Briar's Pedicure

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

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

Balls

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

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

Gathering Lilacs In The Spring

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

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

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

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

Two Swallows Don't Make The Spring

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

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

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

Peanut

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

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

A Woman Who Stares At Goats

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

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

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

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

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

Furry Washing

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

Hellebores and Lavender

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

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

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

In the Dumps

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

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

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

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

Witty Post On A Wet Day

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

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

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

Molly

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Attitudenal Animals

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

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

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

Rain and Dusting Pain

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

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

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

Winter Arrival

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

The Baking Monster Strikes Again

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

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

Flu, Pooh and Moulting Balls

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

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

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

Two Reasons For Not Making The Bed

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

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



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

Winter Bites

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

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

Grey Skies

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

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

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

Jack Frost Moves In

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

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

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