Crazy Cocksfoot and Confused Cats

The lawn mowing man called in again late this afternoon but fortunately this time I had my clothes on. He is coming to knock back the half of the lawn we couldn't complete either this week or next with promises of weed eating the edges as well. Ever the country girl I just think it's a terrible waste of good grazing.


The garden is morphing from late Spring into early Summer which means most areas are looking a bit tatty/weedy. However there are still quite a few poppies blooming and the hollyhocks are beginning to show. The slight rain we've had over the past couple of days has made for wonderfully easy weeding which makes for easily overdoing it. I have been hauling out cocks foot from the corner garden and throwing it out into the paddock for the sheep before replacing them with a few wilted cosmos seedlings and delphiniums.

My furry helpers keep watchful eyes on me from the overgrowth with the occasional helping paw. They've been excited by some unexpected visitors to the garden. A female pheasant has been sending the blood pressure of the roosters sky high while two magpies have been taking their morning perambulations about the front lawn. Demelza and Kit sit in rapt admiration, especially when they up and fly away. I was a bit confused as to why until this morning when I realised that these two black and white cats think the magpies are kindred spirits who are in fact flying cats.

And the poppies and orbs go on

One day we broil, the next morning there is a frost. Such is December in Central Hawkes Bay. But the poppies continue to amaze including a wonderful fluffy pink individual behind the hen house. I have taken so many shots of this I can see a series of very cliche paintings. Meanwhile the lawn had grown and grown as I waited to see if I can get extra money to get it knocked back. The quote I was given was $100 which at Christmas was too much to cobble together but I was lucky that Glenys and her husband came down a week ago and mowed half, the part you can see from the road thankfully. Arthur took half an hour to ride the mower down the road from their house while Glenys looking pretty snappy in t-shirt and shorts pulled up in a quad bike pulling a trailer containing rakes and wheelbarrow. While Arthur spent two hours trying to tame the grass Glenys and I raked before she threw it over the fence. By the time lunchtime had arrived we had turned into three grease spots. Poor Arthur was then faced with a weary and extremely slow trip back home.


I continue to go outside some nights orb hunting. One evening I followed Mishka up the drive photographing all the way and in each shot there was a white orb floating in the air just above the fence before settling beside Mish. I wonder if it's a dog lover? My paranormal photography adventures inspired my brother to try taking photos at the end of his garden. After a particularly spectacular shot of a white orb which turned out to be some one's soccer ball he managed to capture a couple of large ones in a photo. My friend John however had no luck whatsoever until his wife photographed him with his two grandchildren outside during the day and the resulting photo showed a large grey cloud coming out of his head. Unfortunately he's now convinced himself that this means he's going to die. So if you're wandering around Napier at night and see bright flashes coming from various gardens you'll know what's happening. There is a whole lot of orbing going on.

Paranormal Photography

Being brought up in a family of mixed Anglican/Spiritualists there has always been some interesting conversations regarding the afterlife, ghosts, spirits, and all the other ephemera of New Age philosophies. However having a brother and friends who are Atheists I always try to have a slightly sceptical attitude to some areas of spirituality. I want to be open minded but not the extent that my mind is downright draughty. Trips to the library always begin at the "Spirituality/Metaphysical" section where I usually find a couple of books to keep me going. Last month I discovered "How To Photograph the Paranormal" by Leonore Sweet PhD which contained some pretty startling photos of orbs that she had taken. I decided to have a go myself since I now have a digital camera and am not wasting valuable (and expensive) film.

First night I turned off my bedside lamp and shot blindly around the room. At first there were just some photos of startled cats but out of ten pictures there were three showing unexplained round "things". I could see where the flash was reflecting and this was nowhere near the round orbs. Second night Mishka and I went outside and I blindly shot around the garden before my camera batteries went flat after just a few photos. This picture shows a large gold orb hovering just over the fence and following Mishka. There was also another later on of an orb following him back up the driveway.

One evening I turned off the lights inside and then hung my arm way out of the window facing away from the house shooting into the darkness. There was no moonlight that night and I wasn't near any reflective surfaces so this picture came as quite a surprise.

I have spoken of what I have been doing the last few nights with several friends. One, an Atheist, does not believe "in that sort of thing", one was bemused and one tried to work out what these objects are, whether they're energy forms or spirits. As for myself I have ruled out bugs as they show up as white flecks, I don't photograph in the rain and the atmosphere is calm so there wasn't any dust. I am now encouraging everyone I know with digital cameras to try photograph around their own homes to see what shows up.

Poppies

There are triffids growing in the garden. Well humongous sized weeds and I have the allergic welts to prove it. With all the rain we've had recently everything has sprung away and as soon as I finish one patch of garden I turn round to see a jungle behind. It would be quite depressing if it weren't for all the beauty about me. A friend told me today that it must be the year for poppies. Certainly I have a surfeit of rumpled gorgeousness from the common old red Soldiers' poppy to ruffled pink jobbies to PINK and purple artists' dreams that I have photographed to distraction. Now I just have to get the lawn mowed before there is a fire and I will be halfway towards a sort of paradise.

Cat Training aka How To Train A Human

The recession has finally hit the cats. When I went grocery shopping with Rose this week I noticed their usual cat food "Gourmet" had gone up by 30c a tin which makes a price rise of 50c over the past year making it much too expensive. But I am pretty fussy what I feed my animals so spent some time with a can of Gourmet, comparing ingredients with other brands. Some had too much fat, not enough protein, others I am sure were composed of pure horse. Rose stood by patiently while I did this until in exasperation she said "You spend more time looking at what's in your cats' food rather than in your own. It's disgusting!"

I have to explain that Rose doesn't "get" the whole owning cats thing as she has a dog. However she is about to take ownership of a SPCA kitten within the next two weeks so a whole new world is about to open up to her. But she's certain that there are going to be rules with her new pet, it'll eat what it's given, no special brands, it won't sleep on the bed, it'll have to fit in with her life rather than the other way around. I have tried to explain that within a week of arriving her kitten will have her fully trained, seeing to its every whim and fitting her life around its existence. She just looked at me as if I was really just an eccentric cat lady.

So after five minutes of intense scrutiny I settled on good old Chef cat food but then had to choose what flavours to buy. I know my cats aren't too fond of fish so settled on chicken, lamb as well as a couple of cans of Chef classic. Rose shook her head in disbelief but never said a word. When we arrived home I began unpacking the groceries while we did some last minute chatting. Just as she was walking out the door Rose turned to me and said "I'm going to town again on Friday so if the cats don't like their new food give me a ring and I'll buy them something else".

I just hope her new kitten appreciates the training I have put into it's new pet when it finally arrives at its new home.

Roses All The Way

Suddenly there are roses everywhere including a beautiful pink climber that is clambering up the northern wall of my bedroom. This was the only one I couldn't reach to prune so not surprisingly it's the most rampant. The rose is truly the Queen of Flowers in all its variations. I just wish I knew the names of all of the ones in the garden here but perhaps it is more fun to name them myself in which case I'll call this one "Fred".

The Big Flight

The cats are still pretty jumpy from weeks of being dive bombed by irate swallow parents. I managed to get a great shot of the babies a week ago by holding the camera over my head and snapping in their general direction. When a friend offered to get even closer we were startled by the four babies taking wing and flying out across the paddock. They each sat on a fence post while the parents flew from one to another before they all took to the sky again wheeling about in ever increasing circles. We were so worried that we'd frightened them away permanently but at 7.30pm that night and every night since the family arrive in a blast of excited chattering, the babies settling in the nest and the parents perching on the coat hooks on the opposite side of the back door. By morning they've all left for the day, only flying in under the carport every few hours or so.

From what I have been told swallows hatch two or three clutches per season and already Mr and Mrs have begun reinforcing the mud nest with dried grass, most of which is dropped around the door in amongst the piles of bird do do like some natural abstract sculpture. Perhaps I can enter it for some prestigious art award next year.

Briar's Pedicure

Briar had a pedicure this morning. Her beautician is called Mike. Soon as I put the halter on Briar went into Eyeore mode- her head drooped, her ears flipped back and her eyes filled with tears (well not quite but she looked pretty pissed off). She made a few desultory attempts to kick Mike's hand away before giving into the inevitable. Mishka loved Briar being tied up (not for any kinky reasons) and spent time darting between her legs in order to snatch little hoof shavings. Mike threw him a few larger hoof curls but Mish believes in take away (or steal away in his case) so only ate what he could snatch for himself. Of course we're all suffering the after effects of this feast tonight.

Meanwhile in cat world the cottage felines are under attack by the swallow parents whose offspring hatched over the weekend. I hear lots of bird swearing and open the back door to find Gypsy or Kit cowering near the house while swallows dive bomb them. Even this evening while Peaches crouched on the kitchen window sill an extremely irate bird kept swooping by the glass clacking some extreme obscenities. However Peachy Bum and I were both rewarded by the sight of two tiny beaks reaching up over the edge of the mud nest while the parents vomited up some goodies. Made Stargate Atlantis seem quite tame by comparison. I need to get a life...

Balls

Everything is springing away including the weeds. I have been trying to keep up with the garden but unless I spend at least an hour a day out there the weeds begin to win. This is the view in the evening from the sitting room window looking towards the Ruahine Ranges. The tidy bit of the garden...

So far I have unearthed 13 balls left by previous tenants including several sad deflated tennis balls and a rugby ball that looks as if Jonah Lomu sat on it. Mishka is terribly excited with each new discovery- probably because he was castrated as a pup.

Gathering Lilacs In The Spring

I have been enjoying lilacs for weeks now; photographing the flowers, picking bunches and bringing them inside, and gazing at them from my bedroom window.Obviously I've led a deprived life as I've never had a lilac bush in the garden before although when I lived at home my mother planted one which never flowered. She read in a magazine that if you hit the trunk with a hammer and then swore at it there would be a plethora of flowers the next season. Obviously someone was having a case of the funnies as the tree sulked even more after being beaten up by a seriously deranged senior citizen.

The garden here is bursting into life which means bursting into weeds. I am trying to do at least an hour's work each day but this isn't making much headway. Today I spent two hours weeding before planting a cutting on the burgundy Iceberg rose amongst the lavender. I also planted eight different coloured alyssum plants so I can begin making pressed flower cards again.

Gardening is as mystic as I get and whenever I see a new flower a verse from Dorothy Frances Blomfield Gurney's poem comes to mind:

The kiss of the sun for pardon,
The song of the birds for mirth,--
One is nearer God's heart in a garden
Than anywhere else on earth.

Two Swallows Don't Make The Spring

When I first moved in here last March there was a disused swallows nest situated above the back door. The day after moving "someone" removed it (not me) but for the past couple of weeks Mr and Mrs Swallow have been busy rebuilding it. It is an amazing edifice constructed of straw, dirt and bird spit. Now it has been lined with feathers and the female is sitting on some eggs while the husband keeps watch sitting on a coat hook on the other side of the door, carefully building up a pile of guano on the ground underneath.

The cats spend hours perched on the window sill above the kitchen sink watching all the goings on. Safer there than outside where they're dive bombed by the irate parents to be. Warmer too since we are having yet another cold snap with snow falling down on the foothills.

I have had several visitors this week. Rose helped out Monday, Tuesday we went down to Waipukurau and in the afternoon friends brought me out some much needed firewood. After art at Otane on Wednesday Gine visited for a couple of hours with little Moses. We sat chatting in front of the fire, trying to control Mishka who was certain he'd be very helpful cleaning Moses, especially while he had his nappy changed. Mish is a dog on a mission where pooh is concerned.

Peanut

There are some chooks that stick in your mind like- well like chicken poo. Peanut hatched on 2nd November 1994. Her mother "Squidgey" was an Old English Game Fowl, a tiny but feisty hen who was addicted to walnuts. One day she went missing and a few weeks later arrived outside the hen house with three tiny bumblebee chicks. Peanut took on her mother's colouring but was twice her size plus she inherited her grandmother Becky's tufted feather head dress. Over time Peanut has had a couple of clutches and lived to see her grand, great grand and even great great grand chicks. Not only that but she has moved six times as I had to move home.

Lately Peanut has begun to look a bit shabby but still was bolshie enough to beat up a young rooster who got a bit amorous a couple of weeks ago. A few days ago when a cold snap swept in her wings began to look a bit droopy and yesterday morning she died only one month out from her 15th birthday. I buried her in the flower garden and planted a lavender dentata cutting on her grave. Another superannuitant chicken has gone to the big chook house in the sky.

A Woman Who Stares At Goats

Friday was a beautiful yellow day. After going to portraiture class in Otane in the morning I came home to lunch and discovered that Tikokino School had rerun two of my advertisements I'd placed the previous week in their newsletter. I had vowed that this would be my last attempt to advertise for my missing goats as I had exhausted every avenue I could think of.

In the middle of the afternoon I found a phone message from someone at Gwavas Station saying that four goats were living on a cliff. I spoke to a manager who said that there were two white and two fawn goats and they'd been living there for two to three months. He had been going to shoot them but one of his friends said he'd read somewhere that someone was looking for their pets but couldn't remember where he'd seen it. Of course then my ad was rerun in the newsletter and the rest is history.

Saturday morning it was pouring with rain. Rose and her husband Matthew arrived in their four wheel drive and we made our way down State Highway 50 to Gwavas Station. We were met by a very nice guy on a motorbike with a fox terrier riding pillion. We followed him across the road and into a bumpy paddock then through a gate into another bumpy paddock. By this stage we were overlooking a steep gorse covered cliff to the east. We waited while Casey drove his motorbike down a hill in order to scare the goats out of cover and up into view.

I saw four fat hairy goats break out from the trees and start to run vertically up the cliff face. I tried to look at them through some small binoculars but couldn't make out any collars although one of the fawn goats seemed to resemble Xena. Rose and I were sure it was too much of a coincidence that four long haired goats should be there a few months after mine went missing but I was at a loss as to why two had changed colour.

Casey came back and asked where I used to live. I told him and we worked out that Xena must have gradually brought the herd along the river, under the bridge (or even across the highway) before finding shelter on the cliff. She was probably only 10 kms from where I now live so I try to fool myself she was trying to find me. He said he would ring the neighbour whose farm abutted Gwavas and ask him to help muster them down and into the sheep yards so I could collect them. I thanked him and thanked him again, unable to believe that after nine months I'd finally found them again. Note to self: make offering to the guardian angel of goats who looked after them all these months.

Furry Washing

I don't know what it is about clean washing that attracts cats. If I leave clothes on the bed I will come back to find Kit sprawled on top, happily moulting black hair everywhere. Peaches has a particular liking for linen and towels and on occasion decides to use the clothes airer as a hammock...

Hellebores and Lavender

I dreamed about my goats again last night. I have this recurring dream that someone actually returns them to me. It is now eight months since they disappeared and despite adverts in the local newspaper, school newsletter and a flier delivered by the mailman I have had no response as to what has happened to them since they disappeared from the last place I lived in late December. For a while they were seen wandering on a neighbouring farm and I kept asking the farm manager if he would help round them up. However by the time I moved here they had completely disappeared. My cousin has even suggested that my previous landlord may have had them shot. All I know is that I really miss them and can hardly bear to talk about them.

Today it is warm and the garden is slowly springing to life. We seem to be later than most places- my daffodils are only just beginning to flower and the tulip leaves are just poking out of the soil whereas they're flowering further down the road. However the winter hellebores have been blooming for weeks and are just lovely.

Rose and I went to Mitre 10 and were drawn towards the specials table like rats towards walnuts. Everything was a bit worse for wear but marked down by 50%. I got a Pukehou lavender for just $7 and six Lady Lavender plants for only $5. I have planted these by the brick path at the front of the cottage so I will eventually have a fragrant hedge growing under my bedroom window. Going shopping with Rose is always dangerous but as she says we're doing a good thing by supporting the local economy...

In the Dumps

Rose and I went to the dump (sorry "transfer station") this morning. I had been putting it off for a while but two months worth of rubbish and an old plastic dog bed I have been trying to ditch for the past three years finally got to me.

I've never been to the Waipukurau dump (Transfer Station) before but we paid the $9 fee for a carload of stuff and made our way past the sewage treatment pond with accompanying hungry seagulls towards Nirvana. Around were piles of treasures including a near perfect ladder, a hot water cylinder Rose wanted to take for drain water, piles of tyres we reckoned would be perfect for growing potatoes, and a few extremely interesting items we couldn't recognise but figured could come in handy.

Unfortunately you can't steal from the dump like you could in the good old days when my brother found a lawnmower with petrol in it, took it home and mowed the lawn. Rose was particularly distraught at all the useful things she could make something of if given half the chance. For me as a Longshaw, a family known for never throwing away ANYTHING as it might come in useful for something in the coming millennium I was breaking all known family rules by throwing out a dog bed that was perfectly good except for being half eaten from when Mishka had been a pup twelve years ago. Even Rose said it was hurting her to have to ditch it. Then as we drove away she sighed and said "Tonight I will be dreaming of this paradise".

Demelza is still punishing me for puppy sitting Molly. I have washed the sheepskin from her bed but despite getting rid of the doggy smell she sits by it gazing stonily out the window in disgust. However Gypsy is thrilled with this unexpected outcome and has taken it over for her evening nap. Cats are ever opportunists.

Witty Post On A Wet Day

I am sitting on the sofa and this is what I am looking at. I call it the tidy area of the room. As I pan left and clockwise everything goes downhill: there is a chair covered with art materials, drawings on top of the piano, the big mess that is me on the sofa, my unravelling knitting on the armchair, Kit on another chair and Peaches and Gypsy asleep on the small sofa with my wheat packs in front of the window.

I have been so busy all week cleaning wire rabbit cages. Today is my first rest day which is just as well as the Fibro is so bad I can barely move. Great excuse to delay the dusting.

I really wanted this to be a terribly witty post so I will end by saying something funny: hippopotamus.

Molly

Late Friday afternoon my landlord arrived unexpectedly. Landlords turning up on my doorstep are generally not good news so I felt quite nervous when I opened the front door. My relief was palpable when he said that he was leaving for Australia for a week the following day and as his parents were still in the South Island would I please mind his Jack Russell puppy Molly until the following night? I said yes and within ten minutes Molly had arrived.

Mishka was in heaven. For the first two hours he obsessively followed Molly alternatively sniffing her rear end before humping her hopefully. When she jumped up on an armchair to have a rest he stared at her and whimpered until she woke up again. By the end of the evening they were both exhausted from all the activity so Molly curled up to sleep in a cat basket (much to Demelza's horror as she likes to take the occasional nap in there) and we had a quiet night.

Next morning I had an early start as my friend Gay was driving me to Waipawa to collect some angora rabbits a friend was bringing through from Auckland. By 8.32am Gay and I were shivering in the Waipawa Museum car park while my friend Pauline and the secretary of the RCNZ unpacked a ute full of bunnies and unloaded the eight angoras that were coming home with me. I didn't have enough carry cages so had placed cardboard dividers in two of them. These soon fell over so Pauline repacked the cages with buck/doe combinations. Of course nature took its course and on the trip home there was the sound of vigorous scuffling. Appropriate that it all took place on the back seat of the car.

At home Gay and I carried the cages into the office temporarily so I could arrange some temporary isolation system. I then took Molly and Mish outside for a breath of fresh air only to have Molly take off through the fence into the paddock. All I saw was a white flash as she sped away until she found a freshly produced sheep afterbirth. By the time I puffed onto the scene she had nearly finished the tasty morsel. I managed to grab her and brought her back inside but had to wash her feet in the bath as they were caked with mud. I tried to dry them with paper towels but she squirmed so much that I didn't make much headway.

Most of the afternoon I spent arranging cages and cleaning out manure before I brought Molly outside again for another comfort stop. Her memory was pretty acute as she went straight back through the fence and back out to the afterbirth. Off I went again to retrieve the terrible terrier. This time she knew what I was trying to do and I had to chase her about while she did her best to gobble down the most revolting cream and red mess I'd ever seen. Back across the paddock we went, me holding Molly close while she wiggled and squirmed around on my chest. By the time we reached the house we were both exhausted.

Toward evening after a soak in a hot bath I took Molly outside again. Off she sped into the darkness towards the mecca of all afterbirths. As I rushed off after her I saw Briar the donkey began galloping towards her, head down and ears back with her best "kill dog" expression on. In a complete panic I called to Molly but she completely ignored me. With visions of squished dog in my mind I screamed her name again and again. Finally realising the danger she was in she took one horrified look at the grey blur bearing down on her and began yapping. Each time she tried to run towards me Briar would dart between us. Finally Molly managed to get near enough for me to scoop her up in my arms but Briar galloped in circles around me while trying to bite the little dog. I began to head backwards across the dark field, all the while hoping I wouldn't fall into a hole. Briar repeatedly circled desperately trying to get at Molly. Finally I reached the safety of the back gate and managed to squeeze through and lock it. Not surprisingly I slept most of the evening away until 10.30 when I took Molly outside again, hand hovering over her until she'd finished her business when I snatched her up and took her back inside.

After a quiet night Molly was in a terribly playful mood. Even Mishka was played out by now and the cats were severely traumatised. Demelza was particularly miffed from the time Molly crawled towards her on all fours before lying on her back with all four feet in the air. At 8am the landlord's Mum Betty (my neighbour) knocked on the back door and was amused when I opened it and without saying hello thrust a wriggling pup with one hand and Molly's food bag with the other towards her.

But the puppy love doesn't end there. This morning I was busy outside when I heard Mishka begin to bark. I found Molly in the driveway. I looked around but she was on her own so I took her inside and tried to ring next door. The number was engaged so I went outside and saw someone way over the other side of the paddock. Waving my arms wildly in what I hoped was my best "your puppy is over here" manner I was relieved to see Betty walk across towards me. I came in and grabbed Molly and was just in time to hand her back across the fence to her "grandmother". I think I am too old for all this puppy business...old foul mouthed Shetland Sheepdogs are so much easier to cope with.

Attitudenal Animals

I have a bunch of Woosie Cats but it's not their fault- I'm the one who insists they come inside at 3pm and stay there until 7.30 the next morning. They punish me by pinning me sideways in bed, one behind, one in front and another perched on my right hip ramming my left one down into the mattress. They don't understand it's for their own protection. I don't want them outside at night roaming the roads, taking up with disreputable toms and getting stoned on cat nip.

Last night I heard Demelza whining and growling. When I peeped out from behind the curtains I saw the startled face of a brown tabby cat by the front door. It appeared to me extremely friendly, sleek and well fed- the very epitomy of the type of cat I would like my girls to take up with. However they were having none of it as one by one they took turns to hiss and swear through the glass. When I finally let Mish out to water the lawn it took off. Shortly afterwards it returned to the front patio where Kit and it had staring/snarling session from their positions on either side of the glass. How long this stand off lasted I have no idea as I fell asleep.

Next morning after a quick trip outside in the frost in order to read her pmail Kit took up residence on my unmade bed. We've had a couple of stand offs this past week. If I lift her off she tends to turn on me and become extremely stroppy. Several times I have had to leave the bed unmade for most of the day until the call of the litter tray becomes too strong for her to resist.

Rain and Dusting Pain

Nothing sadder to behold than a wet sheep except perhaps a wet donkey. Two more lambs were born overnight but one died. Whenever I went outside to collect some firewood Mishka would stand at the fence looking longingly at the afterbirths. His mind never strays far from food.

Stuck inside I was driven to dust which is very disturbing in itself. It's worse when you know you're only moving dead skin from one place to another and that it'll all be back tomorrow. Whoever invented dusting was a sadist of the first water. I must say that following some of Flylady's hints on housework have really helped me. Firstly to make sure your kitchen bench is cleared of dishes every evening so you don't face them first thing in the morning. Secondly to target "hot spots" in each room for five minutes for a spot of dedicated sorting. Swooping down for brief tidying blitzs takes much of the fear out of tidying as you don't feel so overwhelmed when you know you only have a few minutes to work and can leave the remainder for another day.

Heard a wise woman say that an untidy house full to the ceiling with clutter is indicative of how the person living there is feeling about themselves. Living in total chaos can mean you feel out of control of your own life. On the other hand a layer of dust on the mantlepiece doesn't mean you're a bad housekeeper- it could mean you're too busy enjoying life and doing more important things to be bothered shifting the dead skin around.

Winter Arrival

Just when you think the winter can't get any more dreary a reminder of the coming Spring appears. This morning a black faced ewe lambed right next to my boundary fence. Briar the donkey has taken on the role of nanny donkey and general protector. Not that the ewe needs any help- she's already has charged Mishka who had decided to roam the paddock in search of the afterbirth as well as Gypsy who thought she'd come and say hello to the new arrival. However the sheep was quite happy for me to come within a few feet and snap away. I was even allowed to pat the baby. Perhaps I am a latent sheep whisperer.

The Baking Monster Strikes Again

I ran out of chocolate biscuits this morning. Probably for anyone else this would be no big problem but if I go without something with cocoa in it for even a few short hours I am prone to blow up. Therefore I decided to ignore the mocking I usually receive when I mention to anyone that I intend cooking something and actually baked. I decided to make a slice with weetbix and coconut in it that usually turns out half edible, even for me. It didn't take long to cobble together and only 20 minutes to cook but then I remembered the reason I don't like cooking- having to do the dishes afterwards.

Not only am I out of biscuits but dried cat food as well. However I have a small stash of spare food for them. Whenever friends lose a pet cat they bequeath me its beds, its electric blanket (yes really) as well as any leftover cat food. I pulled out a packet that wasn't past its used by date and quelling any qualms that it was sold by The Warehouse I doled it out to Kit and Gypsy. Gyps turned her delicate black nose up at first smell but Kit gamely tucked in. Within a minute though she bomited it up. She then had a few more "bomiting" episodes. I blamed the cat food but later realised that I'd left the slice cooling on the stove top within feline reach. Perhaps Kits greed had finally got the better of her and she was paying for it with my cooking which rates as a weapon of mass destruction. She has been determinedly dieting since.

Flu, Pooh and Moulting Balls

Peaches got all frisky in the middle of the night, got off the bed, pulled all the cat toys out and began batting a polystyrene ball around the house. The next morning there were little pieces of dead ball lying around the dining room but Peaches had put the it back where she'd found it so she got a B for tidiness.

My brother was rushed to hospital by ambulance a few days ago with flu that developed into pnuemonia. He was placed in isolation for a day while being tested for Swine Flu but turned out he just had the ordinary human variety. After being given a nebulizer three times and oxygen throughout his stay he was released home. The worrying part of all this is that he has emphysema and even though he had his flu shots he still got sick.

The sun actually came out today so got a few outside chores done. Dug out more couch grass and cleaned out the chook house which is not a job for the faint hearted or anyone with a sensitive nose. Which reminds me- heard about a man in Papua New Guinea who tried to commit suicide by throwing himself down a long drop toilet. A woman who went in heard someone calling for help but ran off thinking it was evil spirits. The man was eventually rescued but I'm sure he found himself in more s**t with his wife who had to do his laundry.

Two Reasons For Not Making The Bed

Woke up to a steely sky and drizzle this morning. The cats went outside, after half an hour one by one they came back in. Kit disappeared behind the sofa, Demelza just disappeared. However Peaches and Gypsy decided to return to bed, only turning to give a look of disapproval at the dog for daring to wake them up.

Gradually they begin to get sleepy again and head off to dream about cheese flavoured mice. I hang around hoping they'll get the hint to get off so I can make the bed but in the end I don't have the heart to move them. It's pouring with rain, it's really a day for vegging out and being lazy.



So in the end I climb into bed fully dressed and have a cat nap of my own. After all if you can't beat 'em, join 'em!

Winter Bites

The weather is only suitable for polar bears at the moment so over the weekend I rearranged the dining table using it to paint on so I could sit in front of the fire. I wasn't the only one- Demelza and Mishka lay roasting on the carpet for the duration.

Everywhere there seems to be more and more concern about the Swine Flu. It seems ironic that all the precautions the Health Department are recommending are just plain commonsense such as covering your mouth when you cough and washing hands thoroughly. I am trying to build up my immune system with an echinacea/garlic/zinc supplement. Even the chickens have been getting the treatment with some garlic paste that was past its used by date. The smell in their house was so potent for a couple of days that none of them were too keen to sit close to each other. If only I could encourage Mishka to eat some- anything would be an improvement over his scrofulous breath.

Grey Skies

Marg and John arrived early this morning with a uteload of firewood. Just in the nick of time as I was down to my last few pieces. It was quite warm while Marg and I unloaded (my Dad would have a fit if he could have seen how we just threw everything in the woodshed rather than neatly stacking it) but by the time we all had a cup of tea and a chat the sky to the south looked like a smacked bum. Thankfully Sue Bradford wasn't in close proximity.

By lunchtime the mountains were shrouded by rain but some of the bantams bravely ventured onto the driveway to pick at any squashed acorns. Within half an hour they were congregating on the patio and crowing through the windows trying to encourage me to put them to bed early.

The early winter encouraged me to become uncharacteristically domesticated on Saturday- I made a pot of homemade soup. I cooked enough for several meals, freezing the surplus for the nights when I'm too lazy to make anything. When I told a friend I'd made soup she asked "And was it edible?" I was mortified by her suspicion, after all my culinary skills are legion!

Jack Frost Moves In

If the poem is right and you're "nearer God's heart in a garden than anywhere else on earth" then parts of mine are nearer Satan's backside. I think couch grass is a devilish invention designed to drive gardeners round the bend. When I first moved here it had grown to three feet high in places out the front but gradually I've been digging it out with the occasional assistance of Rose who now admits couch is her most hated weed.

Last week I sidelined gardening to concentrate on helping organise the Otane Painter's exhibition. On the third day I was there on duty watching the sky darken outside the old schoolhouse's windows as the day wore on. Glenys and I left soon after 4pm and by the time we neared Tikokino the temperature had fallen to 1oC. By the time I got out of the car it was snowing.

All that evening I kept opening the dining room curtains and turning on the outside light so that I could watch the snow falling. The next morning it was still lying on the grass outside and across the Argyll hills to the east. Since then we've had some killer frosts which have frozen the chooks' water dishes, killed part of my money plant by the front door and made the cats burrow under the bedclothes at night. I just wish it would kill the couch grass.

A Lost Stitch

I have begun knitting again. No really I have begun knitting again for the first time in {cough} years. I saw some purple feathery yarn in Waipukurau and decided to "create" a scarf for a friend's birthday in July.

Knitting is a bit like riding a bike- soon as you start you remember how to do it. However I will admit that it took me two hours to cast on and complete three rows that first evening and there was quite alot of swearing involved. Then they don't tell you that if you drop a stitch with this slippery shiny stuff you can't find it again and have to unravel what you've done and start again. Three times! However I am proud to report that I have now knitted about six inches of scarf and that the swearing has diminished to a faint muttering.

Napier Siege

I grew up in and spent many years living in or near Napier so it was a surreal experience to watch it being terrorized by one disturbed man last week. Three policemen went to a house on a routine drug bust but instead one ended up shot dead and the other two wounded along with a civilian who tried to wrestle the gun off the killer. The murdered policeman is someone I'd met a few times when I lived in a semi rural and semi criminal area near Taradale. Len Snee was a good cop who tried to help instead of just saying "move". He was the epitomy of the community policeman who cared about what happened on his patch.

For two days Len's body lay near the house in Carlyle Road. Even when the army came in with their armoured trucks they were still unable to remove his remains. Meanwhile another policeman's German Shepherd waited quietly in a van for two days, the usually vocal dog never barking despite the intermittent shooting throughout the days and nights of the siege.

It was strange to watch places I'd biked past flashed on the TV news. To hear of schools I'd attended in lock down for a couple of days, to see people unable to go back to their homes due to being within the range of the killer's rifle. When his identity became known then it was realised that we were in for a prolonged seige as this man had a complete arsenal of guns as well as bombs and night vision equipment. He was also known to grow cannabis and was extremely paranoid due to ongoing tension with the Mongrel Mob gang.

Finally on Saturday the police stormed the house to find the killer dead in his bedroom. His body still lies there now as his house is carefully combed for booby traps. It is difficult to comprehend that such a crazy incident could happen in sleepy Napier. It feels as if the city will be forever tainted by the memory.

Airini

My friend Airini has died.

Over the two years I knew her she was always popping by with magazines for me to read. We'd have a chat with her sitting on her motorbike wrapped up in wet weather gear, woollen gloves, scarves and a cap perched on top even in the heat of summer. She'd pull an old hessian sack over her knees to keep the chill off and carry a stick to wave at Lil if she got up to mischief. She took a great interest in my cats, especially Kit who she called the most beautiful cat she'd ever seen (Kit was forever rolling over showing her tummy and generally behaving like a tart). Often Airini would bring photos to show me of the cats her family owned when she was young, then more recent pictures of the middle aged version of herself with kid goats climbing over her farmbike back in the 80s. Often she'd cut the conversation short before rushing home to watch a rugby match or else the cricket on Sky while she did crosswords to keep her mind sharp as a tack.

Earlier this year she began driving down to the farm dump with bags of photos and memorabilia to burn. She said she was having a clear out so her niece wouldn't have to do it after she was gone. It was only weeks later that I heard she'd been diagnosed with Leukaemia. She no longer rode her four wheeler motorbike but instead drove her car down to do her few farm chores with her dog Lil still running beside her. There were no more conversations at the front fence but she'd always hold her hand up in greeting as she drove by.

I never got to say goodbye before I left the farm but two weeks ago when I heard she'd had an accident I rang the farm manager's wife who told me that Airini had gone to open a gate and fainted. Turned out she was dehyrdated and her family, fearing she wasn't looking after herself, put her in a home. I sent her a card over a week ago never expecting that she'd die suddenly a few days later. Her heart must have broken from having to leave the land. She was in her 89th year.

The Big Shift- Again.

I thought it would never happen but I've finally shifted. After being surrounded by boxes for months I am in a new home- surrounded by boxes.
The day before I was due to move on the 24th March I felt I was running out of stream. Gay arrived late morning and took a carload of breakables to the new place while I schlepped from room to room putting the last bits and pieces into whatever I could find. In the afternoon Gine arrived for a couple of hours and we packed my winter clothes, the last of the ornaments from the dining room and the remainder of the office stuff. Diane and Richard were also busy taking my old henhouse and reassembling it on the front lawn plus trailer loads of cages, plants and outside dross.

Tuesday dawned grey and drizzly but later turned sunny which was an immense relief. The truck driver wasn't due until 4pm which meant it would be a late night for us all. Rich and Di arrived early to take more stuff down and at 3pm my new helper and friend Rose as well as Marie and Gay turned up with cars to transport fragiles. However the truck didn't arrive until 4.30pm with only one man instead of two so everyone had to help take things outside, even Charlotte with daughters Georgia and Ella. Finally we had it all loaded at 6.30 so I piled into Rose's car with Mishka on my knee and we drove to the new house.

It took another two hours to unload the truck but fortunately this time the driver's son had arrived to help. In the end we just piled things into the sitting room so that I couldn't even get in there. Marie, Gay and Rose left while the truck was finally being cleared. Another problem was that I had no water so Betty next door rang her son and he turned it on when he arrived home an hour later. Then we discovered that the telephone didn't work but by then it was getting really late so Diane and Richard said they would return the next day and we would sort everything else out then.

When I released the cats they all disappeared beneath the spare bed. After a while though they began exploring which ended in a crash and Gypsy racing out of the sitting room. I then discovered she'd upended a box of china so carefully transported by Gay and broken three pieces of antique china. I was too tired to even cry. By this time the water was back on so I ran a bath but someone had turned the hot water cylinder off so it was more of a hurried wash as the cold water was combined with the bathroom window being open as it was broken and couldn't be closed.

I clambered into bed about 10.30pm but began to freeze as there was a broken window in my bedroom. At 2am I got up and stuffed a rubbish bag in the cracks before crawling back to bed. Demelza had a particularly rough night becoming so stressed that she ripped holes in my sheets. Peaches was forever jumping up on my knee and Kit decided to spend the night sleeping on my head for comfort. Gypsy was being ignored due to the china breaking incident.

I slept in until 7am the next morning. I managed to persuade the dog to go outside although he wanted to come back in immediately. I made a cup of tea and fed the cats but later forgot to feed myself. My cousin Elaine arrived just after 9am followed by Rose and Gay and we began getting the kitchen organised. Then Rose left to clean the other house while the three of us began to shift boxes out of the sitting room so that we could change the furniture around. By midday you could actually sit down on a comfortable chair.

By then Lorraine (one of my brother's friends) turned up followed shortly afterwards by Diane and Rich who began covering in the carport with tarps and wirenetting to make a secure shelter for the rabbits. Mid afternoon the others had left so we decided to head down to the old house to collect the bunnies. Diane was going with Rich's friend and myself with Rich but Lorraine's car wouldn't start as the battery was flat. This had to be only time Richard didn't have his jump leads in the car so we had to drive into Tikokino village to collect a pair from his sister in law. By the time we arrived back and managed to get Lorraine's car started it was 5.30pm and the sun was beginning to set.

At the old house the others went around the back with Lorraine's two dogs while I put the rabbit's in carry cages and put them in Rich's car. While he took down their cages Diane and I rolled up the polythene with its wet sawdust and manure and bundled it into bags. While Rich and I drove back Lorraine and Di sluiced out the garage with hot water.

By the time we returned it was dark so with the aid of Rich's torch I got into the hen house and managed to catch all the bantams. As I caught each one Rich would bundle it into a bank of cages which were strapped to the trailer. After I finished we covered this with a tarp and drove home where I put them into their original hen house Rich had erected on the front lawn.

In the middle of all this a ute drove over to the fence and someone jumped out. This was my first meeting with my new landlord who wrote down the name of the electricity company he had the cottage with and which I needed to shift over to. What he must have thought with three dogs running around I don't like to think but we were too tired to explain what was happening.

Everyone left soon after that so I fed the rabbits in their carry cages as we hadn't had time to hang their own ones and then went inside to feed the cats, have a cup of tea, a hot bath and then crawl to bed by midnight.

Thursday Richard arrived early morning saying that he was going to collect my firewood. He did this in two loads and I helped him to unload the wood into the small shed at the back. In the middle of this Gay rang to say that Gareth and Gine had found a horse float and she'd be down at 4.30 to collect me so I could help load Briar and bring her back. Mid morning Telecom arrived to fix something on the roadside so I could finally get my phone working. Mid afternoon Rich arrived back with Diane and we had to decide where to hang the cages which wasn't easy as the roof was over 12 feet high. Finally deciding on where a couple should go I was able to leave with Gay thinking I would only be half an hour away. Instead of which another adventure was in store.

We stopped to collect Gareth and the trailer before heading back down the road for the last time. Briar was excited to see us as she must have been lonely for company. I got the halter on her easily but soon as she was walked towards the ramp of the horse float she put her brakes on. We pulled, I pushed her bottom, I tried to place one hoof at a time on the ramp and by this manner we actually got her to the top before she'd had enough and jumped off sideways scratching just above her eye in the process.

Next I got inside the horse float and tried to pull her in while Gay and Gareth pushed from the other end. I suggested Gay head over to the manager's house and ask if Andrew could lend up a hand and a rope but Charlotte said he wasn't there. However Gay waved down two men who were heading home after working on the cow shed. One bearded guy with a paunch stuck his head round the door and said "Gidday. Is she a kicker?" I assured him she was an angel with anything but floats. By this time his opposite (a tall skinny man) arrived. They sized up the situation, grabbed a synthetic rope from their truck, stood on either side behind her with the rope between them and told us to pull. The shock of having a yellow donkey thong up her rear end was enough to startle Briar into rushing up the ramp which meant to had to move smartly out of the way while Gareth tied her up before she could back up again. Our two hairy angels were very bemused by the whole situation "When anyone asks what I did today I can say I installed a ***** and got a donkey into a float" the skinny one said with a grin.

By 6.30pm we were home. Gareth backed the float into the driveway and opened the door. Briar backed out, covered with sweat and stressed. I walked her round the back and put her out into the paddock. Gay and Gareth left shortly afterwards, no doubt wondering what they'd done to deserve such an experience!

I went inside to check the cats only to hear Diane yell out. By the time I got outside they were racing across the paddock in the car. Briar apparently had seen some cattle and trotted over braying hello. Next thing the cattle all chased her back. She led them a merry chase around two paddocks before doubling behind them and following Rich's car back over to the gate. We were all a bit shaken by this time. Rich finished hanging most of the cages by 8 pm and they both left soon afterwards. I transferred the buns back into their cages, fed and watered them. On heading back inside I had my first evening meal for three days consisting of two Cruskitts and chocolate icecream to follow before falling asleep on the sofa for two hours.

Friday morning the 27th was my first day on my own. I woke at 7am again but got out and checked that everyone was ok including Briar who came over to say hello. However she disappeared during the day and later Betty arrived on her pushbike to say that Briar had been over by the other farm cottage and become convinced I was inside and brayed all day for me to come out. She had chased her back but suggested that I call out to her to let her know where I was. I did this over the next day and Briar soon became accustomed to her new home. Now just to get the goats back!

At Last!

I have been to see three houses in the past two weeks. Two were very old and pretty run down plus not in areas I want to live in, the third was in good order and still in the Tikokino area. Yesterday Gine, Gay and I went to see it on the way home from a surprise baby shower for Gine at a friend's house in Onga Onga. It is situated behind a large hedge which shelters it on the west side and surrounded by a large garden which is overgrown at the moment as the previous tenant vacated a while back.

The house is painted a lavender/blue shade and has a concrete patio at the front with a pergola covered in a grape vine. This looks to get all day sun which will be a bonus in the harsh winters here. There was a large outside room at the back door painted neon green with navy trimmings. Gine thought this would make a great art studio. Inside there were three bedrooms as well as a kitchen/dining room and sitting room facing north. The girls laughed when I bent down and kissed the Lady Kitchener stove in the kitchen. I have missed my one at the last place SOOOOO much. The carpet throughout is in excellent condition and a soft moss green colour while most of the walls are a pale peach. Walls- well there are more windows than walls which will make for creative furniture arranging.

At the back there is a large carport open on two sides which will have to be adapted for the buns. Also a good sized woodshed plus a small sort of implement shed attached to the outside room. I rang the landlord to ask more questions that evening and he offered the use of three small paddocks for grazing plus a chookhouse which is quite a distance from the house but will be good temporarily. Hopefully I will be able to move in the next four or five days- two days before "The Deadline".
Now to finish my packing. The yellow spare room is unrecognizable as it is full of packed and empty boxes. Hopefully I will be more settled in a week and can pick up my life again as I have been in a terrible limbo these past weeks. Added to all this I learned my aunt died a week ago. Her funeral was yesterday in Wellington so I couldn't go. She was only 54 and such a lovely gentle person. I wish I had known her all my life instead of just the past twenty years but that's adoption for you.

The Three Bad Things

This week has been like a journey down a dark hallway- much like the one here. Firstly on Tuesday morning I went out to feed the chooks only to find a pile of feathers near the shed. On further investigation I discovered a demolished bantam that I recognised as being Little Gay, one of the chicks born in December 2007. I remembered the previous evening that Briar had been acting disturbed, running around and snorting. Just then Peanut, the farm manager's little fox terrier ran out and along the fence out of this place so it looks like he was responsible for killing the hen.

Then I received an email from my aunt to say her older sister who was diagnosed with cancer a year ago is very ill and bedridden. Karen was the first person from my birth family that I ever met and she had always been very kind to me so this news is a great blow, especially as she is still so young.

I was still reeling from that news when late yesterday morning a message was left that the property manager was coming out to see me at 12.30pm. I had a bad feeling about this as a tenant is meant to be given 24 hours notice when an inspection is due. I rang my friend Gay from down the road and she came to keep me company.

At 12.50pm there was a knock at the door and my landlord was standing there. The first thing he said was that I better not lie about things as he would think very little of me and I better not go the "Tenancy Tribunal way" either. This was referring to the fact that he has never put it in writing that I need to leave here which legally means I don't have to although I have never stated this to him. He said the property manager was bringing a letter which I was to sign in front of them stating that he had told me to leave in October "and you better not lie and say I didn't say that". He went on to say that he had been "very good" to me yet further on he stated that he had not fixed the broken window or done any other repairs while I was here as he was going to renovate the place for the new resident anyway and didn't want to waste the money. He also said he had given glowing references to three different people about me but when I asked him who he stuck his chin in the air and said he wasn't going to tell me. However he was now "over it" and over feeling sorry for me.

The property manager then told me the landlord had not put anything in writing as he was trying to be a gentleman. She handed me the letter which I tried to read although my hand was shaking so much I could barely see the writing. I asked if I could read it on my own and she said she would send me a copy so I was made to sign my own eviction notice with them both standing over me. The landlord told me to move into town if I couldn't find somewhere suitable. There was alot more that he said and fortunately Gay was behind me listening so I have a witness as to the illegal behaviour that took place by my front door.

By the time I shut the door and went through to the kitchen I was a crying mess. I cried solidly for two hours. It never ceases to amaze me how callous and cruel people can be and how they think they can bend the law to suit their own ends.

Little Boxes

Kit loves the fact that I am packing as much as I dislike doing it. She loves boxes, empty or half packed, big or small, if you lose sight of that rotund hairy body you'll soon find it ensconsed in cardboard. I finished packing all my books today. No mean feat considering they are one of my addictions. I truly think that I actually will have enough boxes this time. Third time's the charm.

I have an appointment to see a property on Saturday which was once lived in by a friend of mine. I have no idea what state it will be in as it is as old as this place but hopefully this will reflect in the rent. It's a bit nearer civilisation than I would hope but still not in town. Hopefully the wiring is a bit safer than here and the landlord a bit more honest.

The Witch, the Switch and the Weird Landlords

Thursday morning there was a message for me to ring the property manager. Worried that perhaps my rent hadn't gone through I rang straight away only to have an extremely unpleasant conversation with her. Apparently my landlord had left a message that he had given me till October 2008 to get out of here but I'd dragged it out to November, December and so on. Of course this isn't true as he had told me late January but mid March at the latest. She mentioned that he had gone about it the wrong way (ie. hadn't written me a formal notice to quit) but that he'd only done that "to be kind". Her entire attitude was that he'd been this wonderful landlord who had taken me on when no one else would have wanted to. I brought up the broken window which thirteen weeks on has still not been fixed but there was no answer.

I put it back into her court and asked what properties she'd found for me. She only had one but said I would not be able to afford the rent. Just to make sure that I realised how low I rate in the scheme of things she told me that she'd never be able to find me a place, especially with my dog. She said he disturbed work on the farm. This is news to me as Mishka is usually at my side and will only bark if people come onto the property or too near to it. He never chases stock or is aggressive.

I came off the phone totally demoralized and confused as to why my landlord had changed his story. In desperation I rang the last number I had been given while searching for a place to live. I had not wanted to ring this particular farmer as he had a reputation. I can see why. He asked me the most personal questions. He was most reluctant to have a donkey on his property, in fact he didn't even want me but did say he would be in touch before the end of the day. At 5.30pm just after I had got into the bath the phone rang, then rang again, then someone began banging on the front door. Two hours later this man rang to say that he'd come to see me as he wanted to catch me unprepared so he could see how I live! He then went onto say he was considering my proposal seriously but wasn't sure about the donkey etc.

I spent much of Thursday crying. It really hurts to be talked down to, especially when you talk to other tenants and hear that they have not had similar experiences. I rang the Tenancy Advice Centre and spoke to a lovely lady who was actually a landlord. She told me my rights and generally bucked me up a great deal. However even now I am afraid and feel totally trapped as I know I may end up somewhere I do not want to be.

A huge downpour began Saturday night and by Sunday morning it had really set in. After I came in from my morning wander I turned on the kettle to boil a cup of tea and left the room. A minute later I heard the strangest buzzing and popping sound and saw Gypsy tear out of the room. By the time I got to the kitchen doorway I could see sparks and smoke billowing out of the power point. I knew it was only a matter of seconds before the wall caught fire so leant across the bench, reached my hand through the sparks and switched the kettle off before pulling the plug out. The power point was fried, black scorch marks around the switch and partially up the wall. I was shaking like a leaf.

The first night after I moved in not quite a year ago my brother pointed out green "stuff" coming out of the power point in the hallway and warned me not to use it. Likewise in my bedroom. All the power points affected look to have been installed in the 1980s and I think they may have been put in by an amateur. I always turn appliances off at the wall to save on electricity but now I will do so for safety as well.

I want my sense of hope as well as my sense of humour to return soon as it is hard to cope with life when they're both lacking. I stress then pack before falling asleep and waking to the same old situation. I need a miracle.

Limbo

Purgatory is, I believe, some sort of waiting room where souls hangs about for an appointment that never comes. That's how I'm feeling at the moment as I have yet to find somewhere to live. I cannot make plans for the future, I have nightmares whenever I sleep, I live in a kind of limbo where you're surrounded by half packed boxes and dread whenever anyone asks "Have you found somewhere yet?" Probably much of this is due to the fact that this is the third move in two years. I for one will never believe a landlord when he says "long term rental" ever again.


Added to which I have rats which can be very painful and make your eyes water. They scratch in the walls at night and leave little long black reminders absolutely everywhere outside. The cats did their best and caught three smaller grey individuals but I lock them inside at night for their safety (and to give the local bird life a chance) so they don't get an opportunity to hunt the larger rodents. Of course this doesn't deter Peaches who currently spends all day in the garage looking at a wall from which she expects a mighty feast to emerge.

Mitre 10 in Hastings (one of my favourite shops) has a great range of poisons. I bought one that resembled a green block of chocolate (and smelt the same) which you break up and hide in various nooks and crannies. Within a couple of days I discovered a large brown rat RIP-ing in the shed plus a terrible stench began to emanate from the wash house wall where obviously one had died looking for water. Then a couple of days ago a small grey rat was floating in a bucket of water outside.

I feel bad about having to kill them but on the other hand the thought of the diseases they carry helps me quash my vegetarian tree huggy tendencies. I know pet rats are terribly intelligent and affectionate but they're one animal I prefer to see with all four paws pointing skywards.

Then there's the heat- last weekend I noticed it was 36oC under the veranda at 9am and I'm sure it crept up to 40oC (100oF) in the sun. I brought Briar nearer the house to eat down some of the grass out the back before it becomes a fire hazzard. She thinks this is wonderful and has been having great fun chasing chickens and staring malevolently through the hen house window just to let them know who's boss.

The Return of the Egg Man and Other Idiots

I am distinctly nervous when I haven't seen Mishka for at least ten minutes. This usually signals he's sneakily egg hunting. Last weekend I noticed him lying beneath a tree on the lawn panting away. Thinking he was suffering from the summer heat I just left him alone until he made his way inside at lunch time. Immediately the most pungent aroma filled the house and I realised he'd gorged himself on a nest of rotten hens' eggs. How he finds these is a mystery, he seems to have been born with an innate ability to discover nests hidden away in remote areas that he never usually goes.

That night the smell was so potent I made him sleep in the hallway, grateful for the fact that I am not addicted to cigarettes as one struck match could have ignited the foul stench and blown the whole house away. In desperation I lifted up his tail and saw the remnants of various effusions so spent ten minutes "dagging" (cutting the messy hair) from around his rear end which frankly is a job I should receive danger money for.

Monday I received a call from my brother to say that Fungus the Bogey Car (my car left at his place) had been vandalized and the two right doors kicked in. This is the second time in three years that some idiot has had a go at it which infuriates me as anyone could tell it's a very old car that belongs to a financially challenged person. Rich too it to a panel beater who quoted repairs costing $800. As the car is only insured for $1000 and really only worth $300 we were both worried that the insurance company would write it off which would leave me without a car at all as you cannot buy anything roadworthy for a thousand these days. We both visited the insurance company who promised to do their best but since then I have been too frightened to ring and learn their decision.

Wednesday morning before I went to my art group I discovered "Limpy" a very old bantam hen had died in her sleep so there was a burial at 7am. Despite this sad start I had a pleasant day and came home late afternoon to confirm an advert I have placed in the accommodation wanted section of the local paper. At 8.45pm however I received a phone call from The Landlord who told me that despite telling me I had till mid March to find a place he wants me out yesterday as he has builders lined up to do alterations to the house. He asked if I had a Plan B which of course I haven't so he has told me to double my efforts to find somewhere to live. Obviously he thinks I just sit around eating bon bons and not doing anything. I was too gobsmacked to even ask when he was going to fix the broken window which has been left now for eight weeks.Add all this to relatives ringing to say my mother is dying it has not been a good start to the year.

The Gang Of Five

After last week's heatwave we've been lucky to have several days of gentle rain up here. Before it began on Saturday I rushed out and cut down the eight feet tall dried foxglove stalks, gently lying them in newspaper before bringing them inside to harvest. And that's when all the fun started. I spent hours sitting on the floor gently prising unopened pods and emptying the tiny brown seeds into an old honey container. This process literally took hours with me intermittedly screaming as very weird looking spiders ran up my arms. I am not good with creepy crawlies and by the time I'd finished harvesting I was itching all over. Result: I ended up with half a honey container full of tiny brown seeds plus a sore bum.

The wire fence between my place and the big paddock is just a joke these days. It is actually just a roll of wire netting that's held to the main fence by a single strand of rusty wire. I tried to improve it by threading wooden standards through to add stability but it still wobbles first to one side then the other. So it wasn't surprising one morning to meet a black faced ram in the back yard when I went out to feed the chooks. He calmly gazed back at me before returning to the fence and hopping delicately over.

For several days "Boris" as I named him would come in for a few minutes before the sight of me sent him walking back to his own field. But then he began bringing four of his friends along with him for the adventure. They were always the four same animals- one with curly horns "Horny", another black faced ram "Horatio", "Limpy" and "Sid". Initially I was worried about the garden but since I'm not going to be here much longer I gave up worrying and just hoped they would make a good job of mowing the lawn. If I went outside Boris would lead the gang back to the fence and they'd jump over. Who says sheep aren't smart? But yesterday Andrew's dogs rounded them up and took them away much to Briar's distress (she ran up and down the fence braying abuse at him). I thought they were all gone but this morning poor Horny was lying in the field stone dead. I guess the excitement just got too much for him.