The wind was driving fine dry snow over the
top of the spillway at the reservoir, and creating swirling fake-mist
along the road.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLx5JXT1hTYjCPlJjiaiAk2w2p_1hOsh9D47TgfLQ00vlaTCXGesd1HkRzicE3k3Qpc6wZPes6IP7VggsmuuD6yU_aXBWwR_p_oT3bKSk3AOrCXTyDLOTg-u-CXJQ8tosfizDSnDObJubL/s1600/The+ice+reservoir.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="461" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLx5JXT1hTYjCPlJjiaiAk2w2p_1hOsh9D47TgfLQ00vlaTCXGesd1HkRzicE3k3Qpc6wZPes6IP7VggsmuuD6yU_aXBWwR_p_oT3bKSk3AOrCXTyDLOTg-u-CXJQ8tosfizDSnDObJubL/s400/The+ice+reservoir.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The reservoir, viewing along the spillway</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Not a lot of snow settled at first – this was
horizontal snow, carried on the wind, keeping clear of the ground and
really just passing through as fast as it could. To look at, it was
barely snowing at all, but in those quiet corners where the wind
couldn’t scour it out, drifts built up quickly. At the end of the
greenhouse, where the hen Leopard Neck has her chicks, the snow was
up to knee height by the end of the day, and as fast as I could clear
it, the heap re-formed. I didn’t tell my partner I was taking a
shovel to feed the chicks.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzzzvq7e5QpptJqCdiuno-9jaD50SsfQfQfnlbqk8PK8wRJQNlryrEVTZQZE2qvRYrSWRxlFUSqin8hfN0sVA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;">Friday was better – still bitterly cold with a howling
easterly, but obviously warmer, because the outside tap remained
unfrozen for more than an hour. Even so, most of the day went on
carrying water out to the animals, and bringing back iced buckets to
empty out and refill, and maintained a supply of warmed feed for our
small group of elderly sheep.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The most striking thing about those two days was the
near-continuous commitment to feeding and watering the animals. The
<i>second</i> most striking thing was scraping the ice out of my
beard after every trip outside.<!-- Possibly add in near here somewhere:
Yesterday it didn't snow, but the wind blew, so most of the snow that fell on the neighbour's field came over to ours. We maintain our fields as more wild life reserve – clumps of reeds, tufts of native grasses, gorse bushes – so it all blew off next door but stuck with us rather than carrying on. So they have clean almost all green field, we still have melting snow drifts. With green in between. --></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqQcNR2DMJeOsGH41ShrSSvtTsDKY561IiCmWxiErwyGuigYosUzzTKDyt4ZnTJoxhG4B5xBp5BV3Y0E4OhUMgBfk-ize3XOSvL4Ur8R4qrlyzkiH6rYaGRNP-Ycq934CJcoaS8khRxRHr/s1600/You+gotta+be+kidding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="641" data-original-width="567" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqQcNR2DMJeOsGH41ShrSSvtTsDKY561IiCmWxiErwyGuigYosUzzTKDyt4ZnTJoxhG4B5xBp5BV3Y0E4OhUMgBfk-ize3XOSvL4Ur8R4qrlyzkiH6rYaGRNP-Ycq934CJcoaS8khRxRHr/s400/You+gotta+be+kidding.jpg" width="353" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piper thinking about going out - <i>you gotta be kidding me.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;">This morning (Saturday) when I first stepped out the air
felt still and <i>warm</i>. By the time I had done the first basic
round of checking on the animals the breeze was picking up. When I
stepped out again after breakfast, there was light rain falling. The
big freeze is over, the mud is emerging from under the snow as if it
has been in hibernation, and tufts of grass are poking up.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The normal Cornish winter has returned – warm, wet and
muddy. I’m sure I’ll be complaining about it in a day or two,
but for now <i>let it rain</i>.</span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-28303570338613171782018-02-18T12:03:00.001-08:002018-02-18T13:32:00.430-08:00Chick Lit<style type="text/css">
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<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">There are reasons to write about chicks <i>right</i>
<i>now</i>. Firstly, we had five hatched a fortnight back and they
are cute. Secondly, I have to get in quick and write fast. Chicks
don’t hang around long. Thirdly, we now have a sixth called
Twiglet, a surprise hatching that has not gone so well.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYsuWED3u4c-7JgtEw9GVMOVC0qS-QWDxVV5S1F_rnGPJKRPJChK0o-ZOxz8ldGNaGtnvsGl6E990-mx2CzKn_lIc5u2LlLlA0kzj2kFMlOf2qyLH75YoaQZ5IZq2ruK8JyBqsIiqk3_2/s1600/fresh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="435" data-original-width="371" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwYsuWED3u4c-7JgtEw9GVMOVC0qS-QWDxVV5S1F_rnGPJKRPJChK0o-ZOxz8ldGNaGtnvsGl6E990-mx2CzKn_lIc5u2LlLlA0kzj2kFMlOf2qyLH75YoaQZ5IZq2ruK8JyBqsIiqk3_2/s320/fresh.jpg" width="272" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Twiglet - chicken doesn't come much fresher than that</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">There is a special quality to chicks that I somehow
forget, and have to relearn every year – everything about them goes
from zero to fast in an eye-blink. Somewhere, in the small-print of
their DNA, is the need to do everything exponentially.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlIOUSaAu2nMd2KB10QOI4ClPTRk5gtFI7HHFCXkxSr2wOqK81M-R8MsYael1YECYgy9dsMf07mEA857I_dDemFSo_qKqJgedQrh5McmmtD7_OiG-Sr3piQulDa7PXQQgHZagmjMAFt6ib/s1600/chickens+for+lunch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="561" data-original-width="565" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlIOUSaAu2nMd2KB10QOI4ClPTRk5gtFI7HHFCXkxSr2wOqK81M-R8MsYael1YECYgy9dsMf07mEA857I_dDemFSo_qKqJgedQrh5McmmtD7_OiG-Sr3piQulDa7PXQQgHZagmjMAFt6ib/s320/chickens+for+lunch.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Fast Food Five</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Newly hatched, they toddle about and cheep frantically
if the enveloping warmth of Mum is gone for more than a few seconds.
At that time, it’s easy to pick them up, look them in the beak and
go <i>Ahhhh. Cute.</i> </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Now blink. They’re a few days old. They still cheep,
but toddle has become <i>zoom</i>. Catching them is still possible,
but it takes two, and a corner to herd them into, because all that
speed is delivered in <i>three</i> dimension. And zoom itself is
exponential – stationary to zipping between your fingers in an
eye-blink...</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwTOP-bGWgWj3GDdywbydXXq3GpOTOaSrqn4gG7i3duLfbc26Nfc2YozErhrgxfifkt0R48dINE_A1OACkjDg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
For the first day or two, they hardly eat anything. Then Mum introduces them to feed pellets, and they swallow a few. Now blink. A few days old, and pellets are sucked down, a whole can-full in a day. And then a can-and-a-half... and then, before you know it, the ongoing zoom demands a continual stoking. The only thing that stops them is a sudden collision with adulthood.</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwrkWeBFDDmtJjPyKsDh2N9Wk6zE7xONBuI5Qz2JYXPH0X6RlYxTDS2tKy9dPpmA7Wa-LQ4AmZSXOrtUkfo_A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Wait for me...</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I now have a routine established, get them up in the
morning, provide breakfast, then lunch, supper and put them to bed.
Over the next week or two, the number of meals will increase, but the
general routine stays the same. Except for yesterday morning when
there was a surprise waiting for me under a hopeless hen we call
Carnival.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Last year, she gave us the <a href="http://writeedge.blogspot.com/2017/08/a-brooding-look.html" target="_blank">Brooding Look</a>, aggressively
sat some eggs and failed to hatch anything. In January, she did the
same, and then refused to stop being broody and took over a pair of
stray eggs. (It’s amazing how eggs can run off like that.) Much to
my surprise, when she came off the nest to eat yesterday morning,
there was a chick poking its beak out of a hole in one egg and going
<i>cheep</i> very loudly. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I picked it up, as you might, and realised that it was
in trouble. The whole hatching cycle had got hung up and the inner
membrane on the egg had dried out, making it too tough for the chick
to tear. I did the necessary, peeling off enough shell to get it
going and then had to hang around whilst Carnival ate breakfast.
That ought to have been a serious red flag – hatching, cheeping
chicks normally mean that the broody absolutely refuses to leave the
nest.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;">I went back after breakfast, just for a quick look, and
Twiglet had been ejected from the nest. I thought it was dead, but
when I picked it up there was a hint of movement in the legs, which
can just be a post-mortem spasm, but might just mean it was still
alive. On the off-chance, I cupped the chick in my hands and went to
tell my partner.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHLZ-GRMAYiLeP4b7HHR7pUOR2wVfd_6Juc-RfO38Tg184rE-sh6NPbu-_zqig0zFmUG__G3VlSjxSfEMlqOUkiq7zmRS72Nbrh3_6apdRUZtqQmJyz-xrutcepTLkGY7DHXPXlHKaEggw/s1600/notdead.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="257" data-original-width="334" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHLZ-GRMAYiLeP4b7HHR7pUOR2wVfd_6Juc-RfO38Tg184rE-sh6NPbu-_zqig0zFmUG__G3VlSjxSfEMlqOUkiq7zmRS72Nbrh3_6apdRUZtqQmJyz-xrutcepTLkGY7DHXPXlHKaEggw/s320/notdead.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Twiglet, an hour old and in trouble</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;">There is a routine for this as well. When we used to
raise geese, the goslings were hell-bent on suicide from the moment
they hatched, escaping from under the goose, wandering from the nest
and then getting cold until they died. However, just like all those
crime dramas with a frozen body, they’re not dead until they’re
</span><i style="text-indent: 1.27cm;">warm</i><span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;"> and dead. With goslings, which are chunky and robust, we
used to sit on the sofa and stuff them down inside our jumpers; for
the chick it was time for a box with a hot-water bottle wrapped in a
towel.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQjBZCpYdvRUoyvHoofxJl4RYKab8b7Pp84IghVxDpoV3LF0lY3AYR1D4fBKyQyLk8NwFPhh5L6DXUKRNhyphenhyphen-43QIeuuDaxIHCCAcKNCKw_d7K36Oq81PUbRkJuNoMAG7UU7PWJ5qTTePdl/s1600/twiglet_alive_and_well.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="189" data-original-width="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQjBZCpYdvRUoyvHoofxJl4RYKab8b7Pp84IghVxDpoV3LF0lY3AYR1D4fBKyQyLk8NwFPhh5L6DXUKRNhyphenhyphen-43QIeuuDaxIHCCAcKNCKw_d7K36Oq81PUbRkJuNoMAG7UU7PWJ5qTTePdl/s1600/twiglet_alive_and_well.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mummy, what small feathers you have</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">By the time the kettle was hot and a suitable box picked
out, Twiglet was already warmed up enough just by my hands to be
kicking. After half an hour nestled down in the box, there was
indignant cheeping, and after another half hour, silence – the
sound effects sequence for the transition from almost-dead to
alive-but-it’s-chilly-here to warm-and-cosy.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwxOZbXBzxUi6e5tRpnW_7_QAlGhL28qRZXMjvNhEQ_UBkpEg73fmr3sXAZgKis0-9HZZypIsOaVhOddzS58g' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">That’s the easy bit. Now we have a box set up in the
bathroom (showers will be tricky for the next week or two) with a
heat lamp to keep Twiglet warm. There’s no guarantees, but it's
alive, and it’s kicking, so there is a fair chance. If only we
could trust Carnival to look after it.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">There. I’ve written about chicks. Now it’s time to
feed them again.</span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-58905741654916344892018-02-01T07:34:00.000-08:002018-02-01T07:42:01.979-08:00Cheep And Cheerful<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Tuesday</b></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I took a final round of the chicken shed on Tuesday
evening. 17:45 Cornish Foggy Time. Strictly, it might not have been
fog – we get a certain amount of meteorological identity theft
here. Big, lazy clouds that have hung around over the moor drift our
way and can’t be bothered to keep above eight hundred feet. It
doesn’t matter – fog or cloud, after dark the chickens are all
<i>quiet</i>. The perfect time to lift the lid on Leopard Neck’s
nest box and just listen.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Leopard Neck is a spotty hen, and the second to be given
the name. Unlike many of our hen names, it still makes sense,
because she has mottled neck feathers. We have another hen called
Dark Penguin who looks nothing like a penguin, except for the first
couple weeks when she was a black bundle of fluff with a white bib.
Now she’s a mottled brown hen with attitude. So Leopard Neck, in
the box, doing the low growling rattle that says <i>go away, I’m
broody.</i> </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">On Tuesday morning, Leopard Neck came out and did the
usual broody hen routine, grab whatever food she could, make loud
clucking noises, and drop a breath-stopping pile of poo, before
rushing back to sit on her eggs. A mere nine hours later, in the
evening, in the dark, I heard <i>cheeping</i>. There was no way to
tell how many voices, but this was perfect timing, spot on the
notional twenty-one days for hen’s eggs to hatch.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Wednesday</b></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">On Wednesday morning, we went to take a proper look.
Hatching time is a bit of a balancing act – the hen and chicks know
what they’re doing, so it’s best not to interfere. On the other
hand, things do go wrong – an egg in the wrong position, or caught
up inside the empty shell from an early-starter. So, I reached under
and pulled out each egg for inspection, and disposed of the empties.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">As of 09:30 Cornish Rainy Time we knew that at least two
had hatched, that another had made the first break in the shell, and
that one of the chicks was pale yellow. Then it was time to walk away
and leave them to it. </span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSFp-b_GTyzveor-ts6VEdxonw8VQHa7nMJ1cyx8pCeQBbKrhrMCZ-rieYXwUna9lrs3W8SjfPrCBFzuShUTi3JxPv7O1fjWwxlgYBc4e2LEMU0X29MPuYVvDLMgm_QWr74bxQ7jcEC618/s1600/tweet1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="462" data-original-width="539" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSFp-b_GTyzveor-ts6VEdxonw8VQHa7nMJ1cyx8pCeQBbKrhrMCZ-rieYXwUna9lrs3W8SjfPrCBFzuShUTi3JxPv7O1fjWwxlgYBc4e2LEMU0X29MPuYVvDLMgm_QWr74bxQ7jcEC618/s400/tweet1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's too early in the morning for a photo-call</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Mid-afternoon, we went back to check progress once more
and Leopard Neck grumbled something which loosely translates as <i>go
away</i>. Instead, I had another reach under and removed more
empties. It turns out that as of 16:00 Cornish Hail Time, we had
five out of eight hatched, and they were <i>cute</i>. </span>
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxFORkjIzj6NomUi8JxoIotyiIuPn1YwU5TWXoJaNep5Z3Vb4wrr1CVi3lrfntp6umICMPew-MLjtRI4KEsTIyPNLoQtf1MJxO385ere4sbPytgcopEb55-HaMTf9KwuFrM6UEPPbBVUW/s1600/chicks1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="838" data-original-width="550" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxFORkjIzj6NomUi8JxoIotyiIuPn1YwU5TWXoJaNep5Z3Vb4wrr1CVi3lrfntp6umICMPew-MLjtRI4KEsTIyPNLoQtf1MJxO385ere4sbPytgcopEb55-HaMTf9KwuFrM6UEPPbBVUW/s400/chicks1.jpg" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Is anyone else still under there?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">OK, that’s not really news. Chicks are always cute.
Just like lambs, goslings... in fact pretty much anything newly born
around the farm is cute. So it’s not news – just enjoy the cute,
the sense of the new year really getting started.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Thursday</b></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">In the dim and distant past – at least four years ago
– we would open the nest box and let Leopard Neck get on with the
business of leading her chicks out to explore the world. These days
we have young, vigorous hunting cats always on the look-out for a
<a href="http://writeedge.blogspot.com/2014/08/bite-sized-chicken-pieces.html" target="_blank">bite-sized chicken nugget</a>. So, rather than the outside world, they
get the greenhouse and a fresh nest box, just until the chicks know
how to keep up with Mum.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It’s easy enough to do. Catch the chicks one by one
and put them in a big flower pot. (Give it another day or two and
they would be too fast.) Then pick up a very grumpy broody hen and
carry the whole set round to the greenhouse to decant into the new
nest box. </span>
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb78J4h6SscYcF-LfbIevNbpujkw2qLdXO85_2Jnnyhs8AUJ8aupVz8BZYVAVXx4dj5m7sOMEFT4yu8zGFSKE7f1CMI1gyxn0BsH4M69_eE5HZJ7ycoaQZIkM_04KkKm9Ik5eN9PJ4c8kr/s1600/round.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="462" data-original-width="600" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb78J4h6SscYcF-LfbIevNbpujkw2qLdXO85_2Jnnyhs8AUJ8aupVz8BZYVAVXx4dj5m7sOMEFT4yu8zGFSKE7f1CMI1gyxn0BsH4M69_eE5HZJ7ycoaQZIkM_04KkKm9Ik5eN9PJ4c8kr/s400/round.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's going to be so much easier if we all go round the same way.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Job done. Hen and chicks in their new home. Stand back
and enjoy the cuteness.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX50xNDZTC8VWF2od7_D9g-5ydcwO4ucG5hrGaXqbK9EKQ5ZzxOTdfkwZR0b1fE7f0La1rHoGynvqNCXq8SXm8AAXVDQp4rRTO3BJCVxflt9OgOyeowXrNBNB4GZkJfxrOtjMKKX3jYvzw/s1600/New+home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="444" data-original-width="507" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX50xNDZTC8VWF2od7_D9g-5ydcwO4ucG5hrGaXqbK9EKQ5ZzxOTdfkwZR0b1fE7f0La1rHoGynvqNCXq8SXm8AAXVDQp4rRTO3BJCVxflt9OgOyeowXrNBNB4GZkJfxrOtjMKKX3jYvzw/s400/New+home.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, fine, but where is the en-suite?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<div lang="en-GB" style="break-before: auto; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.27cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">What could be better? It’s February today, the days
are getting longer, and our first chicks are hatched and doing well.
It’s enough to make anyone cheerful.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-91463204080066877762018-01-26T03:51:00.000-08:002018-01-26T03:51:13.968-08:00Let It Slide<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It’s January, the sheep are eating hay, and the supply
of bales out in the field shelter is getting low – still a few days
reserve, but I am about to be away for a couple of days and
re-stocking first would be a good idea. This is not a difficult task
– I just have to move ten bales from the main barn, one at a time,
onto the trailer, drive out to the field shelter, stack the bales
there and repeat. Easy. Then make a cup of tea, sit down and
exclaim the magic words, <i>Oh, my back</i>.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiGbrXsLNPQ6xV1C14GjgwnUqgqig2Ix6MTdLXyThM6t08KrkCpzdv2rMyhIdUV02PZg6NHcLdbVY1MeNkWFiQtXR9w_Pjle48WPHXhS1zMrCgMlnubhBNrfKsNLgMnops1k0RLzDInQtz/s1600/We+will+call+you+when+we+have+finished+the+first+course.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="443" data-original-width="592" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiGbrXsLNPQ6xV1C14GjgwnUqgqig2Ix6MTdLXyThM6t08KrkCpzdv2rMyhIdUV02PZg6NHcLdbVY1MeNkWFiQtXR9w_Pjle48WPHXhS1zMrCgMlnubhBNrfKsNLgMnops1k0RLzDInQtz/s400/We+will+call+you+when+we+have+finished+the+first+course.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We will call when we've done with the first course.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Easy stuff, apart from the mud. We have plenty of mud
at this time of year and the only thing that makes it manageable is
having the temperature drop below freezing and stay there. This
year, we are having a warm winter.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So, there’s a bit of mud at the open end of the barn,
not enough to cause trouble, unless I’m carrying a bale of hay.
Just step carefully. It’s a bit like Dancing on Ice, just a
different style, for different weather, and a totally different
impact if I get it wrong.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Between the barn and the field shelter... the ground
<i>looks</i> like grass. However, appearances are deceiving. It has
rained a lot here recently and just under a thin and fragile layer of
turf is mud, but not just any old mud. This is special, Cornish mud.
All the time the turf is intact, holding it in, the mud behaves like
a giant water bed, rippling softly beneath my feet, often so slowly
that I can barely feel it. Break the surface, and it can move
freely, with a texture akin to grease, a sticky super-lubricant that
can snare even an unwary tractor and suck it down to its doom...</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Where was I... right, trailer stacked, ATV warmed up,
just drive out to the field shelter, very slowly, in full four-wheel
drive, because the last thing I want is any wheel-spin to break
through that fragile turf. The ATV, naturally, has other ideas.
Yes, the steering is pointed <i>ahead</i>, but let’s just take a
little excursion over to the left... or maybe the right, and back to
the left. Whilst I had a general forward motion, the ATV slid from
side to side, forever hinting that at any moment it was going to
ignore the whole pointing <i>forwards thing</i>, and really explore
left or right just as far as it goes.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">At the last stage of the journey there really is a left
turn, down the slope to the shelter. I took that very, very slowly.
The brakes on the ATV are pretty good, provided the tyres can get a
grip, and provided that trailer of hay bales doesn't get ideas of its
own.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyPnN6dpZ4hEgqynkQLY-KWgCQL9m2y4Olz5-5QRgRSMb7w7V3dQ_yHDLZZEKIz0eih5doYQFo307xvDdYpDUA-4pItwdCNjPvz5HdtWXiZBf9macdUHEn-ollGxJSfJKBLJZ6Dhd9Opai/s1600/I+did+not+eat+it+all.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="573" data-original-width="616" height="370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyPnN6dpZ4hEgqynkQLY-KWgCQL9m2y4Olz5-5QRgRSMb7w7V3dQ_yHDLZZEKIz0eih5doYQFo307xvDdYpDUA-4pItwdCNjPvz5HdtWXiZBf9macdUHEn-ollGxJSfJKBLJZ6Dhd9Opai/s400/I+did+not+eat+it+all.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me? No! Eat it all? Hardly had a bite.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Finally, there is the ground outside the shelter,
thoroughly churned by the sheep. I have a very fine pair of Dunlop
All Terrain Footwear, aka Wellies, but like that ATV I just
successfully parked on a muddy slope, they have limitations. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The wellies have a good grip, but when the whole ground
under my feet moves, the wellies hold on to that and just slide with
it. There’s also the matter of <i>depth</i>. My size twelve
wellies come up to a bit below my knees, whilst in places the mud is
deep and liquid enough to reach <i>all the way</i> to my knees.
Perhaps in the future, wellies will have mud-seals at the top.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">According to Newton, what goes up, must come down, but
with the mud, what goes down does not necessarily come back up. With
the wellies, I use this ingenious auto-release safety device called a
<i>sock</i>. The welly plunges down into the mud, twisting and
turning through layers and pockets of varying density and then, as I
pull back, the sock smoothly detaches <i>and</i> protects my foot
from the wind as I balance on one leg to retrieve the lost welly.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Sometimes, the sock acts as an emergency All Terrain
Footwear, but rather less waterproof than the welly.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I moved hay. Just twenty bales. There’s only so much
slide I can handle before <i>oh, my back </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and
the need to wash my socks put an end to it</span>.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-64471853943793786022017-12-21T11:42:00.000-08:002017-12-21T12:09:48.231-08:00The Habit – Here, and Back Again<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The Ginger Yo-yo is in full rebound – Thug (The
Purring Death) is visiting us with the sort of determined persistence
that defies belief. Just at present, he drops by at least every two
or three days and we now have a morning routine where I open the back
door, look out and then report to my partner whether or not it's a
‘Thug Day’.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPecke55BXZOz0BFuEP_Ep4iPEHC7JXHATjZGAMtk0R3BeD20bkTXssrtTGdK8U0EOZCIpmnHhyphenhyphenpgQMgeQbExFfoc1syPEfj1WEtbmOVP2TcVnB03JMDDptmfg6MlkGKKrmeOnZhR6B4-V/s1600/tasty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="599" data-original-width="602" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPecke55BXZOz0BFuEP_Ep4iPEHC7JXHATjZGAMtk0R3BeD20bkTXssrtTGdK8U0EOZCIpmnHhyphenhyphenpgQMgeQbExFfoc1syPEfj1WEtbmOVP2TcVnB03JMDDptmfg6MlkGKKrmeOnZhR6B4-V/s320/tasty.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'll just have two fingers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">As I have mentioned before, <a href="https://writeedge.blogspot.co.uk/2017/01/the-full-facial.html" target="_blank">Thug is adoring and adorable</a>, and if that were the whole story he would be welcome to
stay as long as he wants. However, what really happens is that he
turns up, tells us what a poor, deprived moggy he is, tries to cadge
breakfast, demands extensive attention and then terrorises the other
cats.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">We have recently had Ginge refuse to come near the house
for several weeks after a bad encounter by the back door, and just
yesterday Oatmeal got rolled in the mud. Piper knows better - first
hint of Thug and he takes cover. Even if he mistakes Ginge for Thug
– it’s better to be embarrassed (again) rather than bitten on the
arse (again).</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsPeLqEjcs7MZceTOln7tqOaOfiac_M5EVnqrxpi-jQynLJVmNIBFV2JaSJlnsxsKBG3l-TQeToIPxkBqXnx9Gd4foGA6cb0VdHonvnqW6EmGp7h1B77uqBx7O0SqeJFWR9MvIsq1VKyZt/s1600/slowfood.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="656" data-original-width="573" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsPeLqEjcs7MZceTOln7tqOaOfiac_M5EVnqrxpi-jQynLJVmNIBFV2JaSJlnsxsKBG3l-TQeToIPxkBqXnx9Gd4foGA6cb0VdHonvnqW6EmGp7h1B77uqBx7O0SqeJFWR9MvIsq1VKyZt/s320/slowfood.jpg" width="279" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fast Food - some meal options are slow enough to catch<br />
(Piper, after a recent encounter and trip to the vet)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So, Thug turns up and menaces the other cats; in return,
I drive him home. You would think that sort of rejection (with <i>small</i>
meal option, because a tiny amount of bait is needed) would put him
off, but a day or two later he’s back again. Sometimes sooner.
Much sooner. The highlight of the sequence has to be a night-time
visit, around ten, when I drove him back down the hill. The
following morning, he was hanging around by the back door, looking
for breakfast – very wisely, all possible meal options were keeping
their ears down elsewhere. So, I drove him home... and then, that
evening, I drove him home <i>again</i>.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">That is the big and consistent theme with Thug visits –
<i>again</i>. So much <i>again</i> that it ought to be in capitals
and tattooed on his whiskers.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Thug has got into a habit of visiting, a persistent
habit that refuses to die. From chatting with his owners we have
even identified one occasion when he dropped by in the evening,
dodged being picked up and driven home, then walked home anyway for a
meal, and then walked back to be with us the following morning. If
Thug took up smoking, there would be a towering snow-drift of
cigarette butts with a contented ginger cat snoozing on top.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">His visits are such frequent events now that he has
grown accustomed to the taxi-ride and will follow me all the way
round the house and down to our van. We no longer have the frantic
struggle, or the sudden mad dash, none of the usual panic of the<i>
pet-cage response</i>. Being bundled up and driven home is just a
part of the routine – he still doesn’t approve of the ‘taken
home’ aspect, but is prepared to tolerate something that includes
those essential elements in his life, food and cuddles.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">His owners have tried variations on what time they let
him out, or let him in – Thug is a great one for wailing outside
the window at five in the morning because he’s hungry, or it’s
time for his next cuddle treatment. They have tried multiple
variations on when to keep him in, when to let him out, looking for
that sweet-spot combination where he stays down with them. It
doesn’t matter what they do, he still comes to see us. Today (so
that’s two days in a row) he arrived mid-morning. My partner met
him as she was feeding the sheep and he strolled back to the house
with her, in search of the usual light snack and personal attention.
I drove him home, because it gives our cats peace and quiet, and
makes rolling in the mud their choice, rather than Thug’s. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">For Thug it is not a matter of whether the journey or
the destination is more important, just that there is food and love
when he arrives. Or at least other cats to snack on.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Now, Christmas is coming. The season of good will to
all ginger moggies, the time when Thug tried to move in with us last
year, because it was too wild and noisy at home with friends, family
and their dogs visiting. In this season of giving, I currently make
a routine check under the trees (Christmas or not) for the presence
of the ginger gift of love and feline violence that just keeps
giving.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Remember, a cat is not just for Christmas, except
perhaps for Thug, who is more prepared to go home in January.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-26525875956569053542017-11-27T07:18:00.000-08:002017-11-27T07:19:54.337-08:00A Jump To The Left<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Some time back, I wrote about two of our rams (<a href="https://writeedge.blogspot.co.uk/2017/03/two-mega-nits-of-ram.html" target="_blank">TwoMega-Nits of Ram</a>)
getting their horns entangled like one of those party puzzles. Back
then, the first pass at fixing it was after dark after a five hour
drive. Funny how the same things come round.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyI0hJTA0v63RUnchz4KUxsivbDB5bU3mBUPXh-3m44pDPsiTeTpLk14BhmN1nmTAtb5tbX_sn1szY5lhq2-fVkaFMCv199ws7EA6xyyYIKGWQvhv3x_3-7xMi29XYSJbUxvnfXOCB9kRK/s1600/Butch+as+a+lamb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="348" data-original-width="567" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyI0hJTA0v63RUnchz4KUxsivbDB5bU3mBUPXh-3m44pDPsiTeTpLk14BhmN1nmTAtb5tbX_sn1szY5lhq2-fVkaFMCv199ws7EA6xyyYIKGWQvhv3x_3-7xMi29XYSJbUxvnfXOCB9kRK/s400/Butch+as+a+lamb.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Butch as a youngster, with his mother - </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">This time I there was no long car drive, just a busy day
mixing concrete and building a flight of steps. Come evening, my partner went out
to feed the sheep and I decided to take a shower. <i>Usually</i>, I
wouldn’t step into the shower until sheep-feeding is done, just in
case there’s a head stuck through a fence, or one of the regular
troublemakers is in the wrong field. This time, I went for the shower
anyway, because it’s so long since anything actually went wrong,
and because I really, really needed to spend some time under a
relaxing spray of hot water.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgerHRmoQFjz4ZEgXcbQNerTm5vbDlvWF1tf74M6fdGoxZOmFYuXKJHC6Q35UlPRDHtaKhb9TwuxNk_eY6kWFryPLBqpItqHpD05npNlqTPPRm2frK384UkVMpGCSpC8a8QPG-HyZwU8LIJ/s1600/ram+lambs+Nov+08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="505" height="332" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgerHRmoQFjz4ZEgXcbQNerTm5vbDlvWF1tf74M6fdGoxZOmFYuXKJHC6Q35UlPRDHtaKhb9TwuxNk_eY6kWFryPLBqpItqHpD05npNlqTPPRm2frK384UkVMpGCSpC8a8QPG-HyZwU8LIJ/s400/ram+lambs+Nov+08.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Butch (top right) as a teenager. hanging around with his mates, Panda and Monk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">At least I was out of the shower by the time my partner
called from the back door.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>Butch hasn’t turned up for food.</i></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">That’s sort-of unusual. Butch is our oldest ram (his
half brother Monk is several days younger) and really likes his food.
However, since his fall from the exalted rank of Alpha Male (Because
<a href="https://writeedge.blogspot.co.uk/2014/02/reached-top-butch-and-you.html" target="_blank">when you’ve reached the top</a>, there’s only <i>down</i> left... ),
everybody tries to beat him up, including one of the wethers. Worse
still, he’s only got one horn intact – the right side broke a
while back so there is only a stump. Despite being a foodie, Butch
can be put off coming to the gate when the evening feed is being put
out. And at that time of evening, with the light almost gone,
spotting a mid-brown ram amongst the shadows across a couple of acres
of field can be difficult.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I pottered around the house, finding clothes, whilst my
partner went to finish dealing with the rest of the sheep. After
all, Butch might still turn up...</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Or not.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Quarter of an hour later we set out with a lantern to
search the field where the rams spend the winter. It is our largest
open field – no gorse bushes in the middle – but it slopes and
undulates, creating a number of shallow dips where a ram might hide.
It also has a corner where the fence has been heavily reinforced
following an escape attempt some years back, so we started there.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytIYNWvo2IUrzQrnGLxASFWNLWRmuUO95zkiz1pug3z3lQsHc0m514LupZIsSrj2cXX4bhArK5QZptecoh4fnMis1ippGQ_Y-UDf7xGMmxgs8MvBD911VXbtOJeRtLDF71hcTGcY_xrYz/s1600/Butch+as+a+mature+ram+with+a+missing+horn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="281" data-original-width="498" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiytIYNWvo2IUrzQrnGLxASFWNLWRmuUO95zkiz1pug3z3lQsHc0m514LupZIsSrj2cXX4bhArK5QZptecoh4fnMis1ippGQ_Y-UDf7xGMmxgs8MvBD911VXbtOJeRtLDF71hcTGcY_xrYz/s400/Butch+as+a+mature+ram+with+a+missing+horn.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Butch. keeping his <b>right</b> side to the fence</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;">Good choice. That saved us a lot of tramping around in
the dark. Butch was not actually in the corner but a short distance
out, huddled against the stock netting. Whilst his right horn is
largely gone, he still has the full corkscrew on the left and what he
did was...</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Actually, I have no idea what he did. I suspect it
started with a jump to the left, but somehow he had threaded that
corkscrew horn into the fencing. Given his age and weight, I really
can’t imagine that he turned a couple of somersaults to do the job,
but it was quickly obvious that just moving him backwards and
forwards was <i>not</i> going to unscrew him.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">There was only one thing to do – pick him up, turn him
on his back, and just keep rotating until he came free. That sounds
simple, but Butch probably weighs somewhere in the region of
twenty-five to thirty kilos (small by modern commercial sheep
standards, but still about the same as a sack of coal), has no
convenient hand-holds, and really, really hates being picked up, let
alone turned upside-down. He has various ways to express his
displeasure, but once I had him toes-skyward he went for the kick and
flail option. So, to recap – pick up twenty-five kilos of
uncooperative sheep, turn him over, take great care to not break his
neck, nor get kicked in the face, and then untwist his horn from the
fence. No, wait, I left out a few details – do this in the dark
(OK, there was a lantern, but it doesn’t matter where that is, the
glare gets in my eyes), without injuring myself, and in clothes fresh
out of the cupboard. With the other rams gathering round. That’s
it. Simple.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">A ram, twisted into a fence, in a mood – a whole new
meaning to <i>cross threaded</i>. I can also tell you from close,
personal experience, that a sheep hoof does not fit inside a human
nostril, and that it really stings when a grumpy ram tries to
disprove that idea. I can also tell you that it doesn’t matter
which hoof. At the time, I said forceful things that might be
paraphrased as <i>ow, that hurt you pesky little rascal</i>.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">When it was done, there was only one more thing to say. </span>
</div>
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<div lang="en-GB" style="break-before: auto; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.27cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>I need another shower.</i></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-76234208989884552362017-10-29T07:24:00.004-07:002017-10-29T07:24:46.629-07:00Chicken In Distress<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Keeping chickens brings all manner of challenges, but
since ours free-range over an acre or more, a major one is trying to
keep them safe from predators. It turns out that there is no shortage
of things eager to kill and eat our birds – foxes, weasels, the
neighbour's dog, me when they are particularly annoying – as well
as random hazards such as passing cars.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">They actually have up to eighteen acres to roam across,
but somewhere in those little chicken brains, there appears to be an
understanding that the likelihood of predators increases the further
they roam from the house. We have even observed that birds who
witness one of their own being mown down by a passing motorist are
more cautious about crossing the road. (Why did the chicken cross
the road? Because they are too dumb to know it’s dangerous.)</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYDXKMeCZBPhn-IdayRtEGZjlG3TbtEazpkjbs5jUF8KP2Ik4skslkvhA-pZLKPjmEDAIhMpQN15t6IcwHHamdmEeosFCWMAH_J9c84Ng6jOrhm2DzWqDyP-2r75u0ThRR9gOmEnJF4E7i/s1600/gathered+chickens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="691" data-original-width="922" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYDXKMeCZBPhn-IdayRtEGZjlG3TbtEazpkjbs5jUF8KP2Ik4skslkvhA-pZLKPjmEDAIhMpQN15t6IcwHHamdmEeosFCWMAH_J9c84Ng6jOrhm2DzWqDyP-2r75u0ThRR9gOmEnJF4E7i/s400/gathered+chickens.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nobody here but us chickens</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Amazingly, the biggest single obstacle to chicken safety
turns out to be... chickens. They make a wide range of noises to
express <i>alarm</i>, but rarely when there’s actually something to
be alarmed about. So far as I can tell, on seeing one of their number
taken by a fox, <i>one</i> chicken response is not to scream loudly
<i>it’s a fox, it’s a fox</i>, but to carry on with whatever they
were doing, secure in the knowledge that foxy has already eaten. A
<i>second</i> response is to fly up high and look down to check
there’s a potentially sacrificial hen closer to the ground. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">On those occasions when we are on high alert and doing
some defensive bird-watching, because there’s been a fox around, we
keep an ear out for sounds of distress. At the first sound of
trouble, grab the big stick and go running to save some poor hen from
being fox-snack. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Right. That works so well.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Let me give a few examples of <i>causes</i> of sounds of
distress. The dialogue is a rough translation from hen to human; my
responses are rarely spoken aloud...</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Hen: He jumped on me, the brute, and pinned me to the
ground, so I screamed, and screamed, and screamed.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Me: Yes, dear, he’s a cockerel, you’re a hen, that’s
how it works. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Hen: I laid an egg. How did that happen? Hell’s
teeth, that thing came out my arse. Anyway, I screamed, and
screamed, and screamed... what do I do now?</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Me: Yes, dear, you’re a hen, that’s how it works.
Now sit on it. Or give it here and I’ll have it for supper.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Hen: She pecked me, the bitch, so I screamed....</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Me: Yes, dear, that’s how it works. She’s a bigger,
meaner hen than you, higher in the social order of hens, who has to
remind you of your place.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Hen: OMG, I flapped my wings and my feet came off the
ground. I think I’m afraid of heights, so I screamed...</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Me: Seriously?<!-- Changed them around. --></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Hen: Help, help, help... I just opened my eyes and I’m
a <i>chicken</i>... and I’m <i>surrounded</i> by chickens... it’s
enough to make me <i>scream</i>... <i>HELP!</i> I just shut my eyes
and when I opened them...</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Frankly, some hens can scream in panic over almost any
routine part of being a hen, and with chicken-on-chicken violence
being a regular event, moments of absolute peace are <i>suspicious</i>.
Thus we have a system for handling false alarms where you have to
listen for the quiet sound of <i>almost nothing happening</i> before
rushing out to chase off a predator. Or we can give way to
frustration and have chicken for dinner...</span></div>
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<div lang="en-GB" style="break-before: auto; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.27cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">That’s the choice with the sounds of a chicken in
distress – a source of angst, or a piquant sauce and some
vegetables on the side.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-55262886602607515592017-09-29T12:07:00.000-07:002017-09-29T13:12:26.188-07:00Am I There Yet?<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I don’t often write about writing, but when an
interesting detail smacks me between the eyes, I have to write it
down. Last time, it was <a href="https://writeedge.blogspot.co.uk/2016/09/head-elsewhere.html" target="_blank">Head Elsewhere</a>, my regular disconnect with
the real world. This time it’s almost the inverse, achieving the
necessary connection with my unreal world.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I’ve been writing a novel on Wattpad
(<a href="https://www.wattpad.com/story/109585331" target="_blank">Digital Tart</a>), fixing it chapter by
chapter, each instalment getting the eyeball from my partner before
it goes online. So, comments come back, this word isn’t right,
didn’t follow what was happening here, please spellcheck the
******* thing. The usual.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I then go through to see what needs fixing, and what
doesn’t. One particular passage didn’t really work for either of
us, but I patched it up, and all was well. Or not. Yes, it was
better, but no, it wasn’t right, and I really couldn’t see why
not. It was sufficiently wrong that as I cleaned out the goose hut
tonight, my head did a long excursion <i>elsewhere</i>, watching the
offending scene play over and over.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpdVQZXlVl5AwhpzEOlYIHJ-JsjBhzlxqwwrJL83yJXM4gJlNokIptP5pe3EVnx3OnHCBKHIUviWNqpd0TzhbzxC4bfmLVMJFRUUnwfy1dolXqkMSmP0VxmFVv99rMs_iQalci7_KTaD6V/s1600/shovelling+poo+2.2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="984" data-original-width="678" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpdVQZXlVl5AwhpzEOlYIHJ-JsjBhzlxqwwrJL83yJXM4gJlNokIptP5pe3EVnx3OnHCBKHIUviWNqpd0TzhbzxC4bfmLVMJFRUUnwfy1dolXqkMSmP0VxmFVv99rMs_iQalci7_KTaD6V/s320/shovelling+poo+2.2.jpg" width="220" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">By the time the floor was washed and swept, the geese
fed, and everything settled down for the night, I knew what was wrong
and how to fix it. In fact, if it weren’t for the chickens, I
would be writing those fixes <i>now</i>. However, once the geese
were done, it was time to put the chickens to bed, so my head went to
another <i>elsewhere</i>. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">An elsewhere of an elsewhere – cleaning out the
chickens whilst thinking about thinking about the writing whilst
cleaning the geese... you get the picture? I went back over the
goose-cleaning operation, a bit of internal theatre, a personal
flashback re-watching myself cleaning the geese <i>whilst</i> being
head-elsewhere over the troublesome scene. Once I started looking
closely – and the rewind/slo-mo playback of myself in my own head
is superb – I saw the <i>real</i> problem. Not the fix for the
scene, but why I didn’t get it right the first time, or the second.
Until I cleaned out the geese, I really wasn’t <i>there</i> yet.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Welcome to my head. Feel free to look around a while.
Just don’t touch anything.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The scene itself was simple enough – two characters
who aren’t sure of each other, perhaps don’t like each other, and
are about to step into a situation where trust, or the lack of it, is
troublesome. I had the scene, the actions, the dialogue... but it
wasn’t right, because I wasn’t <i>there</i>. I was standing
back, doing a bit of arm waving, you stand there, <i>you</i> go
there, now say this, do that... cut... lovely work people...</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Except it wasn’t. Until I did the geese and took the
time to be really <i>there</i>. To stop the action for a moment and
ask the sarky character <i>so what’s your problem anyway? </i><span style="font-style: normal;">
And then the other one – </span><i>why is this winding you up?</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
And </span><i>then</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> nudge the
mannequins aside and step into their shoes (or armoured boots) and
really </span><i>be there</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, take
a look around, see what my characters were seeing, feel the hob-nails
on the concrete.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">That sarcasm isn’t
just a moment of snarkiness, it’s a childhood of dodging the
jackboots, of caring for family in a tight corner, protecting an
innocent victim of those jackboots. And from the jackboot side, that
sarcasm is a breath away from the other character being the
ring-leader of a round of mob violence, it’s a warning to look up
to check for incoming bricks, the moment to lock shoulders with the
other jackboots... yada, yada, yada. The details don’t really
matter, only the </span><i>being there</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
is important.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">The fix, when I get a
chance to write it, is probably a sentence or two. Maybe less if I
can figure out how to be clever about it, but that’s not the point.
Until I was there, it didn’t work, didn’t happen, failed to come
together. Until I’m there, in the middle of </span><i>everything</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
feeling it, being it, no matter how unreal it might be, the writing
doesn’t work.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I’ve never been at
the front of a riot, never been front and centre behind the riot
shields, but if I can’t let my head go elsewhere (perhaps pick up
few useful recollections from the shelves), and </span><i>be there</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
I make a mess of the writing. What I </span><i>have</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
done is stood in the front rank as a pikeman in a civil war battle
re-enactment, with the Roundhead army marching down on us from behind
a hill. It’s only a bit of weekend fun. No-one is going to get
hurt beyond the ability of the St John’s Ambulance folks to patch
up. (OK, </span><i>sometimes</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
there’s a trip to A&E, or the burns unit, or the urgent need
for an orthopaedic surgeon... but that’s rare.) It’s just a bit
of fun... but the drums, the noise, the marching, the first sight of
</span><i>their</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> pikes appearing
over the crest of the hill, my there’s a **** of a lot of them...
feel those butterflies anyway. </span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I can feel that brick
in my hand, now. Just let me get a proper grip on the riot shield...
</span><i>hey, mate, am I holding this right?</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
Never done this before, </span><i>never</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
want to do this for </span><i>real,</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
so just let me be a moment to soak it in, find some words to go with
it.</span></span></div>
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<div lang="en-GB" style="break-before: auto; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.27cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I’m back now. Until the next chapter. Or tomorrow
evening when the geese need cleaning out again. Shit happens, my
head goes elsewhere, and just maybe, I’m <i>there</i> again.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-28867574601151095442017-08-29T13:41:00.001-07:002017-08-29T13:41:28.695-07:00A Brooding Look<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 1.02cm; orphans: 2; page-break-inside: avoid; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">One of our chickens went missing – it happens, for a
number of reasons. So, they wander next door, decide the food,
service or both is better and stay the night, and the following day
the neighbour asks <i>is this your chicken?</i> Or, they wander too
far, something with teeth and claws decides that the food looks good,
the chicken stays for more than just the night, and the following
day, the pile of feathers says <i>that was tasty.</i> </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">And then there is the third option – unbeknownst to
us, a hen has been laying her eggs somewhere other than the nest
boxes we provide. Then, having laid a good number, she disappears to
go broody. This time, her name is Carnival.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFl06G6o6IKOnLkYB6psL8Q7CjSssONLVovl-cLSqXW5nMvh_x1BFI4MqHp2Iau4VazsqfabtGDz6PwGnZoQ5hceWYPtfI9nGmqqQmSth2oyuIdiKL5NBoXw1o_PhyC-D_ibMLaHct9ben/s1600/bird+bath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="416" data-original-width="602" height="276" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFl06G6o6IKOnLkYB6psL8Q7CjSssONLVovl-cLSqXW5nMvh_x1BFI4MqHp2Iau4VazsqfabtGDz6PwGnZoQ5hceWYPtfI9nGmqqQmSth2oyuIdiKL5NBoXw1o_PhyC-D_ibMLaHct9ben/s400/bird+bath.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our missing bird taking a (dust) bath.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="text-indent: 1.27cm;">She disappeared two nights back, so cue the late-night
walk around the field checking for sad heaps of feathers. I found
nothing, and these days the neighbours send our occasional marauding
hens home, so that left broody, or killed further away. Finding a
white hen in the dark by lamplight sometimes works... Carnival is
brown with stripes, and yellow patches - I gave up looking once the
daylight went.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The following morning, I took a more extensive look, but
still no sad pile of feathers, no she wasn’t at the neighbours, but
she didn’t turn up for breakfast either, and in the past broody
hens turn up for the morning grain.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">At this point, we wrote Carnival off as a probable
distant fatality but, around lunchtime, when we were talking through
exactly which brown hen was missing, making sure that it really was
Carnival (because she’s not the only one in brown and stripes) I
pointed to a particular hen and said... <i>isn’t that the missing
one?</i></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Yes. Carnival was back. Not broody at all, right?
Wait, what’s that smell? What did I just <i>tread</i> in? We call
it the <i>broody turd</i>. After twenty-four hours (approximately)
of sitting on the eggs, a hen has a lot of well-fermented faeces
stored up and looking for somewhere to go. Not only is the broody
turd big, but it has reach and presence, a foul miasma that spreads
and <i>lingers</i>. Maybe she is broody then.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So, decision time. Shut her in somewhere until she gets
bored of being broody, or track her back to the nest. We’ve lost a
few hens this year, and the <i>lock her in</i> routine is not easy to
get right, so we opted to track Carnival.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Now, about this <i>lunchtime</i> business – it was a
nice day, so we were going to eat out, lunch was already on the
plates and ready to go when I spotted our missing hen. I took the
first watch, whilst my partner ate, and then we swapped. Yes, we
<i>could</i> both eat and watch, but a hen on the way back to her
nest can be a nippy little devil. In the time you take to put lunch
somewhere safe from all the other hens, she could be gone... And then
it’s another twenty-four hours or so before the next opportunity.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So, what does a young bird do when she comes off the
eggs? A dust-bath, obviously, a quick freshen up just after dropping
that broody turd, and then a bite to eat. <i>Hey, there’s an idiot
human following me, how about some grain, mate?</i> Then perhaps
another dust bath, a leisurely stroll to fool anything trying to
follow her back to the nest, maybe a bit of sun-bathing. Then
another stroll... are we paying attention... how about a stroll
around the corner box of the stables where the hens normally live.
Still paying attention, are we?</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">She vanished. How hard can it be to watch a chicken?
There one moment, gone the next. Somewhere in the vicinity of the
stables... </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">By a process of elimination, we worked out where she is.
Probably. There’s a whole run of out-buildings... those either
side of the one the chickens use are piled high with stuff in
storage. So, if she’s in one of <i>those</i>, we just have to take
<i>everything</i> out...</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So, we had a plan – watch and wait, and then follow
our elusive broody once she comes out for lunch. We will watch
<i>carefully</i> – we know where she vanishes, so those decoy
strolls can be ignored... and <i>then</i> we will know which box.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The following day, with another round of really nice
weather, I set an alarm on my phone to patrol the yard every twenty
minutes. Carnival was a no-show at mid-day and eventually, we had
lunch in one of those twenty minute gaps, certain that the moment we
sat down she would appear, but not this time. In due course, on
account of the weather, we had a decent serving of some home-made
ice-cream, and as I stepped out of the house with that, <i>there</i>
was Carnival. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">She strung us along for nearly an hour and even then, we
almost missed it. One moment she was pecking around and then, like
something out of a Bond movie, she slipped into the shadows, and made
a run for it, up on to the perch, up again onto a stack of boxes, and
through a ridiculously tiny gap into the store next door.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">This is where human guile outwits hen speed. I had all
the doors with their bolts barely hanging on. We knew which way she
went and got the adjacent door open just a crack to watch her go over
all the stacked junk and narrow down the approximate nesting site. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">And on the third day... as per the forecast, the weather
turned grey and we spent a few hours carefully emptying the store,
working back until a certain box that felt too heavy for its size...</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVG7BM613Ihwu_1eJ7CwYTAA8Z6HAf3t8dQQAslbQT1vrE5lAMoi6IPQjdT1TCudIF_-Lt3NSZCIrljfvUAGh78eFyw1dLKInPCVybiD1hefRNtnaL8T8TnXL66kbDGdMDthlOK063JmLW/s1600/egg+box.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="380" data-original-width="639" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVG7BM613Ihwu_1eJ7CwYTAA8Z6HAf3t8dQQAslbQT1vrE5lAMoi6IPQjdT1TCudIF_-Lt3NSZCIrljfvUAGh78eFyw1dLKInPCVybiD1hefRNtnaL8T8TnXL66kbDGdMDthlOK063JmLW/s400/egg+box.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the egg-box</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Carnival is now with her eggs in a nice, solid nest box,
safe from the rats and other predators. The hole to next door is
blocked. She <i>will</i> try to go back. They always do. It will
take a few days before her head is re-programmed to recognise the
nest box as hers.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBM0LcaFeEVXsGBhs2BFTwNjn-1ok660pucJgtSRlVOpIF8hksFeXWI0wyTXWiOXIqxb9xtJ0I4R5-gbCEPkSd-5CH_-f_wWG2YPKwU758aVVoS4bxdIVcmOt_fkM5H1CbAfHJiSvCVQTV/s1600/new+home.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="424" data-original-width="524" height="322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBM0LcaFeEVXsGBhs2BFTwNjn-1ok660pucJgtSRlVOpIF8hksFeXWI0wyTXWiOXIqxb9xtJ0I4R5-gbCEPkSd-5CH_-f_wWG2YPKwU758aVVoS4bxdIVcmOt_fkM5H1CbAfHJiSvCVQTV/s400/new+home.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The new home - are you sure those are mine?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<div lang="en-GB" style="break-before: auto; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.27cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">In the meanwhile, we check on her from time to time. All
is going well. She has that grim and brooding look... <i>put those
fingers in here and you won’t be getting them back</i>. That’s
how a broody hen is supposed to be.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-33889665541274888362017-08-26T14:18:00.002-07:002017-08-26T14:18:53.151-07:00The Cat Fight At The End Of The Universe<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-top: 1.02cm; orphans: 2; page-break-inside: avoid; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I was woken by the wailing of the cat fight at the end
of the universe. From the volume and extra-added screaming, I
assumed that Thug (aka The Purring Death) had Piper cornered
somewhere, so I went to help. The further through the house I went,
the louder it got. Not so much cat fight at the end of the universe,
but the cat fight that <i>ends</i> the universe. Ginge had risen
from her (well, Oatmeal’s) cushion in front of the washing machine
and was dancing around, expressing her concern – <i>make it stop, I
want to go back to sleep</i>.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I carried on to the lounge – it wasn’t Piper, but
Squeak. I assumed Thug was on the other side, but I couldn’t
see, couldn’t get the right angle at the window. (Note to self –
on getting out of bed to investigate cat-fight, dress first.) </span>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYMSS8mI_HoegkOdkGgifeYTtcX0d8GV8ullgrA0wxADbCpTSdb42AF3PM_7RPLOP0i-hDHzAV5K0nd-FMCaux0vonB38JcX8hsGt3I4Yibm8U22yclnRYnpuxbLlKK5jMF8jyOsbPZg1/s1600/DarkGoddess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="590" data-original-width="493" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYMSS8mI_HoegkOdkGgifeYTtcX0d8GV8ullgrA0wxADbCpTSdb42AF3PM_7RPLOP0i-hDHzAV5K0nd-FMCaux0vonB38JcX8hsGt3I4Yibm8U22yclnRYnpuxbLlKK5jMF8jyOsbPZg1/s320/DarkGoddess.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So there you have it, seven-thirty in the morning, end
of the universe and I haven’t had breakfast yet, or got my
underwear on. Ginge was right to be concerned. For some reason,
Squeak <i>really</i> loathes ginger cats, and like Piper, she can
spot a ginger cat by colour and doesn’t differentiate between Ginge
and Thug. Whichever one she is putting in their place, the screaming
and fury will just go on for <i>ever</i>. Or until the universe
finally gives up and ends.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Squeak is utterly unrelenting. When she has a go at
Ginge, it’s a relatively even match and Ginge resolves it by
running away. In fact, these days, Ginge won’t even come in to the
lounge. But Thug... <i>that</i> is a grudge match and a half.
Squeak pitches her two-thousand eight-hundred grams of raw whining
against his meagre seven kilos of lean mean violence machine. She
howls and wails, lunging without a care for her personal safety and
absolutely refuses to back down until he turns and runs. Or at least
saunters away. Whatever the mode of locomotion, Squeak stays at it
until he is absolutely out of sight. This is her window sill, and no
damned ginger cat is getting it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>That</i> is the cat fight at the end of the universe.
OK, not quite the <i>end.</i> Just close enough to give a flavour.
The <i>true</i> end of the universe would be if they were both the
same side of the glass.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="break-before: auto; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.27cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3qK7j2scqVEGqzkAn7N0GKu7RIKyFoubwCSTRJK1T0G8W2T9clYAEhcVVWwl8oUqzvPpHia642Shsyri-UrG_p6lCmPyNfOIxpdE9nIaUFjVa1W-w7VhzvVyP3A4cNm4W4yIwe-sgwS5v/s1600/thug%252C+on+high+alert+afterwards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="312" data-original-width="556" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3qK7j2scqVEGqzkAn7N0GKu7RIKyFoubwCSTRJK1T0G8W2T9clYAEhcVVWwl8oUqzvPpHia642Shsyri-UrG_p6lCmPyNfOIxpdE9nIaUFjVa1W-w7VhzvVyP3A4cNm4W4yIwe-sgwS5v/s320/thug%252C+on+high+alert+afterwards.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thug, relaxing later on the new, luxury, body-hugging lap</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="break-before: auto; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; text-indent: 1.27cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-22894071874039629622017-07-27T06:19:00.001-07:002017-07-27T06:19:15.451-07:00Where’s My Wabbit?<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">At least two of our cats are active hunting cats and
routinely bring back rodents. When stray or feral cats like that
move in, the first hint that they really believe the house is their
home is bringing back the catch to eat it. Piper reached that stage
ages ago, so bringing his own supper in is just part of the routine
and, somewhere about three this morning, he came in with the latest
<i>something</i>. No telling <i>what</i> without turning on the
light, but he does try to tell you all about it. All of our cats
have more than one name, so Oatmeal is also Flumph, because when
seven kilos of fat, fluffy cat walks across your chest in the middle
of the night, there are noises ending in emphatic <i>mph! </i><span style="font-style: normal;">
Piper is also known as Chirples, because when he has something to
say, he does it with a stream of chirpling meows, and he always has a
lot to say. This is </span><i>nothing</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
like the wailing of </span><i>wait for me</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
if we’re walking too fast when he’s following us across the
field.</span></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnprSi-v2_OGwu7aRB48qDaCUeL2qleJp81KG5x7QLEMDlQfnMxsOUphrb0bETmiTfyejHbc9aCtH3wpTqoF-WcXJ-BvKiTCEuDYmMWpIME-JaWKhyphenhyphenq7ehKAul2pfC7Jz7RsvCt3PBTVbc/s1600/piper+up+a+tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnprSi-v2_OGwu7aRB48qDaCUeL2qleJp81KG5x7QLEMDlQfnMxsOUphrb0bETmiTfyejHbc9aCtH3wpTqoF-WcXJ-BvKiTCEuDYmMWpIME-JaWKhyphenhyphenq7ehKAul2pfC7Jz7RsvCt3PBTVbc/s1600/piper+up+a+tree.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Piper getting a better view on the rabbit situation</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">(Before you read on, I
have to warn you, some animals </span><i>were</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
hurt in the making of this blog.)</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So, middle of the night, a short hello chirple sequence
is easy to interpret – I’m in, it is/is not heaving with rain, my
paws are dry/dripping with mud, do you want to stroke me before I
sleep on your feet? (Or, should you care to step out of bed, I can
wrap my soggy self around your shins and then tickle you between the
knees with a very cold, wet tail...) In the summer, the conversation
starts some distance out, an ongoing chirpling heard through the open
windows, fading as he works round to the cat-flap the other side of
the house, and then building again as he comes through the house.
There may, or may not, be a hiatus whilst he has a snack at the
biscuit bowl.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Then there is the middle-of-the-night extended chirple.
That can go on for a while, ideally until one of us gets out of bed,
and it means just the same as the short sequence but with the vital
extra – come see this fantastic mouse I caught. Piper does like
his people to observe and admire the catch. That’s what woke me
this morning. Chirple, chirple, chirple... thud.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The thud is not good – I had no idea what it meant,
but it could not be good. After a few rounds, I started to believe
that maybe it was Thug (aka The Purring Death) at the window, trying
to burgle his way in and have a bite of Piper. That did not gel with
Piper telling all about a fantastic mouse... so I turned on the
lights and went to see what all the excitement was about.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">It was a bit of a
let-down. There was Piper, lying in the hall in that
ready-for-action, half-curled pose... and no mouse. But he was
watching the gap under a bookshelf so no </span><i>visible</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
mouse, but a potential rotting corpse... unless it was dumb enough to
come out and make a run for it.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Now it was my turn to talk. Do you want me to move the
furniture? Are you going to catch the damn thing if I get it out?
Can I just go back to bed and deal with this in the morning? What was
that <i>thud</i>? The thing is, once Piper has told you all about it,
achieved lights-on, and attention from one of his people, he’s done
talking. You’re supposed to admire, congratulate, offer a scratch
behind the ears, and then push off so that he can eat in peace. (And
this is the moment to memorise the location for clean-up later.)</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I went back to bed.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">Chirple, chirple,
chirple... thud. Seriously? How can I sleep through this? Chirple,
chirple, chirple... thud. It still sounds like Thug trying to break
in, but I know it’s Piper and a mouse going another couple of
rounds. A serious mouse, putting up a fight... and in the red
corner... no, wait... that’s just blood... Chirple, chirple,
chirple... </span><i>thud</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.
Perhaps if I </span><i>leave</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> the
light on, I can get some sleep. Chirple, chirple, chirple... </span><i>thud</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.
I mean, really... can’t you just keep the noise down? Chirple,
chirple, chirple... </span><i>crunch</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.
</span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">(This is the part where some animals get hurt...)</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I’m not a religious
chap, but there’s got to be something to give thanks to for that
distinctive </span><i>crunch</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. I
know it’s horrible, but it’s also natural – it’s the sound of
bones breaking, of mouse being eaten. A bit of a downer for the
mouse, I’ll agree, but it means peace and quiet in a few minutes,
it means no festering corpse under the book-shelf, and all I have to
do is </span><i>remember</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> –
tread carefully until the remains are located and disposed of (having
taken note of </span><i>where</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
earlier...). If you want the truly horrible, it’s the cold squelch
of mouse guts between the toes when you fail to note the location, or
note and forget. (Call me callous if you must, but I’ve tried
rescuing mice from the cats, and once you’ve been bitten a couple
of times by the ungrateful little ****, leaving the cat to finish the
job is the preferred option.)</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I really wasn’t
paying </span><i>proper</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
attention. That wasn’t a standard, middle-of-the-night extended
chirple. That was the extended, Director’s cut of Chirple the
Movie with all deleted scenes reinstated. With added </span><i>thud</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.
When I went to start breakfast I </span><i>did</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
remember, and went looking for the mouse remains. Instead, I found a
rabbit trying to hide under the bookshelf. Of course, the gap wasn’t
big enough, so rabbit could only get in up to its shoulder, back end
still sticking out. Idiot rabbit.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I </span><i>still</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
wasn’t paying </span><i>proper</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
attention. I went to rescue the rabbit and found it wasn’t </span><i>hiding</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
but resting, in pieces – mostly just the back end. Piper ate the
rest. I should have worked it out at three in the morning. What goes
</span><i>chirple, chirple, chirple... thud</i><span style="font-style: normal;">?
Piper playing with his food when it’s something a lot bigger than a
mouse. </span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">We have had several rabbits in the house – frisky
little devils to hold on to and carry out across the field – but
this one just went in the tub to go out to the compost heap. Job
done. No rotting meat under the book-case.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><i>No</i>, not job done. Around about lunch time, Piper
got up. Chirple, chirple, chirple... Chirple, chirple, chirple...
poking around the house, checking out that book-case... As my partner
said, Piper was obviously looking for his rabbit, so she retrieved it
for him and put it out the back door.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Yes, Piper wanted his rabbit. No, he was not going out
there with all those mean chickens hanging around. The final
compromise was to put the rabbit just inside, on the door mat, where
Piper ate it, growling at Oatmeal to make it clear <i>exactly</i>
whose rabbit it was.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">All he left was one
foot, which somehow ended up in one of my shoes. </span><i>Scrabble,
scrabble, scrabble... thud.</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
Oatmeal spent time tossing my shoe around the kitchen trying to get
at the unlucky-rabbit foot.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">So, I have learned my
lessons. Firstly, the </span><i>really</i><span style="font-style: normal;">
extended chirple, and the </span><i>thud</i><span style="font-style: normal;">,
means </span><i>come see, I caught something bigger than a mouse</i><span style="font-style: normal;">.
Secondly, when Piper stuffs the remains of a rabbit under a
bookshelf (because obviously it didn’t crawl there on its own) he
expects it to be still there later. It doesn’t matter whether it’s
me, or Oatmeal, rabbit thieves are totally unacceptable. And Piper
has the will the voice to demand his rabbit back.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The one thing you can be sure of with Piper – he
understands a party invitation that says BYOB. He always brings his
own bunny.</span></div>
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<br />
</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">PS</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="font-style: normal; line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I check under the car before driving away, because the
cats regard that nice dark space as a good hiding place. Driving out
today, I really checked because Piper was dancing around, a good
sign that he’s just chased Ginge under there. He was not going to
follow her into a confined space because she is Mistress of the
Educational Nose Swipe. I bent down, I glanced, I saw fur in the
gloom and said <i>Hello Ginge</i>. I was wrong. When I started the
engine to hint that it was time to go, a rabbit shot out from
underneath and made a break for freedom up the hill, Piper in hot
pursuit. </span>
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<span style="font-size: small;">He returned about an hour later, no chirple, no bunny.
Nice try, but no wabbit.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-20018693691044859882017-07-07T03:13:00.002-07:002017-07-07T03:13:49.532-07:00Bee Plus<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Another sunny day – they’re rare enough that we
notice – and sudden squawking from the chickens around mid-day
caught my attention, so I went to see what the fuss was about. As I
approached the house, I heard a hum and had one of those <i>moments</i>:
I know that noise... no... can’t be...</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">A swarm of bees flew round the corner, over my head and
up towards the old cowshed. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It is years since I last saw one, and that was back when
we kept bees ourselves. We had just returned from an outing, and
there, above the garage, was a scene from a disaster movie. Or maybe
a horror movie if you’re spooked by a two-meter-plus tornado of a
few thousand bees above your head. Our actual reaction went
something like <i>WTF...?</i> Oh, it’s bees. <i>OH!</i> Its a
swarm. Oh, wow! Can we follow them? Can we <i>catch</i> them?</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Then they disappeared down the garden, so we gave
chase... as far as one of our apple trees, where they gathered as a
giant pear-drop, bigger than a football. That was pretty much
perfect in terms of trying to catch them. As is always the way, we
didn’t have the necessary equipment on hand, so I went back out to
buy a few things, and my partner kept an eye on the swarm.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">As it turned out, it was swarm weather. It took me a
while to get the things we needed from the bee supplies place
(operated out of someone’s garage) because there was a queue of
bee-keepers from around the area, all dealing with swarms. I got
home just in time to witness our giant pear-drop of bees (literally
thousands of them, hanging peacefully in the tree) melt away like a
blob of butter over a high heat and head off down the hill. We tried
to track them, but lost sight after half a mile or so.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I followed yesterday’s swarm as best I could, but
after a brief hover over the cowshed, I lost them. The only way to
keep track was to head round the end of the barn, and by the time I
had done that, they were gone. Or course, they may have settled in
one of the buildings, so we shall keep an eye out. We’ve muttered
for years about re-starting bee-keeping, so if we have just gained a
swarm, maybe we will.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">For now, we will keep an eye on the cowshed and barn to
see if we have a hive establishing there. Just a daily test to see
if we are bee-positive.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-87086660575092438562017-06-25T13:22:00.001-07:002017-06-25T13:29:26.700-07:00Is This A Green Welly I See Before Me?<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Ages ago, I wrote about the <a href="https://writeedge.blogspot.co.uk/2014/04/the-pursuit-of-green-wellies.html" target="_blank">Pursuit of Green Wellies</a>,
the way chicks and lambs quickly learn that the things wearing the
green wellies come bearing food. Now it’s the turn of one of our
older hens.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgHukDgY6c_OlzzCut4G0jgl2FhKCK3drlBafrZR4mtyZSA8tV9KDatskoFkprYWt8VPSzisK4XMNYT05sPRE7Knbur-TuqhaVg30dWnvOm-2yivzOBlvQdVUEK1dKA85mrNxYAvBMWohG/s1600/black+lacy+2sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="885" data-original-width="642" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgHukDgY6c_OlzzCut4G0jgl2FhKCK3drlBafrZR4mtyZSA8tV9KDatskoFkprYWt8VPSzisK4XMNYT05sPRE7Knbur-TuqhaVg30dWnvOm-2yivzOBlvQdVUEK1dKA85mrNxYAvBMWohG/s320/black+lacy+2sm.jpg" width="232" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black Lacy in her prime in 2010</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;">Black Lacy - the name is essentially descriptive, a
black hen with brown mottling on her wings that made her look like
she was clothed in black lace when she was in her prime. Now it
makes her look like a grubby old hen in need of a wash, but no
judgements here: I’m a middle-aged bloke in need of a smaller
waistline. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Black Lacy is not our oldest hen – that would be
Chicky, who just keeps going – but Lacy is the one most seriously
showing her age. Black Lacy moves slowly, she is incredibly light
when you pick her up, and based on prior experience, she is going to
drop off the perch some time this year. However, she seems perfectly
content pottering around, relaxing in the sun when we have any, and
laying the occasional egg when the mood takes her. </span>
</div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The other notable thing is that she is very nearly
blind. One eye is completely useless, and there is no noticeable
movement of the iris. The other clearly picks up <i>something</i>,
but not enough to, say, stop her running into walls. To be fair,
that was because all the other hens went chasing something, Black
Lacy just got caught up in the moment and never saw the wall everyone
else swerved past. My partner heard the impact as her beak hit the
wall.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHmpRfXu2gJkFAvMmbcfhyphenhyphend2yIWI_-l_R0-G-Ji-vT4hdjMuVMMJ5posLJ8-3Gh4ydeDkMZMaviGuneiAOeAisknqooChTkIzjxJtIf36YTjyS2Uotm4wi87aeekjnAtxg6w0RvSs3ZasH/s1600/black+lacy+1sm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="674" data-original-width="451" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHmpRfXu2gJkFAvMmbcfhyphenhyphend2yIWI_-l_R0-G-Ji-vT4hdjMuVMMJ5posLJ8-3Gh4ydeDkMZMaviGuneiAOeAisknqooChTkIzjxJtIf36YTjyS2Uotm4wi87aeekjnAtxg6w0RvSs3ZasH/s320/black+lacy+1sm.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Black Lacy today - to be fair, the <br />light wasn't as good</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;">The only thing she sees reliably are green wellies.
Because her eyesight is so poor, there are certain rituals during the
day. I start with lifting her down off the perch in the morning and
putting down a pile of corn when all of the other hens have gone,
otherwise she would get nothing. There is a similar routine in the
evening – wait until everyone else is on the perch and then put
down a pile of corn for Black Lacy.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">She can’t see the corn, of course. Or not until it is
literally right under her beak, or <i>moving</i>. When I trickle
corn slowly out of my hand she tracks the movement – once she has
found one end of the trail, she keeps following and pecking. Or gets
it totally wrong and heads away from the food, but then it is easy to
pick her up and start again.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Now I have a new routine, because I noticed her tracking
my wellies. I don’t know if it is the colour, the size, or a dim
memory from chickhood, but she recognises something about those big
green boots and the first place she hunts for corn is right between
the toe-caps. Unlike chicks, she doesn’t race towards green
wellies, in fact she doesn’t race anywhere (except for the
unfortunate incident with the wall) but she does recognise them.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">That, or she can smell my feet through five millimetres
of rubber. You never know with a chicken.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Whatever it is, our blind hen knows the significance of
green wellies.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7624079870671201428.post-81391343559233259072017-05-23T07:42:00.000-07:002017-05-23T07:42:14.179-07:00Noticing Noticing<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Mornings have a simple routine, get up, check the
animals, have breakfast, except for winter when breakfast happens
first whilst we wait for daylight. That’s most mornings. Today
was one of the specials where I needed to be somewhere, on time.
That means add in getting showered, finding clothes with no
significant animal debris on them, and packing in lots of extra jobs.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The clean clothes were already set out. All I had to do
was shower, cook breakfast, get clothes off the rack beyond my
partner’s desk, check weather forecast, nice legs, stroke cat...</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Wait. Nice legs? Where did that come from?</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Back up. Literally. It was something that caught my
eye on the desk – a piece of junk mail waiting for the decision:
recycle immediately, use as fire-lighter, use as litter-tray liner.
In the semi dark, some unquiet corner of my mind that still remembers
its testosterone-addled youth picked out a dim photo, and nice legs.
It took some staring at the desk to put the pieces together.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The thing is, this was just a passing glance. All that
background stuff in my head, at the subconscious level, picked out a
particular detail – part of the activity we mostly don’t notice.
The same stuff that gets your foot shifting to the brake before you
can consciously paraphrase the Bard – is that a pedestrian I see
before me? – or keeps your fingers out of the way of the knife so
that supper remains the vegetarian option. We spend so much of our
time not actually noticing all the stuff we notice, that it comes as
a surprise when circumstances make us notice it.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The people who do the adverts in the junk mail know it
too, even if they don’t know they know it. That picture, on close
inspection, was an ordinary young couple walking down an ordinary
street. When I pick it up and look at it now, my head doesn’t
instantly say ‘hey, nice legs’, except as an echo of this
morning’s surprise, instead it explores things like<i> do we want
another credit card? No. </i> Or even <i>is this paper too shiny for
the litter tray?</i> But somewhere, in the background, that bit of
my mind is probably still chuntering – <i>nice legs, see, told you
so</i>. So even though I don’t want the credit card, and surely
wouldn’t be swayed by the <i>nice legs</i>, some bit of me
noticed, and there’s no telling how insidiously it might be nagging
the rest.</span></div>
<div lang="en-GB" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 2; page-break-before: auto; text-indent: 1.27cm; widows: 2;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Hmmm... this reminds me, I must ask my partner if she’s
noticed there’s some junk mail needs processing. Nice
fire-lighter.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11940981942321987173noreply@blogger.com0