tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90555882024-03-22T01:49:55.532+13:00FollyfarmLife In Rural New Zealanddamask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.comBlogger281125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-70697125980502460032016-02-26T15:17:00.002+13:002016-02-26T15:18:57.837+13:00Psycho Hen.Bantam hens are renown for being great mothers to the point the will try to brood anything if they're in the mood- other hen's chicks, baby rabbits, even golf balls. When they first hatch out a clutch they tend to be over protective giving a half hearted peck when fresh water or food is put in their vicinity but after a couple of days they'll realize no harm in meant and will allow any sort of activity around their babies.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhedP458wawS5_AXt5CCeNIs5sMcA4xo3A20pwXslHX1fs2tOqtFn7pklRA81oG9wrMZ6Hqim360U96CQ5QKpnvXRMqiqkQU4kbbxgYyLZvH6fS-4cpo2rY0FJDE4zdfrfabaTemETCGQ/s1600/February2016+582.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhedP458wawS5_AXt5CCeNIs5sMcA4xo3A20pwXslHX1fs2tOqtFn7pklRA81oG9wrMZ6Hqim360U96CQ5QKpnvXRMqiqkQU4kbbxgYyLZvH6fS-4cpo2rY0FJDE4zdfrfabaTemETCGQ/s320/February2016+582.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most of my hens are pretty easy going.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It was my luck that three weeks ago a two year old hen walked out with two small day old chicks resulting from an unplanned pregnancy. I grabbed an unused possum cage to catch them in and with some help from a visitor managed to get the babies in before enticing Mum with food.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivHUKBLzKuE5hlzzJVOxHpwKmdjOeUrWtxUN4ZYpWILyc4q-LMPh9VWWdPrYFNUwlAqdGK9J4FHCURsCS7zk3bzfDHzOigi9siyBVBRQv2KlyNQZ7OeCaGKvcwWAiQjFDlLtz0vU2rWQ/s1600/February2016+611.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivHUKBLzKuE5hlzzJVOxHpwKmdjOeUrWtxUN4ZYpWILyc4q-LMPh9VWWdPrYFNUwlAqdGK9J4FHCURsCS7zk3bzfDHzOigi9siyBVBRQv2KlyNQZ7OeCaGKvcwWAiQjFDlLtz0vU2rWQ/s320/February2016+611.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mother love can hurt </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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That was my last non violent encounter with her. From that day onward she would scream abuse whenever I put my hand near her and I ended up with a mass of red beak wounds on my hands and arms. A week and a half later she leaped up and sunk her beak into the fleshy part of my forearm leaving a sizeable wound which bled on and off for two days.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuP-oZw5B1OTD6Gigf13Jh1yIEqGRygPLYWHPGXDzTGqltAyqCZKY_qeekzRPq1ZjLrShMEBTFUwt-2vOjET_OPoEQROyrzq5PpXtUCTmIfHD8QmXuDwnR_L0HViVkS0zbt7rjaar25g/s1600/February2016+616.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuP-oZw5B1OTD6Gigf13Jh1yIEqGRygPLYWHPGXDzTGqltAyqCZKY_qeekzRPq1ZjLrShMEBTFUwt-2vOjET_OPoEQROyrzq5PpXtUCTmIfHD8QmXuDwnR_L0HViVkS0zbt7rjaar25g/s320/February2016+616.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My wound straight after the attack.<br />
<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I never considered chicken keeping a dangerous activity apart from the occasional hit on the head with an over enthusiastic rooster at breakfast time. But I now approach Psycho Hen as I call her with a healthy dose of respect. Perhaps Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds" is not so far fetched as I used to think.<br />
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<br />damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-81503805602568825582015-12-31T16:27:00.003+13:002016-01-01T09:30:50.530+13:00Season Of The Chicks Part Two<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">28<sup>th</sup> July, 2014-
Friend gave me four brown shaver hens from her giant flock. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">15</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
August- one of my new shaver hens died after having a slight cold
when she arrived.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">18</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
August- new replacement brown shaver hen to replace dead one.</span></span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">24</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
August- another of my new brown shavers died from respiratory
illness.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiePoUCFKaVORDgi-gSeGArzVp6vuX5wimo6-E2LqfPyXwEfJyOtXJzvsRIwgOCCIBgmhbB2KRl89VhhCkUOpmPsWT6g5pTzGX2Y7uvsXQE-DbqwNvhmtEnPVGlXWDHD0wHQFezmJmVgQ/s1600/Jan2015+027.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiePoUCFKaVORDgi-gSeGArzVp6vuX5wimo6-E2LqfPyXwEfJyOtXJzvsRIwgOCCIBgmhbB2KRl89VhhCkUOpmPsWT6g5pTzGX2Y7uvsXQE-DbqwNvhmtEnPVGlXWDHD0wHQFezmJmVgQ/s320/Jan2015+027.JPG" width="236" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Millie" shaver hen</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">7</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
September-</span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Gina
Lollabridgida hen had a fight Thursday ending up with a swollen black
eye. That healed up but today I found her feet up in the paddock.</span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Gina
Lollabridgida hen had a fight Thursday ending up with a swollen black
eye. That healed up but today I found her feet up in the paddock.</span></span><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
</span></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">15</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
September- Gretchen pullet who has not grown at the same rate as her
siblings passed away.</span></span></div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">26</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
November- Gabriella turned up with one day old chick. Now ensconsed
in woodshed.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">11</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
December 2014- Lara the black bantam hen I was given seven years ago
dies. Buried by the foxgloves.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">9</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
January- Gabriella turned up in the middle of the garden with seven
chicks.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">16</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
January- one of Gabriella's chicks missing. Cat looking guilty.</span></span></div>
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</div>
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</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">31</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">st</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
January- Widget the Midget rooster passes away. No idea how old he
was but he was ancient. Had recently lost his status as top “outside”
rooster.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9M5NLSufbJJGhDTdNZnR_8QAJrC627WulmDET0eBSCUjZXZE77UByHlnZE61WYy7QwKsIj3f428YJdz31P8E6FSpwFBuUWmBsAVpoFdSAuEXhi1EsqWKXD5jSqpKSqC-xTkr_laqxWQ/s1600/Dec2014+086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9M5NLSufbJJGhDTdNZnR_8QAJrC627WulmDET0eBSCUjZXZE77UByHlnZE61WYy7QwKsIj3f428YJdz31P8E6FSpwFBuUWmBsAVpoFdSAuEXhi1EsqWKXD5jSqpKSqC-xTkr_laqxWQ/s320/Dec2014+086.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Widget the Midget Rooster</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">8</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
February- Gabriella's sister arrives with seven new chicks.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">16</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
February- at 3.30 am heard loud cheeping from the woodshed.
Discovered Gabriella's twin sister's chicks out of the cage. Inside
was the hen pecking at a hedgehog which had already killed two of her
chicks. Rolled hedgehog round to the veggie garden before blocking up
any spaces in the cage where it could have got in.</span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 0.48cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 1;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">18</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">th</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
February- someone ran over and killed Twizzle rooster out front.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 0.48cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 1;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">3</span><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">rd</span></sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
March- friend gives me a Rhode Island cross pair. Rooster is called
“Jock” and I've named the hen “Isabelle Willis” after a woman
my mother once worked for.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 0.48cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 1;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">21<sup>st</sup> March-
-heard anguished cheeping at 4am from woodshed. Hedgehog back in the
cage straddling a chick. Managed to catch it and put it in a cat
carry cage (later sent to live at another property). Found Gabriella
in a bad way in the broodie cage. Covered with blood and missing
feathers.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">22<sup>nd</sup> March-
Gabriella died in the night from her hedgehog related injuries and
shock.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidWkEcKFETGl-ipaLhyphenhyphenO5UgAeWXn95TCa5FVP3dCwdv1THKzng4NvLfhJVnH9Pwx6jtUwX4Z_i6JYNxqYBmYP6nfDgjfPcdyj7Z4zx7PBdeNSC2Anw85P6jjpc8YKjSyyilB6d-LCjVA/s1600/March2015+262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidWkEcKFETGl-ipaLhyphenhyphenO5UgAeWXn95TCa5FVP3dCwdv1THKzng4NvLfhJVnH9Pwx6jtUwX4Z_i6JYNxqYBmYP6nfDgjfPcdyj7Z4zx7PBdeNSC2Anw85P6jjpc8YKjSyyilB6d-LCjVA/s320/March2015+262.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jock the Gentleman Rooster.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">2<sup>nd</sup> April- hawk
took another of Gabriella's chicks.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">12<sup>th</sup> April-
drop in temperature & one of Gabriella's sister's chicks dies.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">13<sup>th</sup> April-
hawk took another of the now deceased Gabriella's chicks. Down to
five- all males.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">14<sup>th</sup> April-
Gabriella's sister loses a chick with another looking seedy.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">19<sup>th</sup> April-
Molly the brown shaver dies after being repeatedly pecked in the face
by a fellow hen.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">30<sup>th</sup> April- my
favourite chick of Gabriella's (a little gold female) died during the
night.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">21<sup>st</sup> May 2015-
find a pile of black feathers near the fence. Suspect hawk killed a
hen.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">25<sup>th</sup> May 2015-
Another of Gabriella's chicks dies.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">26<sup>th</sup> May 2015-
Gabriella's last two chicks die from cold (snow).</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">6<sup>th</sup> June 2015-
cold weather killed white bantam pullet (the one addicted to eating
grapes).</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">21<sup>st</sup> June 2015-
old white fluffy bantam hen Georgia dies.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 0.48cm; margin-bottom: 0cm; orphans: 1;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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</div>
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damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-1800970602517528122015-12-31T16:19:00.002+13:002016-01-01T09:19:52.900+13:00Season Of The Chicks Part OneBetween early October 2013 and May 2014 I had a chicken explosion. At first there was the usual broody hen who came out of the bushes with a few chicks but then my landlord spread the remains of his silos across the home paddock next to me which resulted in the hens feeding freely and not returning to the hen house at night. This in turn led to them hiding away and hatching clutches of chicks. At one point I was feeding ten broody hens and their assorted offspring which saw my flock get up to numbers in the high sixties. This is the diary of those hectic times.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">4</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
October, 2013-Gwendolyn the crowing hen arrived out from the bushes with
five day old chicks this afternoon.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">30</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
October- </span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;">J</span></span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">ust
had to bury one of Gwendolyn's chicks which has died from the cold
snap we had during the last 24 hours.</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Gwendolyn's other chick passed away after lunch. Bloody weather. This
happened to a clutch last Autumn as well.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">16</span></span><span style="color: #4a913c;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
November- </span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Another
of Gwendolyn's chicks on its way out this morning. Alright late
yesterday so assuming it was too chilly for it last night</span></span><span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">25</span></span><span style="color: #4a913c;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
November- </span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Landlord
dumped a truckload of reject grain next door which the chickens have
been feasting on. Result-no one wants to go to bed </span></span><span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
</span></span><a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/HyperChook?src=hash"><span style="color: #92bd8a;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">#</span></span></span></span><span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="text-decoration: none;">HyperCh</span></span></span></span></span></span></a><span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">ickens</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">7</span></span><span style="color: #4a913c;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
December- </span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">One
of my missing hens (Gabriella) turned up this afternoon with four
chicks... *sigh* They're a bunch of sex maniacs round here.</span></span><span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">15</span></span><span style="color: #4a913c;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
December- F</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">ound
a white pullet Amy (last season's chick) with two new borns near the
hen house. Hell of a job catching her</span></span><span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">27</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
December- One of my missing bantams has turned up- with nine chicks
that I can count. Because what I really need is more chicks. W</span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">hat
a job catching them with their mother & Widget rooster trying to
attack me. Rearranged chick homes to accommodate them</span></span><span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">29</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
December- Just found two hens sitting on a pile of stinky eggs &
when I lifted them off six had already hatched. </span></span><a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/PsychoChookyMothers?src=hash"><span style="color: #92bd8a;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">#</span></span></span></span><span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">PsychoChookyMothers</span></span></span></span></a><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">31</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">st</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
December- One of Gabriella's three week old chicks died during
the night. Nature is very harsh without rhyme or reason. </span></span>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">1</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">st</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
January, 2014- Went to let the chooks out of the big house & there was
one of my missing bantam hens! With four yellow chicks.... Wrangling
them was no fun. </span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Now
have six broodies with 25 chicks between them with two hens still
missing somewhere in the pine trees or wilder areas of the garden</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">6</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
January- Thought I'd seen a missing bantam hen yesterday near the
shelter belt. Today she turned up again- complete with three chicks. </span></span>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">8</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
January- Another hen just arrived with one day old chick. Heaven
knows where she'd been sitting all this time.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">10</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
January- Just found one of Booffy's nine chicks dead. What looks like
a haematoma on it's side so Mum must have stood on it. It's a rough
upbringing.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">13</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
January-Another hen has turned up with 10 chicks & is hiding in
the garden under my bedroom window.</span></span><span style="color: #333333;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Have
put them in a cage in the woodshed with two of the other broods.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">15</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
January- Have decided that 40 bantam chicks are equivalent to half a
human baby- the bottom half. Same amount of poo to be cleaned up. </span></span>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">18</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
January-Murder! Just found Spike the rooster's corpse outside the hen
house, beaten to a pulp. Bloody young cocks ganged up on him. A first
in 23 years of chicken keeping.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">21</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">st</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
January- Lovely rainy morning but unfortunately the youngest white
chick in the woodshed had died in the early hours. The 6.2 quake last
night may have been too much. </span></span>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">30</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
January- Gwendolyn hatched her last clutch on Oct 3rd 2013, raised
them then immediately went clucky. Found three tiny (by little I mean
just out of the egg) chicks in with Amy (bantam hen with two chicks
of her own). Gwendolyn's a Mum again. </span></span>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">5</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
February- a chick killed by another broodie hen leaping about.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">6</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
February- Just went to feed the chicks & found Boofy's smallest
black one dead. I assume this cold snap did it as it was fine this
morning.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">10</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
February- One of Boofy hen's chicks not looking at all well. Quite
chilled in this cooler weather. Brought it in & sat a container
with it on a hottie. Chick was fraught & cheeping for Mum so
wrapped it in an old hand towel, plonked it on my chest & we both
went to sleep. Result- poo in bra.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">11</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
February- Came home from shopping to find yesterday's sickly chick
poorly again. Couldn't save it this time though. Just buried the
chick and brought one of its siblings inside. Looks like it's on its
way out as well. Poor hen has lost her three smallest.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">13</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
February- Yet another burial first thing this morning as one more of
Boofy's chicks passes away during the night.Just a mystery to me as
it was eating.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">7</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
March- Woke at 2am with Gwendolyn hen screaming in the carport &
her babies upset. Today I find my white rooster dead headless in the
shed </span></span><a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/Ferret?src=hash"><span style="color: #92bd8a;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">#</span></span></span></span><span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Ferret</span></span></span></span></a><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">9</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
March-A five month old pullet gone this morning.Not long dead when I
found her- head gone.Leaving her body in the hen house with the traps
for day. Mike found a tunnel near the hen house so he's setting up a
trap (baited with bantam egg) in it. (The ferret was caught the
following night and Mike shot it).</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">15</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
March- Yesterday Gwendolyn hen lost her black chick from the cold.
Then while we were out a farm dog came in & dug up the ferret
attack pullet.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">16</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
March- Worst easterly I can remember in five years. Was out in the
carport at 9.30pm trying to put more covers on the broody cages. This
morning the hen house door had been forced open so chooks running
loose.Gabriella hen hast walked out from underneath a flax bush with
10 chicks. Then went back under the flax so I had to do a chase &
collection.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">17</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
March- Trying to match the right chick with the right hen after all
the various clutches have "mingled" is a nightmare.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">29</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
March- One of Gabriella's little chicks (a black one) died after a
cold snap. Another older chick was passing blood but turned out to be
grapejuice.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">30</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
March-Went out to feed the chooks & discovered Bessie & only
five of her chicks sitting in her cage not wanting to come out at
all. Saw a young white pullet way out in the paddock & called her
back but her grey boofy headed sister has completely disappeared
</span></span><a href="https://twitter.com/hashtag/Hawk?src=hash"><span style="color: #92bd8a;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">#</span></span></span></span><span style="color: #4a913c;"><span style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Hawk</span></span></span></span></a><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">4</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
April-Bessie must have taken her six remaining chicks way out in the
paddock where a hawk floating about this morning as she now has five.
Gabriella's little chick I'd managed to save last week just expired.
At that age when if Mum isn't sitting on them they chill. </span></span>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">5</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
April- A chilly night took out another of Gabriella's young chicks.
Hawk scoping my place as well. Chicken apocalypse.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">12</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
April- harrier hawk sitting out in the field on a pile of white
feathers. One of my lot! Also another of Gabriella's chicks dying
from the wet weather.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">14</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
April- hawk took took third chick out of this clutch.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">17</span></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><sup><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></span></sup></span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">
April- One of Gwendolyn's chicks dying from the storm. Brought her
inside but not hopeful. Tried to shore up the hen house & goat
shelter from easterly wind .</span></span></div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">19</span><sup><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></sup><span style="font-size: small;">
April- </span><span style="color: #292f33;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">Sun
at last but this morning one of Gabriella's chicks succumbed to the
weather with two more looking seedy. Have them on a hottie on my bed.</span></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">20</span><sup><span style="font-size: small;">th</span></sup><span style="font-size: small;">
April- another Gabriella chick dead from a cold night. </span>
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<span style="font-size: small;">27<sup>th</sup> April-
nippy morning took out another Gabriella chick.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">29<sup>th</sup> April-
cold took out the smallest of Gabriella's chicks. Down to two from
ten.</span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1rBbEnTYLb8zxTLqU2fEYEJ-rvcXyZORkvaCyXL8lDq-XpRy1KU2-iqrPD-5KcLt81D-oNqKP4aU2RUOxtOpy_qimaRDskmD1cLG_t-OOxVAYcwODPmsv69JdfB4aJUPhWtZIJHSUHA/s1600/Jan2014+016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1rBbEnTYLb8zxTLqU2fEYEJ-rvcXyZORkvaCyXL8lDq-XpRy1KU2-iqrPD-5KcLt81D-oNqKP4aU2RUOxtOpy_qimaRDskmD1cLG_t-OOxVAYcwODPmsv69JdfB4aJUPhWtZIJHSUHA/s320/Jan2014+016.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">12<sup>th</sup> May- Poor
Billy died, Should have left him in a cage on his own.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">19<sup>th</sup> May-
Gwendolyn turned up without her little white daughter. Hawk again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">23<sup>rd</sup> May-
Gwendolyn the bantam still missing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">31<sup>st</sup> May- Cold
killed Gabriella's ninth chick.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">6<sup>th</sup> June- Went
to put Gabriella and her last chick in bed and it had disappeared.
Hawk?</span></div>
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damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-51099231532776392892015-03-04T11:59:00.000+13:002015-03-04T11:59:49.049+13:00Kit CatOver the past few months of summer as the temperatures rose Kit began to suffer from the heat taking refuge on window sills or near the door where a crack would allow colder draughts in to cool her. Then she began eating less. After years of watching her weight I began to watch it for the opposite reason as she slowly began to waste away. For a while she would eat a little and often so I would put her food away and bring it out again when she asked for it. Mike would arrive with sachets of "Dine" or little tins of "Gourmet" cat food, even bringing her freshly cut ham which she would tuck into.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmNmMOUd4pi_BLBX9hJal91E-Vd91se_m1u5zlUS4e8Xjx5ScAGJOuLZJMkTB4MqVqt514uFWFBiBEN_qhGDQf-BB-yfQ2yrXwrHvEnIBSGj1phbTWhj1hhIVTKLCIqC_RSUyehZxq_Q/s1600/Aug2013+005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmNmMOUd4pi_BLBX9hJal91E-Vd91se_m1u5zlUS4e8Xjx5ScAGJOuLZJMkTB4MqVqt514uFWFBiBEN_qhGDQf-BB-yfQ2yrXwrHvEnIBSGj1phbTWhj1hhIVTKLCIqC_RSUyehZxq_Q/s1600/Aug2013+005.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Always a big girl Kit began losing weight<br /><br />
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A week ago she was sitting on the back of an arm chair when I noticed she was drooling. Immediately I thought teeth as she was fourteen years old. The next morning we saw the vet who remarked that although there was a little inflammation there wasn't enough to warrant her loss of appetite. I knew her usual weight was six kilos but when she was weighed this time she was only just over two kilos. In a short time she had lost two thirds of her body weight. The young vet took bloods and gave her an antibiotic for her slight temperature before we took her home.<div>
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Later that afternoon he rang with the news that her blood results were all over the place and showed quite severe liver damage. He suggested that I try and get as much food into her as possible over the weekend and we would review the case on the following Monday. Meanwhile Kit acted the same as always, sometimes eating, always friendly, going about her usual business. Apart from her lack of appetite and weight loss she didn't behave like a sick cat.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAXSxDYgRZ6fvzjqe8j55D2EmVinHdtJGbXSUUS67EtxrEZGOUxznX8R43mUWt0bssWDat6KVxEHFmQ5nECw97q5EOmqYOjeto8Okvkgp5vtUcj_STcX1Tzl3P8kXaDd3p5uetxB33iw/s1600/Feb2015+212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAXSxDYgRZ6fvzjqe8j55D2EmVinHdtJGbXSUUS67EtxrEZGOUxznX8R43mUWt0bssWDat6KVxEHFmQ5nECw97q5EOmqYOjeto8Okvkgp5vtUcj_STcX1Tzl3P8kXaDd3p5uetxB33iw/s1600/Feb2015+212.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kit and I taking a selfie. Her last photo.<br /><br />
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On the Monday Kit returned to the vet hospital and was put on an IV to pump fluids into her while she was also force fed to try and stop her liver eating her alive. While she was there the vet did one more test and rang me later in the afternoon to tell me that she had FIV (the feline equivalent of AIDS in a human). He said most of the cat population in New Zealand carry this awful virus but it can lay dormant and never activate. As Kit had lived the life of a couch potato with me and had never fought with other cats I couldn't understand how she would have contracted it but he explained she might have carried it since she was a kitten. As she came to live with me aged six years in 2007 she could have contracted it before I even knew her. The prognosis was grim- if they gave her antibiotics she might live another month or two but there would be no miracle cure. I made the hard decision to have her euthanised but asked they wait until I could get in the next day so I could be with her at the last.</div>
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Mike was coming with me to the vets at 10am on the 3rd March but was running late as he was trying to round up bulls to send to market. By the time we got to Vet Services in Waipukurau it was 10.20am and we were both pretty stressed. The vet who had been handling the case wasn't available so another one whom I had dealings with before brought us into an office where a nurse had Kit in a little bed with her IV attached.<br />
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In just one day Kit had gone downhill so quickly. Yet when I touched her and said her name she brightened up and began purring. Mike bent down and she raised her head up as she always did when he kissed her. The vet just put the anaesthetic straight into her IV and as it made its way down the tube Kit sat up before making a little growl and laying her head down on my hand passed away.<br />
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I cried. Mike cried. Even the vet looked unhappy but then he did have a broken collarbone. Later they brought her body out in a small white box with a blue dove stenciled on the lid and a bunch of dentata lavender sellotaped to the top. Later that day I buried Kit near Mishka my dog out near the big oak tree she loved to lie beneath.<br />
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Thank you dear Kit for your gentleness and your sense of humour. It was an honour to be your vacuumer.<br />
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RIP KIT 2001-2015<br />
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damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-84424347439477017352013-10-03T09:18:00.003+13:002013-10-03T09:23:01.582+13:00Angel Goes To HospitalAfter a week and a half of intensive petting Angel had calmed down enough for me to examine her coat which proved to be knots upon knots with a side order of tangles. When I rang the vet to book her in for a full South American (all over shave) the receptionist was certain a "brush out on top with a shave on the tummy) would suffice. My main concern was lifting Angel into the carry cage to transport her
to the vet. Visions of me ending up in emergency did run through my mind
but in the end I just picked her up and popped her inside without one
growl or hiss. Angel was quiet as well. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1k7xE_-012aXef4xFO1ysf9-U3XLuxzo9r-iKAVKvjk-xpOMUoN6SUe99LJNqsR8pow-AEg590YtvKToTRX8kH4gui-ns3of8kKtGkzq37gvazT6B8y6XN3yjuPJAXr-Ft9XtkO9YoQ/s1600/AngelBefore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1k7xE_-012aXef4xFO1ysf9-U3XLuxzo9r-iKAVKvjk-xpOMUoN6SUe99LJNqsR8pow-AEg590YtvKToTRX8kH4gui-ns3of8kKtGkzq37gvazT6B8y6XN3yjuPJAXr-Ft9XtkO9YoQ/s320/AngelBefore.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angel wearing her coat of many tangles.</td></tr>
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When I dropped Angel in for her appointment I explained that she needed
to be shaved right down to the skin as the knots were so bad although
the vet nurse was more concerned with how I would react when I saw my
cat again as apparently some owners do not react well to seeing their
pets denuded. However I consider that aesthetics aren't important when
it comes to the comfort of an animal. Especially a cat who has been
wearing a bad weave the entire seven years she was away from home. The great team at <a href="http://www.vshb.co.nz/clinics/waipukurau/" target="_blank">Vet Services</a><a href="http://www.vshb.co.nz/clinics/waipukurau/" target="_blank"> </a>of Waipukurau assured me that she would be a different cat when I saw her again. They weren't kidding...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9HEb3gBBRyae6hRzfG7t2UONuwn-vMQsayYcjHBczlJwIH029PYQRNcTi8G1A7iX6SC9crlwmSkJA5Yh7EmsKgYlSiPv5DhbZHkBvg_1WCpuvqd2dEd_kJ5FvkT-yxhMvrJJF7tC7zg/s1600/AngelShaved.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9HEb3gBBRyae6hRzfG7t2UONuwn-vMQsayYcjHBczlJwIH029PYQRNcTi8G1A7iX6SC9crlwmSkJA5Yh7EmsKgYlSiPv5DhbZHkBvg_1WCpuvqd2dEd_kJ5FvkT-yxhMvrJJF7tC7zg/s320/AngelShaved.jpg" width="184" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angel still in her happy place after her experience.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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When she arrived home later that day Angel immediately jumped out of her cage and ran over for a smooch. For the rest of the afternoon she was slightly Lucy In the Sky With Diamonds as the anaesthetic hadn't worn off completely. With her fluffy tail and ugg boots still intact she rolled around on the carpet while I scratched places she hadn't been scratched in years.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii5qI0vbQSGR1h0jcO6bdXVnuQowq_LXkOq2FwkgoPpEkCcXzFTZ2YUm4tkq3bB21EZU-XHVNaLmY11i3gMhBigxrL606gxyicTV8sEAhVVPbcla2XEIRZgkk-VaifjvdvID9LVys8mQ/s1600/AngelShaved1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii5qI0vbQSGR1h0jcO6bdXVnuQowq_LXkOq2FwkgoPpEkCcXzFTZ2YUm4tkq3bB21EZU-XHVNaLmY11i3gMhBigxrL606gxyicTV8sEAhVVPbcla2XEIRZgkk-VaifjvdvID9LVys8mQ/s320/AngelShaved1.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Lion Of The House.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The vet staff said her coat was so badly matted that now it was gone her personality would change. This was after a nurse came out and said "Boy she's in a grumpy mood" when she fought to get her back in the carry cage. Although Angel was pleased to see her human friends again Joey the dog received a few punches when he tried to sniff her rear end. And as for the other cats... well with them she's lost all her street cred.damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-64352750539804553332013-09-28T16:08:00.002+12:002013-09-28T16:08:41.189+12:00The Return Of AngelIt is six and a half years since I moved to the Tikokino area and during that time I've often wondered what happened to <a href="http://follyfarm.blogspot.co.nz/2006/01/angel.html" target="_blank">Angel</a>- my wandering cat who disappeared again a few months before I moved from Maraetuna Farm. My landlady's Dad was moving into my old place so I left a notice complete with Angel's photo and my contact details. When winter came I heard that she had returned, he'd let her in, fed her porterhouse steak, and let her go again. What we didn't realise was that the old man was doing this every time she returned from one of her jaunts away even letting her sleep on his bed. I of course had assumed she'd disappeared permanently.<br />
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A week ago my sister in law (who works for my now ex landlady Sandy) rang to say that Angel had started hanging around the old place but that the old man had moved to town and would soon be going into a home. As the cat was now quite wild and ran from everyone else Sandy suggested that she take her Dad back to the farm to try and catch her. It took two trips last Saturday but he finally managed to entice Angel and lift her back into a cage. By the following day Angel had been returned to me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSCrOHyhuAIC47zQgRfbMoPUU3pDF7298jHrm58JzqksBzBWQtwJkhYy0ONdHbqnhtx04qvN2we57Jdae_Y41ObdLrhGfrlB2RPq2zb9AbFyxh3hvRgEd6-3Y2cev-cquDGgTWVMC04w/s1600/AngelSept2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSCrOHyhuAIC47zQgRfbMoPUU3pDF7298jHrm58JzqksBzBWQtwJkhYy0ONdHbqnhtx04qvN2we57Jdae_Y41ObdLrhGfrlB2RPq2zb9AbFyxh3hvRgEd6-3Y2cev-cquDGgTWVMC04w/s320/AngelSept2013.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angel really delighted to see me again.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Despite my fears she hadn't wasted away to a skeleton, in fact when I weighed her she was nearly 6kgs although her beautiful coat was completely matted right down to the skin. I left the top of the cage open and after an hour she jumped out and went to hide under the sofa where she remained for the next few days. However one evening she did make an appearance even coming up and smooching my hand. Then suddenly it was as if something clicked in her mind and Angel began snuggling like she used to although one false move would result in a hissy fit.<br />
<br />
Demelza and Gypsy grew up with Angel and don't take too much notice of her although they steer wide of her grumpiness. Kit and Gemma however are mortified and spend most of their time on my bed. I am delighted to have her back after all these nearly seven years as I was certain she'd died a long time ago. Now that we're friends again I have to break her trust again as she needs to go to the vet to be shaved since she won't even allow me to touch her tangles. Hopefully when she's allowed outside again she will lose her wandering ways and enjoy her retirement as Queen of the Cottage.damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-62284255436847765282013-04-30T08:40:00.004+12:002013-04-30T08:40:55.987+12:00ANZAC Day at Pendle HillWhen I was a kid ANZAC Day was when TV stations would repeat a black and white war movie and ten old soldiers would meet at the local cenotaph to remember their fallen comrades. However in the past few years it has become a more popular event in New Zealand with thousands of people turning out to commemorate those young men and women who died serving their country. This year I took a trip with the occasional Stud Muffin to Pendle Hill, the old farm of his ancestors the Fletcher Family which also contains the family burial plot.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Rq-myjw0oyhnQNEfeJzXo7UYpzk69dHO7bfs51NK7TZwaA0fupKYqbAE0ZWHBmstQGf1Ws9I76G4ThwQH9ZfTtu-QQOK2X1xh-Oy2KOHsK66mWA-7E6MWi6UZeDvsXuvAWpWWRu_dQ/s1600/PendleHillSign.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Rq-myjw0oyhnQNEfeJzXo7UYpzk69dHO7bfs51NK7TZwaA0fupKYqbAE0ZWHBmstQGf1Ws9I76G4ThwQH9ZfTtu-QQOK2X1xh-Oy2KOHsK66mWA-7E6MWi6UZeDvsXuvAWpWWRu_dQ/s320/PendleHillSign.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pendle Hill on Wakarara Road </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The cemetery lies on a hill overlooking the farm and has graves dating back to the 19th century. Mike laid poppies on the graves of returned soldiers while I looked at the headstones. One poignant one was of Mike's grandmother who died when she was only 38 years old. There were pioneers who lived to ripe old ages and sadly one of a baby who only survived to seven months.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLe8o8qGX-VADgeLsAxK_bY1hKUIG5CBmAjdDWW1_4jaQCy8WAWlvvvtCCs4uo9zRpyos1MiljSZkiaEyflUblevMEKTaAojZY3la_PVZTlcHLL8ZjrOKzZ72QxOnI7Vz7bVZsC9wvqg/s1600/OldPendleHillWoolshed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLe8o8qGX-VADgeLsAxK_bY1hKUIG5CBmAjdDWW1_4jaQCy8WAWlvvvtCCs4uo9zRpyos1MiljSZkiaEyflUblevMEKTaAojZY3la_PVZTlcHLL8ZjrOKzZ72QxOnI7Vz7bVZsC9wvqg/s320/OldPendleHillWoolshed.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pendle Hill Woolshed</td></tr>
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The original homestead has been removed from the field where it used to stand although part of it now houses the Department Of Conservation office in Onga Onga village. The rest was too rotten to restore. However the wool shed still stands near the original house site along with a couple of old sheds and many totara trees.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQEPCb0d72D2dciqbLacec9iU4sEjIkr18x4XxzTdhsd7MgRZ3bFeRY-qoNTnqbHRvCznGvcmG0wp4olK5LUfbnBfOV5YUSFgVhFiApf9or4xfyDEdWFVcKjemGVbIPZOpeTUxdUB0ew/s1600/TowardsRuahinesApril2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQEPCb0d72D2dciqbLacec9iU4sEjIkr18x4XxzTdhsd7MgRZ3bFeRY-qoNTnqbHRvCznGvcmG0wp4olK5LUfbnBfOV5YUSFgVhFiApf9or4xfyDEdWFVcKjemGVbIPZOpeTUxdUB0ew/s320/TowardsRuahinesApril2013.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back Road Up Near the Ruahines</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
We drove up Look Out Road which is aptly named for the views and for the fact you need to look out that you don't get blown away. As it is near the Ruahines it receives much more rain than other areas which also meant we had to stop our trip because the weather became too rough.<br />
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I think of the young men and women who returned from war to continue taming this country, sometimes living a harsh isolated life in the back country of Hawkes Bay. There was no counseling in those days, you didn't share your nightmares with all and sundry but kept a stiff upper lip although you'd hear the stories of quiet suicides. Then there were the men who would never shoot a rabbit because they'd killed enough in the war. I wonder what they'd make of our poor sad country today? The celebrated selfishness and the lack of compassion which once marked the worst of the regimes they fought against. We do remember them but we must also remember that they tried to make the world a better safer place and that we are heirs to that legacy.damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-14733257964803740352013-04-14T14:12:00.003+12:002013-04-14T14:12:44.544+12:00The Optimistic GardenerI have had a run of bad luck in the garden recently. Firstly we had the cold wet summer of 2012 followed by a winter where sheep, cows and various possums decimated my plants. Although I have wire cages over my veg plants to protect them from the chooks this didn't stop a possum from tipping them over at night and eating every single lettuce, broccoli and silver beet plant. As it was winter it was too cold to replace them so I had to wait until the livestock were under control before I could get anything planted. Then the drought arrived.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5-cNAGCv6aFIbIgvou2yYbO3j-hvZlEIPwPbCL4IYuXPCrJTBTGKd9Uc2jQYFvgLH4Qr8UA1B7-pbRHY_I93gHtN0CcSjpdXuWy8ZqBv82RH6HtOrV_nbM8zSejdOsTBVYHQkloYFLA/s1600/Beans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5-cNAGCv6aFIbIgvou2yYbO3j-hvZlEIPwPbCL4IYuXPCrJTBTGKd9Uc2jQYFvgLH4Qr8UA1B7-pbRHY_I93gHtN0CcSjpdXuWy8ZqBv82RH6HtOrV_nbM8zSejdOsTBVYHQkloYFLA/s320/Beans.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scarlet Runner Beans</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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This meant that if you intended to plant veggies you had to be prepared to water them by hand and even then growth was slow. A built up bed by the chook house has been unloved since I moved in here four years ago but a few hours of laboriously digging out bindweed left extremely friable soil which is where I planted several scarlet runner bean plants. Originally there were 10 plants but a psychotic fence lifting ewe and her scrofulous half grown lamb made daily raids chewing down all but four. These were copiously watered and have since rewarded me with the occasional meal. The cost of the seeds? 50c from an Op Shop.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWy9tzd7N0usJMlkQDY5a0EKi3wR2BxQNpVdnza4VQOA_QIiw3yENJAfaURR_zVNGvm4y-4m0JMymP6uImJfcG-CDpGeqt7nvliiBpD78ULaq-L6MjCEM1KExJ7OyRtb5mGhpBAQCh1w/s1600/Lettuce2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWy9tzd7N0usJMlkQDY5a0EKi3wR2BxQNpVdnza4VQOA_QIiw3yENJAfaURR_zVNGvm4y-4m0JMymP6uImJfcG-CDpGeqt7nvliiBpD78ULaq-L6MjCEM1KExJ7OyRtb5mGhpBAQCh1w/s320/Lettuce2013.jpg" width="284" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Various types of lettuce</td></tr>
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Since I discovered there was more to lettuce than a limp leaf of Iceberg I've become a salad fan and every fortnight buy a few more plants to add to my garden in the hope of having a staggered supply across Autumn and Winter. These also had a tough time until I mulched the plants with bunny manure and untreated sawdust and now I'm getting several harvests per week.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdOaYLZ1Fd-g0kE0VNZatWXD_ZMlg7zxsL2bb9Cf4Rmh5XKIlxm8Tqbk8Hhpk4GkOOgUiln3t2r1ul9adXWAzSc_PZM5NeHR1FDLAp2fKqBc8-n5iza0iIfX4ST-RdgVCaWMx2KI_AOw/s1600/AutumnSedum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdOaYLZ1Fd-g0kE0VNZatWXD_ZMlg7zxsL2bb9Cf4Rmh5XKIlxm8Tqbk8Hhpk4GkOOgUiln3t2r1ul9adXWAzSc_PZM5NeHR1FDLAp2fKqBc8-n5iza0iIfX4ST-RdgVCaWMx2KI_AOw/s320/AutumnSedum.jpg" width="241" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Autumn Sedum</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Now that the ravaged garden is beginning to freshen with heavy nightly dews it is possible to enjoy those plants that have survived the drought such as a the Autumn Sedum which blooms in the corner of the garden by a weeping cherry tree. In time its flowers will turn black and I will cut the branches right down to the ground where they'll hibernate until Spring which hopefully will herald a better year for the ever optimistic gardener.damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-64796551696372875012013-04-07T08:43:00.001+12:002013-04-07T08:43:43.904+12:00Picnic At Hanging MangletonWith the prospect of the warmest Easter in several years looming the OSM (Occasional Stud Muffin) thought it would be nice to go for a Good Friday drive north west to Mangleton which lies right under the mountains near the small country settlement of Kereru. I knew this area fairly well as my mother's eldest sister Eva (known in the family as "Boofy") and her husband had drawn a soldiers' settlement farm there after WWII. It was originally part of <a href="http://hbcountryscene.realviewdigital.com/default.aspx?iid=54902&startpage=page0000021" target="_blank">Poporangi </a>Station which was subdivided into smaller farms and then allocated to returned servicemen. Not that Uncle Jack got much of a bargain as his piece of land was riddled with rabbit holes every two feet. He would sit on a tree stump and fire his gun until it became to hot to hold. In this fashion he eventually cleared his farm of rabbits (mostly). He and Aunty Eva then lived in a Nissan Hut until their homestead was built and farmed there until Uncle Jack died in his 60s after which my aunt remained there alone while her son, who built a house next door, ran the farm.<br />
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So you'd think I'd have a good idea where the farm actually was situated. I mean my parents and I visited there enough times including the one memorable holiday there when Aunty Eva and my mother decided to mow the lawns except neither of them had used a motor mower before. I'll never forget hearing screams before seeing the mower calmly making its way across the lawn with two middle aged women in pursuit. <br />
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I was really looking forward to seeing the farm again and was sure I knew where we were going. We headed out through the Gwavas Forest reaching a height of 553 metres above sea level before dropping down slightly when we passed through Kereru. Which is where it all went wrong really. Firstly Mike remembered a lovely picnic area but the first big dip we came to didn't have one so we had to drive further up Mangleton Road until we found it down a bumpy farm track. There was a picnic table but we decided to venture nearer the creek which meant Joey the dog had a wonderful time sniffing the overgrown grass and blackberry.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHJ8sEsDaHNNz1Kx3ylto5AfyRya_Mz0JQWeicbzalo8xDE577TKXxx2oSUy1TuZWC4wUnCADjGgRA4uK1yAA9x_2dZzNDRhI7yKrWYgYGvy-i5Ob-e3-i1ugZq7U1ELEI2nMcF29ntA/s1600/Mangleton1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHJ8sEsDaHNNz1Kx3ylto5AfyRya_Mz0JQWeicbzalo8xDE577TKXxx2oSUy1TuZWC4wUnCADjGgRA4uK1yAA9x_2dZzNDRhI7yKrWYgYGvy-i5Ob-e3-i1ugZq7U1ELEI2nMcF29ntA/s320/Mangleton1.jpg" width="235" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joey surrounded by a paradise of scents</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Nearby was a lovely mountain stream which had been dammed to create a swimming hole although it wasn't hot enough to tempt us to have a dip. A sheer cliff rose up from the far side rising up towards more trees. There was just the sound of the water and birds singing, a peaceful oasis in a drought area.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBWGEdoyqfAmT5ymg7OUrolM1eMUPaM7yoqOy1b5yeIOkGlMNufqlQ2vCSEyyp5lWqvdQpvPetkBQmlSGR9TRS9qOdjFcTkrNBdEKcqC5us3yTpLAgl_IukUSn0FV8LyFfvNEXDX82mw/s1600/Mangleton2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBWGEdoyqfAmT5ymg7OUrolM1eMUPaM7yoqOy1b5yeIOkGlMNufqlQ2vCSEyyp5lWqvdQpvPetkBQmlSGR9TRS9qOdjFcTkrNBdEKcqC5us3yTpLAgl_IukUSn0FV8LyFfvNEXDX82mw/s320/Mangleton2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A lovely little mountain stream in Mangleton</td></tr>
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And that was what really shocked us. We thought the drought was bad enough in Central Hawkes Bay but at least the heavy dewy nights have left to a slight dusting of green across the countryside. In Mangleton everywhere was brown and decidedly crispy. As we drove down roads trying to find my aunt's old farm we saw fewer and fewer animals, more and more barren paddocks. Yet sometimes you would sweep down a hill and there would be a vestige of native bush huddled in a ravine.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLDjSVNE031Kaq4ZxxBn37OY3RI059tESqGmwf_pPvgTFP7fMMvMA6FyHiu5caxPssmcG5femo4ue59I1UG2uC8TJR5GXe0Sx1dpqWZG8hzOzJ_5br6bvbZc6GfAkeGinY9bjGTCdDkg/s1600/Mangleton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLDjSVNE031Kaq4ZxxBn37OY3RI059tESqGmwf_pPvgTFP7fMMvMA6FyHiu5caxPssmcG5femo4ue59I1UG2uC8TJR5GXe0Sx1dpqWZG8hzOzJ_5br6bvbZc6GfAkeGinY9bjGTCdDkg/s320/Mangleton.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A patch of bush huddling under the ranges</td></tr>
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There was no mobile reception so attempts to ring a cousin to find our the name of the road my Aunt had lived on were doomed to fail. After spending ages going down dusty shingle roads we admitted defeat as for the life of me I could not remember where my aunt's farm used to be. And of course as we drove out of Mangleton I think I recognized <u>the</u> road as it was the only one we hadn't bothered to drive down. Sometimes I should really stick to my motto of never going back to places. Or else get some more memory added to my brain's hard drive.<br />
<br />damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-19344277714374322952013-03-28T08:50:00.002+13:002013-03-28T08:53:33.215+13:00One Fine Day And Then AnotherThe other day after six weeks with no rain at all we finally had a downpour here in Tikokino. Well two inches of the wet stuff anyway. The next day you could see the fields practically green up before your eyes. But since then there has been nothing more but annoying beautiful mellow fine Autumn day after beautiful mellow fine Autumn day. Most farmers try to feed their animals with precious winter hay stores but there are others who leave their animals on dirt with nothing but mouldy black pea straw to eat.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMwHUsZb_sjIz3qqD8vIcZMCAcp4VjQvZxalmqL7OcEBN9nSoKZi5XXY2SpKLAaFuhHBAleGU1_e3qBgP8ZEVjipXDFgNQZ4VI7qzWtl40Jcci2lFFMaTHwsmArMJ2jmZ0gsc5eJxxxw/s1600/DroughtPaddock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMwHUsZb_sjIz3qqD8vIcZMCAcp4VjQvZxalmqL7OcEBN9nSoKZi5XXY2SpKLAaFuhHBAleGU1_e3qBgP8ZEVjipXDFgNQZ4VI7qzWtl40Jcci2lFFMaTHwsmArMJ2jmZ0gsc5eJxxxw/s320/DroughtPaddock.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This paddock has no shelter belts to shade the cattle from the sun as they pick their way through their own manure.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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It's not unusual to see more and more empty paddocks as farmers downsize
their stock numbers to try and cope with the lack of feed. Even areas that usually have a more constant rainfall are beginning to feel the effects of the drought. Smedley Road runs up towards the Ruahine Ranges and is renown for its rolling green hills covered with old Totara trees. It's now a paradise for artists with a surfeit of yellow ochre paint.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJNaTGhKEMFQMbVpx8ZXe9u3RKtelqjC9utztliIjOnOw3h7CiSoNZdXpC7TtIwEpH-bWLm1DNHc7XCaYmqqaHSFt78LnGwKHzMRlDmosgwLIuZcZCmFkA3UQ-0f83hU_FP7bNEst2w/s1600/SmedleyRoad1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCJNaTGhKEMFQMbVpx8ZXe9u3RKtelqjC9utztliIjOnOw3h7CiSoNZdXpC7TtIwEpH-bWLm1DNHc7XCaYmqqaHSFt78LnGwKHzMRlDmosgwLIuZcZCmFkA3UQ-0f83hU_FP7bNEst2w/s320/SmedleyRoad1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An old Totara coping with the driest summer in years.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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As nights draw in and temperatures drop overnight it's becoming too late for the countryside to recover before the winter arrives. Even if rain arrived tomorrow the cooler days will mean the soil temperature drops to a level where grass practically hibernates. Great news for anyone who hates mowing lawns but not so great for those trying to carry sheep and other stock through the winter months.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_CXQFqew4_AtaIipFYKaafcE3-EbV0Qd5zjMRwp54tzvIdppeavt2VwNjkYG7dZDYxUHMe-Kc8nYh3tmeT_t1qyWvg0Pvj82RUuuOz5sRmoYLNAFrl7mfGmYjYAKfECEgeCBjzKcEpA/s1600/SmedleyRoad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_CXQFqew4_AtaIipFYKaafcE3-EbV0Qd5zjMRwp54tzvIdppeavt2VwNjkYG7dZDYxUHMe-Kc8nYh3tmeT_t1qyWvg0Pvj82RUuuOz5sRmoYLNAFrl7mfGmYjYAKfECEgeCBjzKcEpA/s320/SmedleyRoad.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from just before Smedley Station looking towards the Ruahine Ranges.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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The flow on effect of a drought also impacts on small country towns as farmers have less money to spend on anything but the bare necessities.Stressful events such as a drought, often coupled with banks applying pressure to repay loans, has caused many suicides amongst the rural community in the past and unless people offer a helping hand it <u>will</u> happen again.<br />
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As I cart water around the animals by hand (usually because my own water supply is off due to repairs) I realize how precious a commodity the liquid stuff actually is. I lay hose ends in empty buckets which collect every last drop that leaks out before it's carried to water struggling plants. Nothing is wasted.<br />
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So it is with a sense of deep irony that I write of my excitement on receiving an unexpected gift yesterday. It is attached to a plank of wood threaded through a fence where Stig the Goat headbutts it in frustration. Each time I go past I touch it in awe and gaze at it longingly waiting for the day I can finally use it. It is a rain gauge.damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-81241492774636525252013-03-22T09:04:00.002+13:002013-03-22T09:04:40.940+13:00Things That Go Spew In The NightI regard myself as a patient person when it comes to the cats. Even when they insist in waking me at stupid o'clock in the morning to have their breakfast I figure I needed to get up for a "pit stop" anyway. If I do attempt to sleep in Gypsy will begin jumping over my head leaping from side to side and if that doesn't work she'll start batting objects off the dressing table. If I'm still sleeping Demelza will start her percussion practise by banging the wardrobe door repeatedly. Gemma and Kit meanwhile will sleep on till I'm ready.<br />
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So there I was at 3.15am this morning after seeing to everyone, sitting up in bed with tea and a gingernut reading my library book which was propped up on my knees. As it's getting chilly these days Gemma likes to burrow under the covers to curl up under my knees until I snuggle down again. But this morning she made a hasty exit and it wasn't until I grabbed the side of the bed that I put my hand in something wet. Lifting up the sheet in horror I saw that she managed to silently regurgitate most of her breakfast underneath me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5X8Nzd21dKuQuzLsU3_QfKI-ZXHCyCl8jcxLqIhmEVl4YhogFNqjEgGdUgcV7xlUoLAG4R7xAOUxGt4E70ZK0HDhgDd34L7cnmRaK-DlF48GfUkf_BmXTObQI7mD9NqPYALwO8rBJYg/s1600/GemmaInBed.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5X8Nzd21dKuQuzLsU3_QfKI-ZXHCyCl8jcxLqIhmEVl4YhogFNqjEgGdUgcV7xlUoLAG4R7xAOUxGt4E70ZK0HDhgDd34L7cnmRaK-DlF48GfUkf_BmXTObQI7mD9NqPYALwO8rBJYg/s320/GemmaInBed.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gemma in her pre-Exorcist days</td></tr>
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So that was how at 4am I was changing sheets only to find when I got back in that the residue must have permeated the <a href="http://www.woolrest.co.nz/" target="_blank">wool rest</a> beneath. I therefore spent the remainder of the night sleeping on a towel. Gemma just cuddled up with me again. We were both too tired to have a discussion about the incident. damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-90277789955701273652013-03-16T09:01:00.000+13:002013-03-16T09:01:16.605+13:00Hawkes Bay Drought 2013We've had a great summer this year just like the ones I remember as a kid. Days and days of blinding heat, sometimes up to 40oC, followed by nights where you took the electric fan to bed for relief. Unfortunately with six months of below average rainfall has come "The Drought".<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi13lifPosBWQa99GLouhh1aDMU2PFcbMIxSP5fg8JJC5qzswc2c0M2uRxVvJYLPv080LOvzRJGq9GThX4Ksuy2YCROnzXh_YlryWLaWOwLHjCoWGOrtRaLkXWzhdx8UvK4-RVRZuKJyA/s1600/Drought2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi13lifPosBWQa99GLouhh1aDMU2PFcbMIxSP5fg8JJC5qzswc2c0M2uRxVvJYLPv080LOvzRJGq9GThX4Ksuy2YCROnzXh_YlryWLaWOwLHjCoWGOrtRaLkXWzhdx8UvK4-RVRZuKJyA/s320/Drought2013.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Over my back fence this was six weeks ago. </td></tr>
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Despite being hand watered every alternate day my garden is dying. I've lost my "French Lace" rose, "Apple Blossom Flower Carpet" wants to turn up her roots and "Margaret Merrill" is looking pretty seedy. The only advantage to the drought it that the garden has never been so weed free. But it's the animals who are really suffering. Good farmers are feeding out good hay but the couldn't care less variety are leaving their stock in tree free paddocks filled with nothing but manure occasionally throwing out some black pea straw.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz3Gx6_2aBMXkBroLbJvV5KvYSMKb0iKaes4m19Ri-_VWfnfZAMjVPqQ03YcWUpPSPysCkiK56O_RmtAkAnisYSOIJpKeJkTyJ-sCLW7MJrWcVpR01iJMiTKgzWvnWCmrHW9LDCe4aUQ/s1600/DroughtSheep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz3Gx6_2aBMXkBroLbJvV5KvYSMKb0iKaes4m19Ri-_VWfnfZAMjVPqQ03YcWUpPSPysCkiK56O_RmtAkAnisYSOIJpKeJkTyJ-sCLW7MJrWcVpR01iJMiTKgzWvnWCmrHW9LDCe4aUQ/s320/DroughtSheep.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hard to tell what condition these sheep are in under their wool</td></tr>
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Those in favour of the Ruataniwha Water Project (the immensely expensive dam proposed for Tikokino) are citing this drought as a great reason for building Central Hawkes Bay's very own Think Big Project. Yet the small farmer would not gain much from this since the cost of paying water rights has been suggested at ranging from $5,000 to $30,000 a day. This could mean only the big boys could afford to pay for accessing it- the same farmers who irrigate in the heat of the day so that 70% of the water evaporates. The same farmers who have pulled out all the shelter belts and trees on their farms to allow the massive irrigation booms to move across an increasingly barren landscape. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrok-fQVB4pZcR8yvdoGcOdbAuiJR2wMtPXa03rnwIgOlbnfkQsRT4TY2trHRiHdy0tvbPSIH_6goL9hQ1TpxFzfvuXxHjFGjRUSjNP_x6TmlZ5ElCEInzruByt3AVVXVYadzkSzCxPQ/s1600/Irrigation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrok-fQVB4pZcR8yvdoGcOdbAuiJR2wMtPXa03rnwIgOlbnfkQsRT4TY2trHRiHdy0tvbPSIH_6goL9hQ1TpxFzfvuXxHjFGjRUSjNP_x6TmlZ5ElCEInzruByt3AVVXVYadzkSzCxPQ/s320/Irrigation.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from my back door at sunrise</td></tr>
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Lets not forget that there will be an increase in dairy farms in the area leading to more pollution being poured into Central Hawkes Bay rivers. Considering it is not safe to swim in the TukiTuki River now it is easy to imagine what will happen with increased run off making its way down into our once pristine waterways. Building smaller dams around the district would be much more likely to help the small farmers who are struggling to survive in this drought. One which looks like it will not be ending soon.</div>
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<br />damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-64160560796030497342013-03-02T12:15:00.000+13:002013-03-02T12:15:08.115+13:00Joey's Big Day OutI haven't seen Joey's previous owners since they gave him to me in July 2011 so when I learned they'd be showing their dogs at an event in Waipawa today it was too good an opportunity to miss. Soon as he got out of the car and heard the other dogs barking Joey was in the zone. He sauntered along beside me while we tried to find his owners amongst so many tents, umbrellas and crates. Fortunately Lyn saw me first and walked over to say hi when Joey suddenly developed amnesia and became very shy. Then suddenly something clicked and he grinned and jumped up very excited to see her again. We went to Lyn and David's set up next to one of the rings where they had Joey's second cousin all prepped ready to be shown.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi80ypiujUubStjYf1DVMGpxu5r30Kf5_ORT3-9Qsghy3y3GFMG3j2VND6t3xlgERvUKuJkhWoy4p7qGzdIfVyX21-tG8wupaFDNKb4E5PgJrIifXDOMkjvHzPL7zZpTfhUtCkP592uhA/s1600/JoeyMeetsHisCousin1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi80ypiujUubStjYf1DVMGpxu5r30Kf5_ORT3-9Qsghy3y3GFMG3j2VND6t3xlgERvUKuJkhWoy4p7qGzdIfVyX21-tG8wupaFDNKb4E5PgJrIifXDOMkjvHzPL7zZpTfhUtCkP592uhA/s320/JoeyMeetsHisCousin1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Joey's thinking "I'm not too sure about you" </td></tr>
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Joey wasn't too sure at first although he definitely remembered Max their Affenpinscher as they had a mutual quick sniff and growl. Apparently they had a history as Joey used to force the other dog to the ground on occasion when they lived together. Who knew as he's always been such a big chook with me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwOnh8xttU8PgmF6piUbmjl6eeW3FmfOXDpiqJfeiTfPQjKsTE4wT2TBk2NmhnIW4cw4gXiumoDpoZITtT8jf58E3d4cYwGuIjmzEdSXJjV6YBF-vqNZmjcpsJmvomTI0P8UFRL8EGiA/s1600/JoeyMeetsHisCousin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwOnh8xttU8PgmF6piUbmjl6eeW3FmfOXDpiqJfeiTfPQjKsTE4wT2TBk2NmhnIW4cw4gXiumoDpoZITtT8jf58E3d4cYwGuIjmzEdSXJjV6YBF-vqNZmjcpsJmvomTI0P8UFRL8EGiA/s320/JoeyMeetsHisCousin.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Oh you're special like me!"</td></tr>
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I also had a chance to catch up with <a href="http://follyfarm.blogspot.co.nz/2010/10/time-to-say-goodbye.html" target="_blank">Mishka's</a> breeder Shirley Campbell. We reminisced about his puppyhood and obsession with water. It brought back memories of all his funny little quirks and how different two Shelties can be. She had some really kind things to say about Joey and it turns out once owned one of his relatives.<br />
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When we left I was worried Joey would want to stay behind in the world he knew and although he did steal one look back at his previous owners he seemed happy enough to trot off with me although he had one wobbly moment when he passed a great dane the size of a small South American country. And when we arrived home I knew he was in a good mood as he celebrated by raiding the kitty litter tray.damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-47914577974703875752013-02-22T09:27:00.000+13:002013-02-24T09:10:33.794+13:00The Septic Tank WarsIt started with a hole. I had put the chooks to bed and came inside for a little while at 5pm. When I went out again it had appeared- a one foot wide hole beneath the clothes line. When I peered into the darkness I could see liquid and a flotilla of panty liners floating by. I left a message for my landlord begging for an urgent visit. Twelve hours went by so in desperation I spoke to his Mum who lives across the paddock from my cottage. Lying down with her head down the hole she announced "Yuk it stinks" which was when we all knew we were truly in the middle of a shitty situation.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTu_UCvTPwthnBILe80d1iv5_9SfKD5YhImXe5VYw9iKhdzoMve4UXt-QU5nxFHSLGlbG2J93D3e4Yh49JeL9kaH74WFNdfUFuPMOrqMmZXBgWo24R0HSetoQBJdlKpUX9wpkinADo4A/s1600/SepticTank.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTu_UCvTPwthnBILe80d1iv5_9SfKD5YhImXe5VYw9iKhdzoMve4UXt-QU5nxFHSLGlbG2J93D3e4Yh49JeL9kaH74WFNdfUFuPMOrqMmZXBgWo24R0HSetoQBJdlKpUX9wpkinADo4A/s320/SepticTank.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Amazing what people will flush. Not me I hasten to add!</td></tr>
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The following morning I got a call to say the septic tank cleaner was coming over and to move the donkey and goat from around the back gate area. Just as I was moving Briar the landlord's parents arrived to lift the rotary clothes line off its pole. Unfortunately Stig the goat happened to be near as he sleeps in the woodshed so he managed to get in everyone's way before I moved him. I was asked how it had happened but when I explained the sudden appearance of The Hole I was told that there was no way it could have happened like that. That was shortly before I was told that it was my fault the soil had collapsed because I had been wandering across it (which I had to in order to hang out my washing), cars were driving over it (they weren't) and the goat had looked at it funny.<br />
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By the time I'd come out an hour later the landlord's Dad was busy making the hole even bigger which is when we discovered that the concrete cap on the septic tank had cracked. No wonder as it was constructed from home made concrete with no reinforcing and laid on a few skinny metal fence standards. By this stage there was serious fuming going on as the tank was full of panty liners, masses of plastic sheeting and used syringes. I received a hefty lecture on having a rubbish bin in my bathroom and putting my plastic rubbish in there. My attempts at explaining that I don't use syringes and having lived in the country most of my life I only flush what's meant to go down a toilet went unheard as the old sod is deaf. Except apparently he's not deaf, everyone else is mumbling.
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIvqCgd_Lrcr8TjHPQU7zkG-m9mgcVHYeMRx8tfjgufmeK99tiSoYM0Q_Bp_yscNfcmBrYwAM3AgplGEji1Fb1zI26AmMm_xyMZx-IyvZPy8i2mUFQ5MdMWgJsrueTtueOECcWLzvAIQ/s1600/SepticTank1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIvqCgd_Lrcr8TjHPQU7zkG-m9mgcVHYeMRx8tfjgufmeK99tiSoYM0Q_Bp_yscNfcmBrYwAM3AgplGEji1Fb1zI26AmMm_xyMZx-IyvZPy8i2mUFQ5MdMWgJsrueTtueOECcWLzvAIQ/s320/SepticTank1.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My poor clothes line- alone and palely loitering</td></tr>
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I hid in the cottage until the septic tank cleaner arrived. I was so intent explaining to him that I was a good person who doesn't flush tarps and plastic forks I ended up helping him hitch up my garden hose and watching in admiration as "The Motion Mover" as he's known sucked the crap out of my old tank. The tank was six feet deep with four feet and sixty years worth of sewage stewing away right beneath my feet. According to Motion Man it hadn't been cleaned out for years, perhaps not since it was put in sixty years ago.
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjjnQtt6jC8eFNQf5ZU9YthAr8M-VudoYtglZ7rH8Og2eiqixNz_XeIQufJ1h0erJEgojRAvrrrLuIQol8Iah7Nao3_Rgcpz3gTJZorwzVJQGXUrIlPhSZyK6Dp6lF8fH3EQ6Z8viHuw/s1600/SepticTank2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjjnQtt6jC8eFNQf5ZU9YthAr8M-VudoYtglZ7rH8Og2eiqixNz_XeIQufJ1h0erJEgojRAvrrrLuIQol8Iah7Nao3_Rgcpz3gTJZorwzVJQGXUrIlPhSZyK6Dp6lF8fH3EQ6Z8viHuw/s320/SepticTank2.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A temporary plywood covering over "The Hole"</td></tr>
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As it was a weekend a new concrete cap couldn't be made so a plywood lid was laid down the hole and I lived with the whiff of poo until the following Thursday when the new cap was lowered in place by tractor<strike></strike> and buried. As the landlord's Daddy threw grass seed over the bomb site he told me Stig had burrowed through the dirt and wrecked the backyard by spreading bark and kindling across the front of the woodshed (which was actually there when I moved in) so he was never allowed back but had to be tethered in the paddock. Plus I had to water the grass seed every day, not just one day and then let it wilt and die. So every day through the heat I have watered the dirt and said a prayer of thanks that the hole hadn't opened up when I was hanging out the washing as I would have literally ended up in the....manure.damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-46791397343267657202013-01-22T08:02:00.000+13:002013-01-22T08:02:09.291+13:00Kit Cat Kit cat is finding this hot summer rather taxing. To avoid the heat she either digs herself under a rhododendron bush in the front yard, hides under the sofa or drapes herself across the top of an armchair to avail herself of the updraft from the fan.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTy-sT9JCdhUEmmpxVK8nyLM4fQ84XOQ_J9poXCr3PMTC2b9YvVwCyINJTJHDgFXok2hAxB5UYK8aCsMK1NzJjmk9oxUJx2A0pPQ0xsfQF805Y4kc0d510SqdKwoBgCJ5Rzxiu75G6aA/s1600/KitOnChair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTy-sT9JCdhUEmmpxVK8nyLM4fQ84XOQ_J9poXCr3PMTC2b9YvVwCyINJTJHDgFXok2hAxB5UYK8aCsMK1NzJjmk9oxUJx2A0pPQ0xsfQF805Y4kc0d510SqdKwoBgCJ5Rzxiu75G6aA/s320/KitOnChair.jpg" /></a></div>
When the weather cools down somewhat she'll walk behind the other cats and swat them on the back of their hind legs which causes them to launch into orbit. Otherwise she can be found admiring herself in mirrors.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiekzJX-5fU09gyY1QYmnIACk-034iiv-XufaCQD7miZUd2-jfkiWejLkyOdZX3J1W3qoePiOv0WSehLvBadv342HZMwFB-oCoXU-b2ybi0drZ5UKewNUzc1wGyP6aNQGqJHjgev5Xa4g/s1600/KitAndMirror.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="203" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiekzJX-5fU09gyY1QYmnIACk-034iiv-XufaCQD7miZUd2-jfkiWejLkyOdZX3J1W3qoePiOv0WSehLvBadv342HZMwFB-oCoXU-b2ybi0drZ5UKewNUzc1wGyP6aNQGqJHjgev5Xa4g/s320/KitAndMirror.jpg" /></a></div>
She is so laid back that she didn't even mind having "Ratty" an eco rat made from recycled plastic bottles, snuggle up to her one evening. Lets face it to get rid of him would have involved moving a few inches sideways and she was too exhausted from sleeping to do that.
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I always feel a bit of a fraud having such a glamour puss in my house as I tend to have quirky and mentally disturbed felines but Kit was gifted to me nearly six years ago when her owners returned to live in the Netherlands. Despite my common ways Kit manages to tolerate me. Mostly.
damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-9411364386501851262013-01-13T11:17:00.001+13:002013-01-13T11:17:26.053+13:00Hot Summer DaysIt has been an incredibly hot summer in Hawkes Bay so far. Two days ago it was 40oC in the carport at the back of my cottage which really stressed the animals. I made sure Stig the goat and Briar donkey were tethered under the old oak tree in my garden with fresh water for the day while the baby bunnies snuggled next to a container of ice that I keep in my freezer for such heatwaves.
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At three weeks of age Ivory's six remaining babies were still spending a certain amount of time in their nest box although they made forays out into the cage to chase their mother round for milk. You'd see them upended with fluffy feet in the air trying to sneak a milk shake before she was alerted to what was going on and hopped away.
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At four weeks they were really getting stuck into pellets which took some strain off their poor mother. This also meant they were growing at a great rate. Already personalities are beginning to shine through with the white kits being slightly more shy than their siblings.
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There are a couple of cheeky individuals who like posing for a photo so I'm hoping they grow up into good woolers as well. At this stage though I just enjoy watching their interactions with each other and am amazed at how quickly they've learned <strike></strike>that I am "food woman".damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-33305384423557746952013-01-11T11:37:00.000+13:002013-01-11T11:37:02.570+13:00A Tale of Two BroodiesNew Year's Eve a visiting friend walked in and said "Do you know that there's a hen and chicks out there?" I immediately thought of Mohawk and her two month old offspring but no, Gabriella, a black hen with a stubborn streak had arrived with a fresh clutch of many small fluffies. We counted nine with her plus two brownish ones further up the drive which Gwendolyn, the descendent of Squidgey my Old English Game Fowl, promptly stole and sat on. We managed to fill a bucket with babies before clearing a cage to keep them safe in. Gabriella was easy to wrangle as she was hungry after three weeks brooding.
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The next morning I went outside to find one small brown chick outside the cage and the other small browny bumblebee down the drive. Threw them back in with Gabriella but later that day she became aggressive and chased them out again while Gwendolyn took them into the garden. Which is when I realised that they were actually Gwen's chickens. I had had two broodies walk out the same day which led to all the confusion.
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Later that day one of Gabriella's chicks escaped and a visitor, not sure of what went where, threw it in with Gwendolyn who promptly sat down on it. As Gabby had eight still with her I decided to let Gwen keep her adopted baby and she has done a beautiful job raising it.
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Meanwhile Mohawk's chicks arrived at their two month birthday without many problems although the one she had stepped on at a week of age was still struggling with walking. However she began hopping about on one leg quite happily and would peck visitor's toes to try and get them to feed her. All was going well until I found her dead in the cage one morning with her mother standing on her. The five remaining chicks are now ranging around the garden on their own and their mother has returned to the hen house.
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I have spoken to the remainder of the flock quite sternly about constantly going broody which has succeeded in frightening three eggs out of them. I am hopeful that I may yet get enough for a fresh summer omelet.
damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-15446367675491232062012-12-30T09:09:00.001+13:002012-12-30T09:09:34.193+13:00The Young OnesI've had an explosion of broody bantams this year. Most hide away in the garden with only an occasional scream to alert you as to where they are but few have the tenacity to actually go sit through to a hatch. Imagine my surprise when last summer's chick "Mohawk" (named by my friend Rose) turned up on a hot Saturday afternoon in late October with eight chicks in tow. I managed to coral them into a cage in my carport where they were safe from rats and my neighbour's psycho cat. Unfortunately the chicks weren't safe from their mother's big feet as she constantly stood on them. She managed to break the foot of one small gray chick when it was a week old. Not much that could be done but the little creature coped and would get in amongst the others despite its disability. Then Mohawk stood on two others when they were several weeks old but this time caused internal damage so they passed away. Now she's calming down and they babies are big enough to know to get from under their mother's feet!
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I've been trying to get some of my angora girls in kit and finally Ivory from Ebony's first litter managed to get pregnant. Unfortunately she had her babies during the night on 5th October and scattered them over the floor of the cage instead of having them in the nest box so they all died before I could rescue them. I left her a few weeks until putting her back with Baldrick, my agouti buck, and kept an eye on her as she ballooned. On the evening of 8th December I was out at an awards ceremony for the Onga Onga Fire Brigade so didn't check her until 12.30am when she was starting to pluck herself and throw the fibre all over the cage floor again. This time I stayed up and went out at 1.30am to find she'd produced eight kits all of which were alive in a pile on the cage floor. I checked them over and put them into the nest box, covering them with fibre. Next morning they were all fed and warm Ivory finally getting the idea that the nest box was where they were meant to be.
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The litter consisted of four white, two agouti, one blue and one black kit. However two of the white kits were small and at four days the smallest died during the night. The other died at ten days of age when the others were opening their eyes.
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The others meanwhile blossomed and at two weeks were beginning to pop out of their nest box to try and hassle their Mum for milk. The blue was the ring leader for these sorties being very inquisitive.
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Ivory has proved a wonderful first time Mum, very caring despite the rocky start. But I am feeling sorry for her now as she sometimes looks overwhelmed when several<strike></strike> kits try to burrow under her for a sneaky feed. Especially as they're born with teeth. It's not easy being a Mum.
damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-70879199638256306262012-04-08T08:52:00.006+12:002012-04-08T09:04:33.143+12:00Lenin's Bedroom AdventureFunny how a humble chook can bring a smile even during the darkest times. It's a week since my brother Richard died so I've been utterly miserable but even I managed a laugh the other afternoon when I came inside to find Lenin the fluffy gray rooster strutting round my bedroom. I assume he was wondering why my bed was on the floor but I have been rust treating and painting the wrought iron bedstead which is taking forever due to a combination of bee stings (insects are apparently attracted to the solvents in enamel paint) and terrible weather.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEqWoyCFRIVBLX7Tv1UDiJkpJmJUUpm5WvBXNzXva9KNILDXMEeccHaN1zzFwUJPouNL0taQY4cioHe92O0aJWGUvACjO-QTqzTowUCYA1TJ3OQdAuOjI6S_4o4OR374Y4z5DQv2bL0g/s1600/LeninInBedroomApril2012.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEqWoyCFRIVBLX7Tv1UDiJkpJmJUUpm5WvBXNzXva9KNILDXMEeccHaN1zzFwUJPouNL0taQY4cioHe92O0aJWGUvACjO-QTqzTowUCYA1TJ3OQdAuOjI6S_4o4OR374Y4z5DQv2bL0g/s320/LeninInBedroomApril2012.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5728766356842345906" /></a><br />Of course Lenin had left a few little deposits which I assume were his commentary on the evils of capitalism. Every time I tried to shoo him out the room he left a few more little comments on the carpet. Finally I just let him do his thing and he strolled quite calmly out the front door.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMXjEkI-bDit69eK7VpVqVTkatste_wviLB7cckQ_urBMO1C8RtL2jyVC0oLKwEyt1f6qaCNrY0S8Keyl95efKBgp3AhZNo5_MMAPR-JMrQMq6Exr3FMs3yM1ixRyANNIz7mssO2w6Yw/s1600/LeninWalkingOutDoor.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMXjEkI-bDit69eK7VpVqVTkatste_wviLB7cckQ_urBMO1C8RtL2jyVC0oLKwEyt1f6qaCNrY0S8Keyl95efKBgp3AhZNo5_MMAPR-JMrQMq6Exr3FMs3yM1ixRyANNIz7mssO2w6Yw/s320/LeninWalkingOutDoor.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5728767217378444306" /></a>damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-22132076822699880072012-03-11T08:22:00.003+13:002013-01-11T13:02:48.414+13:00Exploding BantamsThere's a bantam explosion over the past few months. Firstly Georgia the fluffy white hen walked out with two small chicks (one yellow one gray) before her daughter from last year nicknamed "Mohawk" by my friend Rose due to her feathery head arrangement produced a small black one which she raised conscientiously for a month before abandoning it. Three weeks ago Francesca the black bantam with delicate flecks of gold around her neck arrived with four offspring. A week later Georgia produced another two out of thin air (again a yellow one and a gray) and on the same day Gabriella came out with four black fluff balls although so far she has managed to lose two, one of which she sat on and squished. These are all housed in three separate cages in the carport as protection against wandering cats (mine). The cacophony of cheeping when it's meal time has to be heard to be believed. My hand bears the scars of Francesca's impatience when I don't hurry up.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjv8tcXYORwFXwXkkUgvUCsBZpPAyLn-j6rNMo0_vstclWjCvXLdLMdjoUvHW-S-b0_EmGzdvZCQs9XgbQVKEjMElHEttrxLv5D3cGY_SU7LPtz8KoDRLhRz8d5hnUin5fwlpcv9b6zw/s1600/Georgia%2526SonNov2011.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjv8tcXYORwFXwXkkUgvUCsBZpPAyLn-j6rNMo0_vstclWjCvXLdLMdjoUvHW-S-b0_EmGzdvZCQs9XgbQVKEjMElHEttrxLv5D3cGY_SU7LPtz8KoDRLhRz8d5hnUin5fwlpcv9b6zw/s320/Georgia%2526SonNov2011.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718354017669699106" /></a><br />In the meantime Georgia's first two offspring from this season were moved into "The Big House". Her little white son has morphed into quite a nice little bird who obediently trots inside every evening. Her gray daughter however has turned out to be a strumpet who hangs around with the three outside roosters and makes a complete show of herself. Obviously a fowl teenage delinquent.<br /><br />In related news it is with a heavy heart I write of the sad demise of "Son Of Bovril" who has not appeared for two days. Well over ten years old this gentle little golden replica of his Dad was a hit with the hens due to his kind ways. Always willing to give up a worm for a good looking hen, never one to chase them down for some quick loving first thing in the morning. We will never see his like again.damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-31473519141803889852012-02-13T17:09:00.008+13:002012-02-13T17:58:28.541+13:00The Miraculous Escaping DonkeyBriar has been on a diet since August. And she's not happy. She had been enjoying freedom in the company of some pet lambs in another paddock where she had stuffed her face to her heart's content but when I went to fetch her for a hoof trim I noticed that she was not so keen on walking back with me. It took me half an hour to move her fifty feet as she was so uncomfortable. She had, in a word, foundered. The farrier told me it was important she be fenced in a small area with limited access to food so I hauled out my electric fence unit which hadn't been used since early 1998 and did a crash course on learning how to work it.<br /><br />Turned out I was an abject failure at mastering electric fence units. However a friend came round, actually read the instructions, and with a little effort it wasn't long until I was getting a few shocks. At first Briar was extremely pissed off. Before long I began feeling sorry for her so would allow her into my garden area for half an hour's grazing which worked well until I forgot to shut the driveway gate and she made a break for freedom. That saw me chasing one very fat gray ass down the road. Every time I seemed to near her she would kick up a gear and tear past me. Fortunately after a kilometre she developed sore feet and had to seek refuge on the side of the road where I trapped her by a gate, managing to get her halter on before she sped off again. As the road slopes slightly we had an even quicker trip home as by this time I was in a bit of a mood.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN4dTAcLUlltd-42DUDoFBwcceRykjtxxr36a7SKF4JqZgZzM-Q2xsyAz2OFKos38x39QF-yFcl9eH8k9gL7Zddlp_A8qeJc43qoG61yU0O8JuaVT8VmR-NU9RY1nBwq_Se61PQAE9Sg/s1600/Briar+Painting.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 221px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN4dTAcLUlltd-42DUDoFBwcceRykjtxxr36a7SKF4JqZgZzM-Q2xsyAz2OFKos38x39QF-yFcl9eH8k9gL7Zddlp_A8qeJc43qoG61yU0O8JuaVT8VmR-NU9RY1nBwq_Se61PQAE9Sg/s320/Briar+Painting.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708477073225551714" /></a><br /><br />Then Briar developed magical powers. In the morning her enclosure would be devoid of donkey and I would go down the road to discover her ensconced in my landlord's parent's front paddock. On one occasion I roped in a friend to help me get her back- it took two of us a good half hour of pushing and pulling her across an incredibly bumpy field before we reached home. Another time it took three frail females, two hauling on her halter, me bringing up the rear pushing her enormous rear, to finally return her to what she now regarded as a prison. Finally though I discovered the secret of her escape method- she would just crawl underneath the electric fence tape not caring if she was zapped or not. The frequent sight of me dragging a reluctant fat donkey back along the road caused many a near accident as neighbouring farmers slowed down their utes in order to have a good laugh.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi71l5EgMOVqSJsnDi_-pzheExHGzWXzbvfO9fIMISRhXWBS7nMcZDBfSRiUYXP_BMMmrwwsF9xxw6KpkreQDKXIsmI8Rp_5kdOfGUUL_OvQU3PNZ4dquf8uJu8d4uLyRus4hRHKhs1xw/s1600/StigDec2011.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi71l5EgMOVqSJsnDi_-pzheExHGzWXzbvfO9fIMISRhXWBS7nMcZDBfSRiUYXP_BMMmrwwsF9xxw6KpkreQDKXIsmI8Rp_5kdOfGUUL_OvQU3PNZ4dquf8uJu8d4uLyRus4hRHKhs1xw/s320/StigDec2011.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708479773384740066" /></a><br />As a more svelte donkey emerged from beneath three saddlebags of fat so did her previous happy go lucky nature. If Briar managed to escape during the night she would always walk back when I went out first thing in the morning, squeezing under the electric fence tape in order to say hello. She also developed a quasi friendly relationship with Stig the goat. Although there would be a few kicks and bucks while he tried to headbutt her as she attempted to steal his food if I wasn't around they would happily sit near each other chewing the fat and cuds in mutual contentment.damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-55217130463578608832012-01-29T11:11:00.004+13:002012-01-29T11:38:27.893+13:00The Phone Phobic PoochWhen you re home an older dog you automatically take on all their little foibles as well. Joey's previous owners had admitted that he had a slight phone phobia but that it just involved him running constantly from room to room while they were talking. I noticed this the first time someone called me. The phone ringing would stir him into action and he would trot around constantly with his mouth open until I hung up. Then I noticed that he would follow me to the sitting room and watch anxiously to see if I was going to use the phone. This soon developed into running and pushing into me with his front feet before scooting away while I was talking. Then he began barking at me constantly. I tried to make my being on the phone a pleasant experience for him. I bought rawhide treats and would produce them while I was talking so he could take his frustration out them instead of my legs but every so often he would still make a running jump at me. A friend gave me a plastic bottle of stones to shake at him when he barked at me but this just meant he would bark from a distance. In the end if I wanted peace and quiet I would have to put him on his lead which seemed to keep him calm.<br /><br />But then Joey became sneaky. If the phone rang he would pull it off its holder and remove the handset, often carrying it out onto the lawn where it would be clawed at, scratched and bitten. I began hiding the phone up on an armchair beneath a cushion and a pile of laundry waiting to be ironed. On re-entering the room I'd discover the washing all over the floor and the handset mauled. Not only the phone was at risk but anything sitting nearby which is how a DVD cover and DVD remote control lost their lives.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqr5bPEYvKNEW5NhIBIpMJi372l-maf9b9ifSq9rQEnT4LdnKQWL0ZbHpUHpW-zx29wLN7ZHXyNZnW4jxOM3U8RGDCrndV3yk_Wl-i2wU3tgLb0MdPv0H1jFS9U0lgII_zJF29xkAlPg/s1600/JoesVictims.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqr5bPEYvKNEW5NhIBIpMJi372l-maf9b9ifSq9rQEnT4LdnKQWL0ZbHpUHpW-zx29wLN7ZHXyNZnW4jxOM3U8RGDCrndV3yk_Wl-i2wU3tgLb0MdPv0H1jFS9U0lgII_zJF29xkAlPg/s320/JoesVictims.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702811514776356562" /></a><br />I was forced to shut the sitting room door whenever I went outside to prevent Joey's phone abuse. But my memory is not as good as it used to be and I would occasionally forget to take precautions which is how my dear black cordless phone had its antennae bitten off. However it still worked.... for a time. Then I forgot the door again and found the handset's corpse proudly laid in state on the dining room carpet. I hauled out the old white cord phone thinking this would be ignored. Within two days the cord was severed in an act of callous and unwarranted violence. I was forced to use a very old Telecom phone that would only work if I plugged it into a jack near the back door which forced me to make all my calls sitting by the kitty litter trays.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjokrEwqirzdyU-iObJVcI-n-zWyVNrXsE5APwieEuiRWwgJuuk_3D1I1mmvizOWZemkHv-qsB5NLBa41p80DAF-qP4cyY3vU4OHioIJCZzgjEpl9ImeDnOdPYk556pfcCovzTc5ACs-Q/s1600/JoeyandBread2011.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjokrEwqirzdyU-iObJVcI-n-zWyVNrXsE5APwieEuiRWwgJuuk_3D1I1mmvizOWZemkHv-qsB5NLBa41p80DAF-qP4cyY3vU4OHioIJCZzgjEpl9ImeDnOdPYk556pfcCovzTc5ACs-Q/s320/JoeyandBread2011.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702812985513882322" /></a><br />I now have a new $4 phone from Trademe. It sits on top of the mantelpiece and instead of ringing it plays Paganini's Variations on a Theme. I don't know what happened to Joey as a young dog that caused his extremely hatred of phones. I only know that any telephone in this house is in mortal danger and that talking to my friends is no longer a joy but is seen as an act of war by a hairy pooch with a phobia.damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-58613405374672291352011-08-27T19:29:00.010+12:002011-09-24T20:32:37.641+12:00Gemma & JoeyIn mid June I had a dream. I dreamed that my Dad and I went to the local SPCA and he accidentally let a ginger cat out of its cage. I told him not to worry as it would come home on its own which it did- we managed to sneak it back in before the woman who ran the SPCA came back. Obviously ginger cats had been on my mind since <a href="http://follyfarm.blogspot.com/2011/05/peaches.html">Peaches</a> died three weeks previously but even so the dream felt very real somehow, despite the fact that my Dad died in 2002. I was due for a blood test on the morning of June 13th so my friend Rose and I decided we'd pop into the Waipukurau SPCA afterwards. <br /><br />On arriving one of the volunteers asked if we'd come to play with the kittens and never being one to let something fluffy go by unpetted we said yes. First she had to make sure that none of them got out so we had to go into a short corridor, shut the door behind us, open another door into the first of the kitten rooms. When I went in a ginger and white kitten marched up to me and put it's little forehead to my forehead while putting its paw on my left cheek. However his name was "Nutbar" which didn't bode well. The volunteer read out the names of all the kitties including "Ivan" who was named after a vet. Rose asked her if Nutbar had been named after a vet as well...<br /><br />We spent a good ten minutes playing with the kittens who were having a good attempt at eviscerating my hands. We then went through the same rigmarole of getting into a small corridor and having two doors shut before we frolicked with the next room of black and tabby kittens. All kittens are cute but sometimes none "speak" to you. We were just about to leave the SPCA when the volunteer said there was one room left but it was full of older kittens. We entered to see several black young cats careering around so we stayed in there for five minutes before we had to leave for another appointment. Just as we were going out of the room Rose said "Oh look at this one" and reaching up to a high shelf pulled a small black tortoiseshell female cat down. She was an older kitten with a patch of white fur at her neck and white paws with patches of ginger amongst the black. Purring like an engine she rubbed our hands and rolled over which is when I fell for her hook line and sinker.<br /><br />The volunteer came back into the room and told me the kitten was named "Flossie" and had been with them three months as no one wanted her due to her colour. All this time Rose was saying "You'd be doing a good thing" but I didn't need any encouragement and told the volunteer that I would collect her in a week.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxxtIKFqvrHrFvnXgPAxPag0HDfb3ckc2JlUJE82eA75RKCavlHvvk32EgJcVHLW98-0IIqbLRPb7P3b_ba5zbSoVRiNIzaEFVlUDUZDhOhSubrlQZUkrog9pZabdtYiEElkCutUr6w/s1600/GemmaJune2011.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 249px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoxxtIKFqvrHrFvnXgPAxPag0HDfb3ckc2JlUJE82eA75RKCavlHvvk32EgJcVHLW98-0IIqbLRPb7P3b_ba5zbSoVRiNIzaEFVlUDUZDhOhSubrlQZUkrog9pZabdtYiEElkCutUr6w/s320/GemmaJune2011.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655831549583933426" /></a><br /><br />That same day I received an email from someone who had seen my advert in the "Pawprint" (magazine of the Central Shetland Sheepdog Club) asking for an older Sheltie to rehome. She had a six year old male Sheltie called Beaucourt Outta My Dreams aka "Joey" who had just retired from the show ring as a champion. They had four other dogs and he was near the bottom of the pack and she felt that he would benefit from one on one attention from someone who was home most of the time. When I replied to her it turned out that she only lived 45 minutes away from me in Hastings.<br /><br />Over the week we exchanged emails about Joey as she enquired about my situation, fencing, the other animals I had. I in turn wanted to make sure that he liked cats, was a quiet dog and wouldn't mind a more sedate lifestyle. Then we made arrangements for the owners and Joey to visit that following Saturday (18th July).<br /><br />It was a cold rainy day when Joey arrived in a blue four wheel drive with his owners. I could see his little fox like face peering out the back window with such a look of Mishka. For the next hour we discussed his likes and dislikes and his routine while Joey wandered around occasionally creeping up to sniff my hand. He seemed a timid dog but it was no wonder when I learned his story.<br /><br />When he was a six week old puppy his breeder took her 13 dogs including Joey and his siblings to a show in Wellington. On her way home a vehicle forced her van off the road and down a fifty metre bank. In the crash two dogs were killed and the breeder severely injured, ending up in a wheelchair. Many Sheltie owners on hearing this took her dogs into their homes as a temporary measure which is how Joey had many homes in his first two years before arriving to live with his current owners. He showed some behavioural issues including a clingy tendency and a difficulty with the phone, running constantly from room to room when ever someone was speaking on it.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKwd-CeySKlnSUgh-RG0drxdQu8Deb9vxM6utuvXmsHGXemh2T51SrD28_AQAcJ4Atc-83fzmLmlq_L3n1ojIRG43rVrYjqkkYXL2vgjO_v1ApNUfroHkO_6eovkijlvZBjQy1H2okkw/s1600/JoeyJune2011.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 317px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKwd-CeySKlnSUgh-RG0drxdQu8Deb9vxM6utuvXmsHGXemh2T51SrD28_AQAcJ4Atc-83fzmLmlq_L3n1ojIRG43rVrYjqkkYXL2vgjO_v1ApNUfroHkO_6eovkijlvZBjQy1H2okkw/s320/JoeyJune2011.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655837484083972498" /></a><br /><br />After an hour the owners said they'd leave Joey with me that day. They gave me a small red backpack with his toys, food and little duvet and drove away not knowing that Joey was watching them go. That night he slept on his little duvet next to my bed. For many days he would run repeatedly around the outside of the house although thankfully he never took any interest in the chickens. The cats meanwhile were delighted with the return of a Sheltie back to the house. It took him several days before he began to bark when anyone came to the door which meant that he finally felt at home at last. The only problem I had with Joey was his issues with the telephone but that's another story...damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-61143553701264771802011-05-27T17:30:00.004+12:002011-05-27T18:02:51.003+12:00PeachesLast week (18th May) my oldest angora rabbit, Cadbury, passed away aged nine years of age. He had been operated on for cancer four years ago but had gone from strength to strength since even flirting with the doe in the cage next to him. Recently he developed a weakness in his hind legs which made it difficult to get up and this worsened to the point that he needed to be upended to get about. When he was at the stage of barely being able to get around (although still eating) I made up my mind to do something but the decision was taken out of my hands as he died one afternoon while I was away. Very peacefully by the look of it.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN_dQgpXxLMVWSNGg0yI1-euL104XwM2feP_WdIKBtsVnjaDwhJieRwRegqenib7xd_OXA1YKqNkI9f_3g-EkIcE8R-XERyv6CgqVyBhWexf2kFC__NFVKaLoYG88gYqEo1HUqU5LD8g/s1600/PeachesandMinkyBlanket.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN_dQgpXxLMVWSNGg0yI1-euL104XwM2feP_WdIKBtsVnjaDwhJieRwRegqenib7xd_OXA1YKqNkI9f_3g-EkIcE8R-XERyv6CgqVyBhWexf2kFC__NFVKaLoYG88gYqEo1HUqU5LD8g/s320/PeachesandMinkyBlanket.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5611266038668123106" /></a><br />That was expected. But this afternoon when I came home with a friend to discover my lovely Peaches cat dead on the side of the road I went into a state of shock. Peaches who has always been a gently reserved cat with the loudest purr imaginable. The cat who loved playing with mice, who always wanted to sleep as far up the bed as possible so that she was the first face I saw in the morning. Peachy who, if I was upset, would stand up with her paws on my knee and look intently at me before reaching one arm across towards me as if to say "it's ok. I'm here". <br /><br />If I went to collect the mail Peaches would rush towards me, arching up on her hind legs to butt my hand with her head or else rolling over in the gravel of the driveway to show off her lovely striped belly. She was invariably polite, always asking permission to jump up on my lap. Always ready to pose for the camera. And when minky blanket came to live here, Peachy bum was the first to take possession of it, wherever it happened to be. On top of the chair, on my bed, on the sofa. She'd be busy needling it to within an inch of its life.<br /><br />Then there was Gypsy the little black cat she'd been raised with. Smaller than Peach but more dominant she would instigate rather vicious wrestling matches which would result in little ginger roaring and hissing before falling off the bed. The next minute they'd be cuddled up asleep in each others arms. Outside it was Peaches who was the boss and Gypsy would watch entranced as she played with a mouse or else they'd be playing chasey across the lawn.<br /><br />Peach came to live with me in January 2005 at about three months of age. She brought me comfort at a terrible time and she has been doing so ever since. What a treasure of a cat and how she will be missed.damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9055588.post-21885076581247538412011-04-13T07:41:00.002+12:002011-04-13T08:03:52.751+12:00The Mysterious Disappearance Of The Noodle Rooster<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBeko-GIMpIAtYNqf5-KuzFBnHK8TB7GZSWusOqfhmT0quHxzZXGYjetjqJcqSldAdllbCj61mgaBeKolEhK5Xx3iJWnXMRa3h53-DMRZzGQaPuMA3n_wXNIpSzAVSk6qk_5SZyWVDMQ/s1600/Noodle2010.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 306px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBeko-GIMpIAtYNqf5-KuzFBnHK8TB7GZSWusOqfhmT0quHxzZXGYjetjqJcqSldAdllbCj61mgaBeKolEhK5Xx3iJWnXMRa3h53-DMRZzGQaPuMA3n_wXNIpSzAVSk6qk_5SZyWVDMQ/s320/Noodle2010.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594785063686307826" /></a><br />Recently Noodle had been digging graves in the veggie garden. I was never sure as to whether he was preparing for his own imminent demise or if he had evil intentions to murder the younger rooster who had taken his place as Head Cock. The rest of his time, as befitting an elderly chook, was spent sunning himself in the garden or else eating the acorns that were scattered on the driveway. Occasionally he would take his favourite old white hen for a discreet wander down the paddock away from prying eyes. However a month ago she expired due to.... well I assume exhaustion. Since then Noodle had been spending much of his time alone, just keeping his hand in by digging the occasional grave.<br /><br />4th April Noodle and a young five month old rooster I called "Cuddly" due to his penchant for smooching with me, didn't turn up at bedtime. Each night Cuddly would snuggle up with his siblings while Noodle had a perch in the hedge since he'd been kicked out of the hen house when he lost the "Battle For Top Rooster". Next morning there was no sign of them either. I checked the road, around the paddocks but there was no sign of feathers, guts, half eaten acorns, anything. Both birds had completely disappeared. Noodle was over ten years old but Cuddly was just five months so it is a mystery fit for Miss Marple. Although I have many roosters I am currently trying to re home these two were guaranteed a forever home here due to their lovable personalities. <br /><br />In the meantime a couple of my rabbits have been slightly off their pellets. The feed company have changed the recipe and bunnies are quite fussy when it comes to their food. However I kept feeding these two bucks grass to keep them going and they seemed to be drinking and taking an interest in events going on in the rabbitry. However this Monday we had a large 5.1 earthquake at lunchtime and I never thought to go check on the rabbits as I had a meeting to attend early that afternoon. However when I went out later in the day Bumble, my blue three year old buck was prostrate on the cage floor, dying. Now he has never been the best rabbit since I bought him as a baby. Coat a bit dishevelled, very occasionally he would sneeze and have a snotty nose so I would isolate him from the others in case something serious was brewing but it never came to anything. But there was enough doubt there for me to decide not to breed from him and it looks like I was right as Bumble died yesterday afternoon. Always so sad to bury a pet and I also couldn't help wishing that Noodle had been around to help me dig the grave.damask22http://www.blogger.com/profile/05923507678308127738noreply@blogger.com0