Dirty Doings and the Psycho Terrorists

Suddenly it's New Year's Eve and all this year's resolutions are about to be renewed and ignored. Especially the one about keeping this blog updated regularly. The past couple of months have sped by in a wave of roses and weeds. The garden has looked very pretty in photographs. Beneath those lovely flowers lurks convolvulus that twines its way up stems and strangles everything. And below that is the couch grass that matts itself amongst the root systems. But I keep plodding away. Eventually I'll get on top of the weeds or die trying. Currently thinking about buying one of those DIY coffin kits and using it as a coffee table just in case the garden wins.


In the meantime we all have to contend with the heat and the gale force winds. Tuesday these reached 130 kms here in Tikokino. Plants are now wind burnt and lying sideways on the ground. I meanwhile lay sideways on the sofa, the fan on high, fixed in position so I was doing a reclining Marilyn Monroe with my skirt billowing. No way to work outside as a dirt storm engulfed us. Some silly buggers had ploughed fields which were then lifted into the air and evenly distributed over every surface within a ten mile radius. At one point I looked north and saw what looked like a tornado rising up behind a friend's farm. Usually I can look across towards the mountains but these were obscured with a haze of filth that sped its way across and dumped itself on me.


The chooks didn't care. It saved them all from expending energy on a conventional dust bath. Widget the outside rooster who refuses to live in the hen house since Franz (the dominant cock) beat the crap out of him loves perching on any available fence post and crowing his superiority to anyone who'll listen. Whenever I go outside I am mobbed by a crowd of ravenous hens, chicks, a yelling goat, roaring donkey and an occasional pissed off cat. A friend who often calls this "A Mad House" informed me yesterday that my animals are "psycho terrorists". Couldn't have said it better myself.

Searching For The Enigma That Is Stig

Mishka has been gone a month now. Hardest part is coming home and not having his pointy little face at the window. Cats have been confused. I've been lonely. Trying to find another Sheltie however is problematic due to cost. I spent nearly $600 in medical fees for Mish so only have $80 birthday money towards a new dog at the moment. Cost of a Sheltie puppy is $900- up $700 from when I bought Mishka in 1997. Inflation has a lot to answer for. I have been looking at other breeds but they're either up there in price or else don't inspire any desire in me to own them. Designer breeds (what we used to call mongrels) are the worst. Weimadoodles, cavoodles, schnoodles- every sort of doodly poodly combo fills Trademe's listings. Have spoken to two Sheltie breeders about finding an older dog needing a loving home so think that may be the best option.



On the 3rd November Ella the hen walked out with eight little chicks. She's a bit of a playgirl so they all seem to have different fathers. I couldn't keep her in the woodshed since Stig is still King in there so put a wire cage in the carport at the back door which has made it easy to take care of them. Ella is a good Mum and once she got over the desire to rip my hand off every time I offered food we started up a pretty good relationship.


Ebony's remaining two babies are big and healthy. I haven't handled them as much as I would like as I was so nervous after the others died that I didn't want to risk passing some nasty bacteria onto them but they now come up and ask to be patted and made a fuss of.


Stig has been my saving grace. Stig the demanding not quite four month old goat who has to be walked three times a day and who has ensured I keep weeding the garden in an effort to feed this demanding maahing spoilt monster. Stig who is learning to shake hands although he can sometimes decide to shake hands with your head when you're bending over. Stig who on occasion runs away so he can dash inside for a quick explore before I catch up with him. Stig who, if he spies a basket of clean washing, grabs a pair of my knickers and runs about shaking them up and down. Stig who wails like a banshee when he's throwing a tanty. I love goats!

Last Journey

I felt sick when I made the appointment for Mishka to be euthanised yesterday. I rang the local vets to check who would come out and do it for me but their mileage prices were so high that I had to face the fact that we would have to go to the clinic. Vet Services who did the original operation on Mish said that a vet would come to the car to save him the stress of going into the building with all its smells and unpleasant memories.

Every thing I did with Mish I mentally reminded myself that it would be for the last time “This is his last walk outside, this is his last meal, this is the last night”. After a broken night I got up early and fed everyone before I came inside to finish chores. As I was making my bed I kept feeling someone watching and would turn to see Mish lying in the dining room looking at me. Finally I knelt beside him and brushed his coat so he’d look his best for his final journey. I picked him up and cuddled him with his head resting on my shoulder. As he looked into the little hallway by the back door his ears went up and down repeatedly as if something was there but of course there was nothing.

As we sat there a song came on the radio- The Beatles “Golden Slumbers”. The lines “Golden Slumbers guide you to your rest” followed by “Hush little baby don’t you cry/And I will sing you a lullaby” started me off and when the song ended with “And in the end/The love you take/Is equal to the love/You make” that about finished me off.

Finally, just after 9am my friend Rose arrived to take us to the clinic. We put the cat basket and sheepskin Mish had commandeered after his operation on the back seat of the car while I sat illegally with him on my knee in the front. A very long fraught journey into Waipukurau later we arrived a few minutes late for my appointment. Rose went inside and came back with a form I had to sign giving my permission for the procedure. She then opened the hatchback and I settled Mishka into the basket while we waited for the vet to come out. Unfortunately he was running late so it was nearly 10am by the time he appeared by which time we were cold and Mishka stressed.

The nurse told me she had helped the original vet with the cancer operation in August and they’d been sure they’d removed all the cells and it wouldn’t reoccur. She couldn’t get over how aggressively the tumours had re grown. I told them Mishka’s left leg was very sore so they shaved his right one instead but couldn’t get a vein. However when they tried the same with his left leg Mish snapped at the vet so they went back to the right. As the injection went in I began to sob, resting my head on top of Mish’s as his eyes began to close and he went to sleep. Unfortunately for him my face was the last thing he saw in this world.

We drove home with him curled up in the little bed and managed to finish digging the grave I had begun yesterday without crying. When Rose took him out of the car and I touched him he was still warm and looked as if he was just sleeping. I laid him in the grave and put a sprig of jasmine on top of him and at that point we both lost it so I ended up helping filling in the grave with my eyes shut.

After Rose left I wandered around outside for an hour as I couldn’t bear to go into the house. When I finally became too cold the sense of loss was huge but the black and white cats came and sat beside me until I lay down and went to sleep.

So bye Mishka. King of the Egg Eaters. Cat Humper. Total Guts. Best Friend.

Time To Say Goodbye

When is the right time to let go? Watching Mishka gradually worsen each week I told myself it would be when he could no longer eat or wag his tail. But here we are weeks on and yet he still has an interest in his food (and everyone else's) and always has a wag ready and waiting. But two weeks ago he suddenly developed a limp in his left front leg after a egg search expedition in the shelter belt accompanied by a stray cow. He had trouble touching his paw to the ground but it seemed like the trouble was coming from the shoulder. Gradually each day he has curtailed his perambulations around the garden to the point now that he only wanders twenty feet from the door for a toilet stop or else to the woodshed to steal Stig's milk.

The mouth tumours have grown back and became ulcerated and infected a couple of weeks ago so he's back on antibiotics. The tumour in the lymph node of his neck has doubled so goodness knows what's going on in the rest of his body. Despite eating well and all his supplements and alternative treatments he is beginning to lose a little weight. He looks sad.

Mishka sleeps a lot now although he takes an interest in visitors. Especially one doggy one, Pippi the blue heeler, who was sitting in a truck last Saturday with Mishka whining up at her. Quick as a flash she jumped out of the window and much bum sniffing ensued before Mish began some intensive "wild thang". Distracting him from her wasn't too easy but she didn't seem to mind until she decided to go to the loo and Mish, never being man to let a chance go by, hopped on sideways. At that Pippi took umbrage and began growling so was locked back in the truck leaving a love lorn Romeo whining up at her.

Yesterday I rang the vets and discussed the options for putting Mish to sleep. As bringing them out here is too expensive and Mish is terrified of the clinic they will come out to the car and with me sitting beside him on the back seat they will set him free. He loves going for car rides so hopefully will be unsuspecting of what is about to happen. The last gift you can ever give your pet is unselfishness on your part- to learn when it is time to say goodbye.

Baby Bunny Bother

What should have been a happy time welcoming new bunnies into the world has turned into a fraught experience. What with the "jelly babies" constantly getting out of their nest box after being fed, to the first death of a seven day old white kit that I didn't discover out of the box since it had wriggled behind it and was hidden from view.

Six beautiful kits made it to two weeks and all opened their eyes. There was some difference in size from large and fat to small and fat but Ebony seemed to be doing a good job looking after her litter.

The only agouti kit (a buck) in particular was huge for its age and doing especially well until Saturday 2nd October when I discovered it sitting in the cage hunched up and looking very miserable. On close examination it had a bad case of green diarrhea which had only appeared that afternoon as it was fine when I checked in the morning. I isolated it from the others and brought it inside and tried to help but within two hours it was dead. This was my first case of kit diarrhea ever.

The following Wednesday I was showing friends the remaining five white kits when we noticed that one was slightly bald on top of its head as well as being (along with another baby) quite a bit smaller than the others. Next morning on the 8th Oct everyone looked fine and I began chores only to have my washing machine which is within ear shot of the rabbitry have a complete breakdown and try to make a break for freedom with all the noise it could muster. Then at 8.30am the lawn mower man arrived unexpectedly and began weed eating nearby. When I went to check on the bunnies an hour later one of the small kits was lying dead with the others sitting on it. I assumed it died of fright. Then the next day little Baldy died. When I examined it there was a huge bluish swelling on its head so that must have been part of the cause of death.

The kits reached three weeks and began hanging out with Mum a lot more although at first they were reluctant to enter the nest box after Baldy's death which made me wonder if he'd had a seizure which scared the hell out of them. They then reached four weeks of age and I began to relax until Sunday 17th Oct when I went out first thing on a warm still Spring morning to find the largest kit dead in the nest box. No signs of injury, the body was still warm and limp. Everyone else seemed fine and happy to see me but I now approach their cage with trepidation. In 24 years of keeping rabbits I have never lost five kits from a litter. Bunny bother. Or bother bunnies.

The Stig

My four goats Xena, Gretel, Heidi and Hoggle have disappeared off the face of the earth or at least into the depths of a Tikokino farm that is filled with goat-friendly gorges and cliffs. It is unlikely they will ever be caught. The pain of losing these four unbridled wild spirits has meant that I have had great difficulty even saying the word goat. That is until a couple of weeks ago.

My friend Rose's goat Brenda had triplets on 6 August 2010, two girls and a boy. She has been living on a farm so she could have access to a billy who not only sired triplets with Brenda but also with another nanny. Rose offered the male goat to me and I of course accepted. On 18 September we headed north towards Hastings in pouring rain, driving wind, the whole climatic gamut. There was no one around when we arrived at the farm so Rose went to find a farm worker who told us where the baby goats were housed.

Brenda was tied in a shed opposite the farm house near stalls full of bottle fed lambs who thought we were there to provide lunch. Rose had brought along a bag full of chopped apples and fed Brenda by hand until her friends Lesley and Rowan arrived home from shopping. Rowan released the triplets who bounded out and began to help themselves to "Moosli" calf food out of a bag. He grabbed the wether and popped him on my knee which nearly caused the poor little boy to have a serious case of conniptions. Rowan then fitted him with a collar and chain as he felt he needed to be tethered until he was tamed.

After a cup of tea in front of the fire Rose and I prepared to leave, me with the little goat standing on my knee looking out the front window of the car. He was quite disturbed on the way home but then decided to climb down by my feet where he sat quietly for the remainder of the journey.

It was still cold and rainy when we arrived home so we left the little goat standing on the passenger seat looking out across the paddocks while we goat proofed the woodshed where he would be living initially. Rose tipped a large cardboard box on its side for him to sleep in and we spread dry sawdust and the last of my hay on the ground. When I opened the car door to get him out he had christened the car seat. We settled the kid into the woodshed where he stood small and alone and slightly scared. After Rose went home I sat with him for half an hour until I was sure he was settled. However when I went inside the cottage he cried. And cried. And cried. Like a human baby wanting its mother. This continued until darkness fell when he quietened.

Rowan had provided me with a partial bag of Moosli and some milk powder along with a bottle and teat. However to get the little goat to suck on this I had to hold him between my knees and force it into his mouth. This led to some differences of opinion until he managed to bite the teat length ways so it was unusable. However I found that he would drink the milk mixture if I poured it into an ice cream container so it all turned out well in the end.

I had a few suggestions for names but suddenly "Stig" popped into my mind and wouldn't pop out again. Perhaps because he resembled Top Gear's The Stig in that he was white and had large googly eyes. As the week wore on he began to recognise me as the bringer of food and would bellow like a spoilt three year old when I left him alone. After a day I took Stig for a walk on his chain and he trotted happily along so in the end I let him go and he ran after me. He also ran after the roosters which caused some noisy consternation amongst the poultry population. He became so attached to me that he followed me inside the house and I discovered him sizing up the bed in the spare room. Stig was informed that that was not an option.

SOME SAY that he only knows two facts about humans: one is that they're really just funny looking goats, the other is that they're cruel with holders of Moosli. We just know him as The Stig. (With apologies to Jeremy Clarkson who does much funnier introductions on Top Gear).

Flowers and Furries

Two more smallish lumps have appeared under Mishka's facial hair this week but the main tumour inside his lip doesn't seem to have grown much at all. At the moment he is on 2,000 mgs of chewable Vitamin C every day plus a clove of garlic cut up and hidden in his meat. I also began him on Homeopathic Thuja 30c three times daily. Should be 6x but this is almost impossible to find here in Hawkes Bay. The vet doesn't believe in homeopathy but said to go for it anyway as it "can't hurt". At this stage Mishka is pain free and has his usual appetite although he supplemented his ordinary diet by finding and eating some soft runny sheep manure yesterday. So much for trying to keep his mouth clean and germ free. But he seemed happy.


Mish and I have been spending some time out in the garden while I battle the weeds. The hellebores or winter roses have been amazing. There are at least four colours and variations in between. I try not to disturb them so they'll increase in numbers.


Because there was no drought this year many of the plants that flowered poorly last season have been making a huge effort this year. The red camellia bush that just had one lonely flower last spring is making up for lost time.


The grape hyacinths have spread into the unlikeliest of places popping up in the lawn around the oak tree. Lawn mower man carefully avoided these areas so I will mark them and dig up the bulbs so they can safely be replanted in the garden.

Yesterday Ebony rabbit kindled seven small individuals. Last week I'd decided she was not pregnant but just overweight but after discovering her busy plucking herself at 7am I moved her to the breeding cage with a nest box and by the afternoon she had everything done and dusted. Daddy Goblin had the easiest job, just handing celebratory carrots round to all the other bucks in the rabbitry.

Sarah's Siesta and Mish's Potty Mouth

Mishka's wound healed beautifully after his operation but two weeks afterwards I noticed his hind foot was pinkish and when I looked in his mouth a new ulcer had appeared to the right of the operation site, inside his mouth and just under his nose. The vet sent antibiotics out with the mailman the next day which cleared up the infection but within two days the lump underneath had increased in size. I spent two stress filled days wringing my hands but then just decided to enjoy having him around while he was happy and energetic. I doubled the amount of Vitamin C tablets I was giving as well as starting him on a clove of raw garlic every day. Needless to say this has to be hidden in his meat. Ringing his breeder she was amazed at how well he was doing at age 13 as she has a dog the same age who is completely blind and deaf. But I could hear in her voice that she thought I only had borrowed time with Mishka. This means he receives some treats he wasn't allowed before like cheese although I still balk at him eating manure- especially as I need to keep his mouth clean. Amazingly his appetite is the same and he is playful and perky so I can't ask for anything more.


Meanwhile we had a funeral for Sarah the hen or "Ugly" as my friend Rose calls her. After raising her two chicks earlier this year she began to develop a lump on her leg which slowly grew larger. Despite this disability she hopped around quite happily, sometimes hitching a ride with me as well as begging me to crack acorns which she fed on from my hand. A friend with an agricultural background was coming out to have a look at her but on Wednesday 25th August she died in a sudden cold snap. I buried her under a thyme bush in the garden with her youngest daughter standing beside me. I tried to think sentimentally that she was saying goodbye to her Mum but the more likely scenario was that she was just waiting for me to dig up worms.

Rats. Again.

"Rats Rats/ They dig holes into the hen house/ And give the fingers to the cats".
That's my version of the Pied Piper of Hamelin. These aren't the talented tap dancing variety of rats I once lived with but the sneaky, coming out at night and crapping everywhere kind. And I hate them. I even looked at rat traps this week. Large versions of the mouse kind in plastic, wood and metal. But when I learned that you have to nail them down in case the rat takes off with one as a funky kind of necklace I bottled out. I don't mind dealing with corpses but the thought of jewellery wearing punk rats doing their Sid Vicious impressions out on the lawn is just too much.

I have four cats and a dog. They don't like rats either. They like watching them, they'll even sniff them once they're lying in state, but they won't do anything about helping them get to that nice old deceased stage. However I've worked out that if those nasty rodents get a glimpse of Kit "The Terminator" Cat they may just die laughing.

Mishka Of The Opera

Mish has lost part of the right side of his face. He now needs a mask like the Phantom of the Opera and it all happened so quickly. The abscess that had begun to drain filled up again and he began scratching the outside of his lip until it began to bleed. It didn't stop bleeding and within a week had spread so I made an appointment with the vet who diagnosed a probable tumour. He prescribed antibiotics for seven days to calm the infection and this immediately removed the horrible smell but over the next few days the bleeding increased and the size of the lump inside his lip practically doubled. I had never seen anything so aggressive.

Monday July 26th Mishka returned to the vet who decided to take a chest xray. If the tumour was malignant and cancer had spread to his lungs it was pointless doing anything apart from euthanizing. I went away for awhile feeling sick with worry but fortunately everything was clear so he was booked in for an operation within the hour. The vet was hesitant about doing it as he had to remove 1cm of tissue around the tumour which would take him close to the lacrymal gland (tear duct). There was also the worry about the cancer being in the bone so we agreed that if it was he would let Mishka die under the anaesthetic. He would have preferred Mish to go to Massey University for a specialist to work on but this would have cost well over $1,000 which was beyond me plus I felt time was of the essence due to the aggressive nature of the growth.

I had a distraught afternoon but eventually the call came through that Mish had survived the operation and that no cancer had been found in the bone. Plus he also had three teeth less as they were rotten and removed to keep the mouth as clean and infection free as possible. I was meant to collect Mishka two days later on the Wednesday but he was so homesick (and I suspect made such a fuss) that a nurse drove him back home for me the following afternoon. I admit I got a shock to see half his face gone but Mish was so pleased to be home that I knew I would soon become "accustomed to his face". The next day he came with me to my art group as he was getting used to wearing an Elizabethan collar and I didn't want to leave him home crashing around. Everyone was polite but I am sure his swollen face with its now permanent snarl was a shock. After greeting everyone he just settled down on the floor asleep in front of the gas heater.

I remove his collar twice a day to clean it of dog spit and am waiting till he gets his stitches removed this week so he can be free of it forever. The cats have finally got used to his plastic apparel- Peaches even walked up and gave him a gentle kiss on his nose. However when I received the vet bill of nearly $452 this week I needed more than a kiss to revive me.....

Lippy Dog

Mishka and I had a wander around the garden the other evening while I took more night photos. Looks like Mish had a few friends hanging around as per usual. The abscess on the inside of his lip has finished draining but he keeps chewing sticks and making it bleed so have begun coating it with hypericum and calendular ointment to stop any further infection. Meanwhile I keep him cosy in front of the fire with the occasional cat for company.

A cold snap has drifted in with the rain and caused some rheumatism in my left hand so typing is now more of a two finger thing. I spend time huddled under a minky blanket with two wheat packs, one of which I have performed surgery on as it ruptured and began leaking. Of course I didn't realise this at first and was picking up and snacking on what I thought were pieces of nut bar only to receive a nasty surprise. As you do when you tend to eat things you find hidden in crevices of a sofa.

Lenin Goes A-wandering

Lunch time I was sitting munching on crackers and drinking black tea when something moved just to my right which turned out to be Lenin the rooster who was standing in the doorway between the sitting and dining rooms. He had marched right on in the open front door, past the sleeping dog, around an armchair and straight to me. Of course when I started the yelling part he panicked a bit and tried to walk through an unopened window. Realizing that a frightened rooster is a poohing rooster I calmed down and tried to shepherd him outside again. I thought shutting the door was the answer but just now after I had put everyone in the hen house for the night I came in to find Lenin wandering around the kitchen. By this time two cats and the dog were following me in so it was with quite a bit of difficulty that I managed to usher him back outside. Why he's wanting to come in the house all the time is beyond me. What is more disturbing is that he seems very aware of the layout of the cottage. Looks like he's getting some inside information.

Meanwhile Mishka has a large abscess inside his lip. First noticed it a week ago when his face began bulging out to one side. Gave him Homeopathic Silicea 30c which burst it and led to copious amounts of pus and blood being expelled. I then began washing the wound with colloidal silver. Most of the abscess has cleared out now but there's still a little muck still dribbling out and unfortunately Mish's gob still smells like Satan's bum.

Misty Apparition

So the other night was very still and clear and I decided to take some night photos to see what I could see (mainly orbs). At the front of the property this is what showed up. It wasn't present in the photos taken before or after and I am a field away from the nearest house so no way it was smoke.

Very clearly you can see a face to the left of the photo. This photo was taken about twelve feet away from my other weird photo with the face that showed up a foot off the the ground just by the pine trees. Nothing similar has showed up there since.

The Cat Art Of Keeping Warm

'Tis the season for indoor cats. Suddenly the prospect of long mornings outside aren't proving attractive and Mum's lap (especially if there is a wheat pack on it) is considered the best place to be. Gypsy is proving to be particularly loving at this time of year. I am not fooled- I know she has selfish motives. The most disconcerting part of winter is to go to bed with two or maybe three cats with you, only to turn over in the night and find my face tickled with long black fur as Kit (No 4) has decided to take up residence on my pillow. Thursday morning we had a -5oC frost. It's been a while since I have felt so bone achingly cold. Gypsy practically lived on my lap all day.

The firewood situation has been dire but luckily the cold temperatures didn't hit until this week by which time I had earned enough to buy some. My friend Rose and her husband collected a small truckload of apple wood from Te Papa orchard for me yesterday.

And I have rats apparently. There are holes all over the place so time to get some poison. Yes I have cats who don't catch rats. They're above that sort of thing. Why spend freezing nights outside when you can cuddle up on an electric blanket and play push the human off the bed. No competition really.

The Filthy Part Of Pet Ownership

'Tis the season of mists and muddy paws. Kit especially is a great one for walking through the garden before coming inside and hopping up on the bed. But you can't be mad with an animal that is so laid back she lies like a dog.

Meanwhile at some point on Sunday Mishka must have found a very very old nest of eggs because by that evening he was suffering from a nasty case of the squitters. Monday I had to wash his backside seven times including in the evening in the dark with just a torch to see by. Tuesday a friend suggested I crutch him so that I didn't have such a task keeping his bushy haunches and hind legs clean. Mishka was mortified at my attempt at a Brazilian and kept rushing away and sitting down so that no one could witness his abject humiliation. The cats of course thought it was hilarious.

Today he is on a fast to try and stop the diarrhoea along with colloidal silver in his water in case he has an infection plus Merc Sol 30c twice a day for three days. If I still can't get this under control it will be a vet visit which is a scary proposition for the pair of us. So here's to prayers that Mish's star sign will soon be out of the house of poo poo.

Things That Orb In The Night

My friends Marie and Steve invited me to their beautiful home for lunch on Sunday (home made soup, bread and chocolate mousse!) and after a guitar concert from Steve which had us bopping to “Cocaine”, “Sweet Child” and “Stairway To Heaven” we settled in front of their huge TV to watch “Underworld” in surround sound. It was like being in the movies with vampires and werewolves sounding as if they were creeping around you. And when the head vampire’s head slid off diagonally onto the ground it was awesome. Just like being there.


I can watch vamp movies till the cows come home and I’m never nervous. But ghost movies are a different matter. I’ve seen a ghost. My atheist brother has lived with a ghost. So I know they’re out there. Which is why my friends think I’m crazy continuing my paranormal photography hobby. Yet I don’t find snapping orbs in the least scary but oddly comforting. I can’t see them until they appear on my camera screen and then they’re usually hovering near trees and garden beds as if they’re busy doing something with the plants as if they were psychic gardeners.


Then there are the beautiful colours. Some are large and apricot, others small and vivid glowing white. Others are pink like this one which is hovering over a bed of pink roses. No I have never ever seen anything to be scared of.


Until I took this. Near the front gate, by the pine tree shelter belt, amongst some weeds. Immediately I took another snap but there was nothing there and the next morning when I checked there were no reflective surfaces that could account for these images. Not surprisingly since taking this picture I have felt a bit weird when I go past to get my mail as you never know what’s lurking unseen in the foliage.

Demelza's Embryo Modelling Career

The last of the monarchs hatched over the weekend bringing the complete total to thirty butterflies. Of course as soon as the last one flew away the weather turned cold so hopefully they’re well on their way to a warmer climate.

I am intending to enter Demelza into the New Zealand Top Cat Model competition this year. Fortunately all done over the net otherwise there would be no chance as her eyes turn as big as saucers and she falls off windowsills if she happens to see a strange human in her vicinity. A friend once told me her eyes look as if she’s on “P” (methamphetamines) but I think she looks as if she’s watched one too many horror movies on TV. Anyway I have opened a Twitter account for her so people can read her version of what happens around here- she is a bit judgemental so it will be tough reading for me occasionally.

Briar was due to have her hooves trimmed again but I had to make an urgent appointment as Betty saw she was limping. I couldn’t see as the farm worker here had taken it on himself to move her far far away with the few pet sheep she hangs about with. Betty brought her back with the dogs and I cleaned out her hoof and found a stone stuck there. The farrier couldn’t make it till Saturday morning so I hoped she would be able to stay nearby till her appointment but Friday morning she’d been moved way back over again. I told Betty who went over and got her again with the dogs and told the farm worker to leave her next to me till Monday. Suffice to say that I saw on Saturday she had been moved way over to a paddock at the back of Betty’s.

I had to ring the main house anyway as the water dried up in the cottage at 8.30am but Betty had gone out and wouldn’t be back till lunchtime. It took me a good half hour to go and get Briar who wasn’t limping as badly but it still was quite painful for her to walk back to my place. Then the farrier was an hour late so I waited out in the garden with Briar to keep her company until he arrived. Turned out a small abscess had also burst in her hoof so he cleaned that out and sprayed it plus trimmed her feet. I was too tired to take her all the way back so just popped her out the back gate into the field nearest me where she has been since, complaining loudly when I don’t arrive with the occasional carrot.

The water situation became quite dire as I didn’t have any collected unusually for me and by 3pm I had nothing to drink. I rang the main house again and spoke to an English lady staying with Betty and before I knew it she had walked over with a kettle of water as she hated the fact I couldn’t even have a cup of tea. By 4.30pm the water was back on again so I could feed and water the animals and have a tepid bath before settling down for the evening. However it has reminded me of how important it is to keep water stored at all times in case of emergency as it is the one thing you cannot live without. That and chocolate.

Love Is Like A Monarch Butterfly

I have a kitchen full of butterflies at the moment. The monarch grubs that I raised on pumpkin after they decimated my three large swan plants have all morphed into chrysalis, some more successfully than others (the casualties shrivel up after the first couple of days). Over the past week these have begun to hatch out into beautiful gaudy monarchs, tame enough that I can let them crawl onto my fingers.


Someone told me last week that the DNA of the caterpillar is completely different to the DNA of the butterfly that emerges from the chrysalis making the whole process even more surreal. I have watched as these greedy little grubs in their colourful striped footie jerseys ate themselves into a stupor before heading northwards to sit in a trance for a couple of days before they shot silk out of their backside, hung in a half hearted J and shed their skins, turning into a hard green shell decorated with golden dots. For a couple of weeks they remained like that before a touch of black at the top of the chrysalis announced something amazing was going on inside. Within a couple of days the whole thing would turn black and orange and suddenly a butterfly would emerge so quickly that it was hard to catch them in the act.


Their wings all crumpled at first they hang from their broken home with a huge body that gradually shrinks as fluid is pumped into their wings making them unfurl in glorious technicolour. At this point I usually leave them a few hours before popping them onto a plant in the sun to dry out a bit further before they take off into the sky and flutter off into the distance. So far I have watched this happen 16 times and each time it seems just as incredible.

The Mean Cat From Next Door

World War III broke out here an hour ago when next door's mean cat paid a visit. This grey and white bully lives across the paddock in the farm worker's cottage but apparently this is a part time arrangement as every few days she walks a few hundred metres to the shearer's quarters where she spends a few nights with her owner's brother before returning and beginning the whole process over again. She usually take a short cut through my garden and this morning I heard a thump and some serious growling before I saw her sitting calmly on the front path with her ears flattened, standing on tippy toes glaring at Kit who was crouched on the front door step. I let Kit inside and yelled at Mishka to wake up. It took him a while to get his bearings and then realising he was on duty he strutted outside to sort the situation. However the cat went back up enpointe and growled at him so he turned tail and shuffled back inside.

By this time Demelza was in the loop and she sat by the armchair looking out the dining room window with her fur on end ala Adam Lambert. Kit (not a light weight in any shape manner or form) was walking around wailing. I opened the door and did the shoo thing but the cat just growled at me as well. She even let me take her photo to record her vistory. However I discovered her nemesis in the form of Mr Water Jug and hopefully by now she's back on the road to or from home. Now I'm left with three cats on duty in various windows while the dog has calmly gone back to sleep content in the knowledge that he saved the day...

Fowl News

A flock of Daffies, Donalds and Jemima Puddleducks have been living on one of the back paddocks the past few weeks. The noise of their arguments and chatter intersperse occasional bursts into flight when they take off and do a circuit before landing back down where they started. There surely is a fair amount of gossip going on and I am sure there are some interesting relationships too. When they fly overhead you can imagine what these are by the formations: two ducks are a devoted old married couple, three ducks are a threesome and a group of them are the swingers of the flock.


Gine leaves her babies at night to roost with the rest of the bantams in "the big house". Of her eight chicks five have survived, one male being taken by a rooster and the two white pullets having committed heni kari. Sarah is still taking care of her two offspring although they're nearly three months old. If she were human she'd be the sort of mother who is happy to have her kids living with her when they were in their fifties. Of these Twizel I am still undecided to as whether is a male or female. In the meantime the rest of the fowls are on strike and refusing to lay eggs while they have their annual moult. Threatening them with the pot has no effect as they already know I'm a vegetarian.

The Autumn Garden

Crocuses have been flowering at the base of the old oak tree by the drive but after just two weeks they've withered and disappeared back into the lawn. Meanwhile the red hollyhocks and roses still look lovely while everything else begins to look tired so that the entire garden resembles a large dried flower arrangement. To be proactive this morning I dug over two of the built up gardens in preparation for planting some winter veggies as well as cutting back the larger sage plants.


The grape vine on the front pergola is laden with fruit. I have encouraged visitors to pick themselves a couple of bunches before they leave while the thrushes have been picking single grapes from high up on the vine. Even the landlord hopped over the fence one morning to help himself to an armful. Whatever is left drops onto the concrete to be picked over by the chooks. There have been a few drunken hens staggering about the place while some others have developed mild cases of the runs.

With all the harvesting going on around the farm there are hundreds of birds feeding in the fields. Most of them roost in the oak tree and a thick layer of guano is forming a nice abstract painting on the driveway. Being severely outnumbered the cats just stare in awe at all the bird life. One negative aspect is a hawk that has decided to hang around in order to feed on the small birds. Unfortunately he took one of Gine's chicks on Tuesday so she is now down to six. He was is cheeky that he flies down into the backyard and scares the hell out of everyone including me. Fortunately this particular bird is too heavy for him to fly off with.

Sunrise, Moonrise

Gypsy wakes me at 3.30am most mornings by hopping over my head while I'm sleeping. A couple of nights ago she was so bad that I swore at her and put her off the bed only to hear a happy purring from the end of the bed where Peaches was taking great pleasure in seeing her sibling getting told off for once. Eventually I get up only I'm shivering as it is becoming quite chilly in the mornings now. When I open the back door the sun still hasn't risen but is usually just peeping over the eastern hills as I head outside to check on everyone. Within a few minutes the sun has put his hat on and it's all downhill from there.


Last week we had a rad orange moon but by the time I dashed inside to find the camera it had faded to a sickly cream but it was still pretty impressive. So much so that I had to resist the urge to strip off and do some naked tree dancing on the front lawn.

On a sad note- Amber, a cantankerous old golden bantam fell off her perch Wednesday morning. I was just getting over digging the grave in the afternoon when I found one of the white chicks dead with a broken neck. Of course it had to be a pullet as roosters are made of stainless steel and never die. I can look back now and realize that I must have made a fascinating sight sitting on the lawn giving a white chick mouth to beak resuscitation but when you're in shock you don't think straight do you.

Phoenix's Farewell, Goblin's Centrefold and Cat Vacuuming

A bit of a shock last Sunday when I went out to feed the rabbits and found Phoenix dead in his cage and blue around his mouth. He hadn't been under the weather although he had been a bit picky with his food. Phoenix had lived up to his name when as a young rabbit RHD went through the rabbitry killing his mother but leaving he and his brother alive. He was a pretty good sprayer like his Dad which is why he had to be placed in a cage some distance away from the other rabbits. Even so he occasionally got a runny eye from getting some of his own back. Every afternoon we had a ritual as he waited patiently for me to top up his drinking bottle with fresh water, standing up as I filled it before attacking it with relish.

Meantime his half brother Goblin has got into the new Ashford "Book of Hand Spinning" by Jo Reeve illustrating the section on angora. I received my complimentary copy this week. As a reward I put a young doe in his cage but unfortunately he decided to turn into a SNAR (Sensitive New Age Rabbit) who only wanted to cuddle and snuggle.


And Kit has returned to being a very sucky kitty after watching Mishka getting a quick vacuum. She jumped up on top of a chair and we were back in business, me sucking her tail up the metal hose and she biting it.

A friend told me recently that this is a madhouse. I wonder why?

Saging and Potting

I miss my Dad when it comes to gardening. Not that he was a great gardener- far from it- he would pull out the flower plants and proudly leave the weeds. No he was in fact a champion picker upper. You could prune and throw any amount of rubbish onto the lawn and within a few minutes the detritus would disappear. Now it's all up to me which is why it all tends to lie on the lawn until the grass begins to turn yellow. Saturday I got stuck into the giant sage plants on the western side of the garden. They've bloomed wonderfully for months but have begun to look a bit worse for wear, rather like Britney Spears after a hard night out. I clipped them back and already they're beginning to spring back into life so maybe I'll get another flowering before winter. However their remains are calmly decomposing on the grass waiting for me to get my act together.

I have also been planting out pots. I've replaced my burgundy violas from the pots on the front table with fresh blue lobelia. A thyme plant I was given is now planted and gray succulents are hidden under the jasmine vine to try and protect them for coming frosts. The rest of the garden is a jungle but I am hoping the piles of rubbish lying on the lawn fool people into imagining that I will get around to weeding all the beds eventually.

The little black and yellow chick has recovered its mojo and is a lot happier now. I now let Sarah and the two older chicks out in the afternoons but Sarah has begun walking over to Gine's cage and attacking her through the wire. Yesterday they had a full out fight, flying at each other and trying to grab each other's head feathers rather like two women grabbing each others extensions during a slap down. Obviously while they're stuck looking after their babies in their adjacent cages they're both indulging in foul/fowl language.

Damp, Drizzle and Dead Hens

Another four days of drizzly damp weather descended this week and finally it is beginning to take its toll on the animals. One of my younger hens died on Monday the 15th. She'd been fine the night before but when I went to feed them all her wings were drooping and within a couple of hours she'd passed away. I dug a grave in the garden near the back door andMishka and I held a Tangi for her before the rain chased us inside.

Thursday night it was so humid and hot I slept on top of the bedclothes with the cats positioned at the far reaches of the bed. However at 4am it became quite chilly and by the time I got up the wind had turned southerly so it became a pantyhose day. Everyone seemed fine but this morning one of the second family of chicks has droopy wings so I will take her out later and check her over to see if it's anything more than the cold
change responsible. It would have to be the cute black and yellow chick as well!


The mornings dawn in a sea of mist towards the hills in the east. The sheep graze or sleep depending on the temperature until the sun rises high enough to dry everything off. The wheat paddock next to me was harvested recently and the grapes are beginning
to ripen on the vine over my front pergola so it definitely feels as if we're skipping summer and heading into Keat's season of mists and mellow fruitfulness. Prosaically it's also the season of toadstools, mould and facial eczema.

Bad and Good Bantam Mums

Most mothers and daughters have a falling out now and then, even in the chicken world. Sarah and Ella have been living in comparative harmony since they hatched out two chicks together but yesterday I heard shrieking from the woodshed and arrived to find Ella attacking her mother. Roosters are nasty fighters but hens can be even worse and Sarah was terrified so the only solution was to grab Ella and put her back in the big house with the other chooks. I was worried she'd fret at losing her baby but when I let her out today with the others she just wandered off to find a worm and didn't make any attempt to go and see her offspring. A real piece of work and a Jeremy Kyle show in the making.


The other chicks have an overprotective mum in Gine who loves to fly up and attack my hand when I attempt to put their feed dish in their cage. Then she clucks and fusses, breaking up bread for them or else crumbling their mash into even smaller pieces. And yet she treads on them without looking or else gets so excited when I put their feed in that when she scratches in the dish she sends chicks flying in all directions. However the babies soon learn to stand out of the way of their mother's wayward feet. For such small fragile creatures they have a remarkable sense of self preservation.

Gypsy squealed at the front door this morning and thinking she wanted in I opened it to find a wet half dead waxeye lying on the doormat. I scooped it up, put it in a box and shut in the dark and warm healing safety of the hot water cupboard. An hour later I was able to release it back outside where it flew away hopefully wiser about the perfidity and unscrupulousness of cats.

Diary Of A Mad Chicken Farmer

January 18th 2010

Sarah the grey hen and her daughter Ella have been fighting over who gets to sit on some manky looking eggs in the corner of the hen house. When I went to feed the chooks this morning I heard cheeping and lo a small brown bumblebee had appeared. Collected both hens, chick and remaining eggs and put them in a hay lined cage in the woodshed. The two hens proceeded to argue over who got custody of the chick for the rest of the day.

January 21st 2010


Went out early to feed the chick and discovered another egg was hatching and a small wet black creature was struggling to emerge. Four hours later and it was lying stretched out on its side puffing. Didn't expect it to live but by the end of the day it was all fluffed up and looking perkily out of its small dark eyes. Sarah and Ella are delighted as they now have a chick each.

January 22nd 2010

Gine the bantam has been steadfastly sitting on some eggs next to the hen house. This morning four chicks hatched including one fluffy yellow one. By lunchtime the sky was turning black and threatening thunder so prepared another cage in the woodshed and transferred Gine, two eggs and the now eight chicks (four brown, two yellow, one black and one black and yellow). Just as well as within half an hour a torrential rainstorm struck and the nest was flooded out. Overnight 110 mls of rain fell in Tikokino.


January 24th 2010

Friends came to see the chicks and I discovered the two oldest ones loose around the shed and a little brown one from the other clutch hiding beneath its cage. Every day from this point on the same thing happened although the two older ones soon learned to go back in with their mothers when I opened the cage door to put their feed dish in. I cannot for the life of me work out how the other one escaped but assumed it jumped on Mum's back and shimmied through the wider cage mesh higher up.

Over the next few days we had several more unseasonable heavy rainstorms often accompanied with thunder and lightning. The remaining eggs in both clutches didn't hatch which made me wonder about the old wives' tale that thunder kills the young chicks before they can emerge.

1st February 2010

Poor chicks. It has rained so much I think they will be terrified when the sun eventually reappears and will probably run around thinking the world is ending- or the sky is falling...