My Favourite Husband

I want to tell you about my man. He's a bit of all right really. I tell him he is my favourite husband and he laughs at the many of them I do not have to choose from. I have known him since the 70s as he was a friend of my older brother but I became friends with him when I left the country town I lived in to move to the Big Metropolis to find work.

I left home at 17 and moved into a no bedroom flat with an old friend, also from the same town. She had a normal bed and I a fold-up bed in the lounge room of the ground floor flat in a converted mansion. Our kitchen was under the stairwell of the upstairs flats and so our ceiling was quite sloped. Our bathroom was large but had the upstairs plumbing hanging from the ceiling (which was good to hang clothes on in wet weather). We loved it. Independence, freedom, no rules and no money.

For social reasons we decided to join my brother's Rover troop (scouts for young adults) and became fast friends with all the blokes there. We had many adventures together, lots of laughs and the occasional party. The future Lovely Husband was in this particular group and at that stage I considered him nothing more than a good friend.

When I was 19 I was renting with an aunt in the same building (this time an upstairs flat - my third in this building). I was dating a really nice bloke who was a lot older than me. It was stated from the very beginning of the relationship by me that it was just a fling; fun but not long term. When he started talking about our future together I knew it was time to jump ship. It was a shame really, I was really enjoying the relationship. The future Lovely Husband was unaware of my current status and asked me out by phone. At first I was very surprised and when I thought about it I was thrilled. So a plan was set. I had a date with Nice But Delusional at the end of the week and I decided it would be our last.

I was a very busy teenager at that point in my life. On Wednesdays after work I would catch the train to the ice skating rink and skate from 6 to 10pm. Afterwards a group of us would go to a small club for pool (or snooker, I can never remember which) until late. Thursday evenings I had field hockey training for two hours. Fridays after work I would go to TAFE, I was studying animal care, until 9pm. Nice but Delusional would pick me up at 9 and we would go out. Unfortunately he had brought me half a dozen red roses this night (oh the guilt) and we had an excellent date. I did manage to end the relationship, very gently and very clearly and he took me home.

Saturday morning was grocery shopping time, Saturday afternoon the hockey game and so finally Saturday night, the date with the Lovely Husband To Be, who we really should just call Lovely Man at this stage because I was definitely not setting my sites on getting married any time soon.

He took me to a basement bar to see Swanee, the band headed by John Swan, brother of Jimmy Barnes. John Swan was absolutely stonkered and not very entertaining. He tried but failed to sing well but staggered and fell down beautifully. I was guilt ridden and told the Lovely Man about Nice But Delusional. He bought me vodka and orange drinks and it wasn't long before, after a physically draining week, burning the candle at both ends, I fell asleep at the table. WHAT A FIRST DATE! Poor man, must have thought his luck had dropped out. Anyway, he took me home early but I must have been mildly entertaining as he asked me out again.

We dated for about a year but broke up due to irreconcilable differences. In other words we wanted different things from the relationship and finished it quite amicably. It had been a great 12 months which involved lots of laughs. I believe being friends is a big part of any relationship. We both got on with our lives and remained slightly awkward friends.

After about a year I was living in a different building, same suburb, sharing with my younger brother who had just moved to the Big Metropolis for work. Bit of a pattern there what eh? (My older sister remained in the country and did very well). My little brother (he is a lot taller than me) and I always got on well and enjoyed sharing the unit. It was furnished with second hand furniture, scavenged goods from council clean-up days and a stray rabbit called Roast

One day I got a call at work from the Lovely Man asking me over for dinner. I knew it was right. We were meant to be together. AND he cooked my favourite, apricot chicken. How did he know? He didn't actually.

The second first date was a success and we must have dated for about six months before we got engaged.

What happened to Nice But Delusional? For the three weeks following the demise of our relationship he rang me most days at work (an office in the city) wanting to see me. Not the act of a man who had supposedly been having a fling. Big wimp that I am did not have the heart to tell him I was already in another relationship, I thought that a big cruel. But after three weeks I met him for lunch and told him about the Lovely Man's existence and I never heard from him again. Ahhh, to be so popular. Ahhh the romance of it all. Ahhh I am gonna' throw up.

The Lovely Man and I were married in May (autumn) in Japanese Gardens by a celebrant. I am not a particularly romantic person and the details leading up to the wedding did not concern me overly. I would have been happy with a private affair personally but my Mother of the Stubborn Kind was very excited and insisted on many things as did the Lovely Man's family. I went with the flow.

The wedding night was spent in a fancy schmancy high rise hotel, organised by the Lovely Husband, the details of which will not be shared here except to say beware of gift baskets full of a variety of expensive chocolates labelled "Congratulations on Your Wedding". I assumed these were complimentary with the room and so at 2am was sitting cross legged on the bed devouring some of them and would pack the rest to take away with us. Some weeks after the wedding we received an account in the mail for some ridiculous amount for the aforementioned chocolates. Poo Bum Wee. How rude.

We honeymooned in Tasmania, a most beautiful island. The Lovely Husband had organised it all with great care so was slightly shocked when we arrived at our first night in a 4 star motel to find the bed linenless (I know, it is not a real word) and the bathroom as yet untiled and smelling of newly dried cement. It was the only booking he made, the rest of the 10 days would be spent in random B & Bs which were to be fantastic. He had hired a car, a sporty number, the make long since forgotten. He left on foot the next morning to collect it. When a topless, shiny red sports car pulled up in front of our motel room I was thrilled. When the Lovely Husband parked next to it in a long wheel base four wheel drive I was less than thrilled. We had been upgraded due to availability. Upgraded? At this stage I hated 4WDs. The Lovely Man had had one when we were dating. A 60 series Nissan. He loved it and it showed. He drove it like a Ferrari which does not bode well for the passenger not holding the wheel for support. In winter, when he put the heating on, it would scald any hairs that remained on one's legs. Without heater it was as drafty as a tent without doors. In summer, the heat of the engine would make one's previously scalded and hairless legs sweat.

Here we were on our honeymoon with a ruddy great truck. OK, not a truck but a bloody big car. He felt quite nervous, especially when he saw the lovely red number parked next to said truck. As it turns out, we humans are quite adaptable. The truck in question had power steering, air con and the view from the seats was a lot better than it would have been in a low slung sports car. The Lovely Husband likes to joke about how he had trouble getting me out from behind the wheel. I cannot deny the enjoyment I had from driving this non-drafty, hairy leg friendly vehicle.

We have been married 22 years, had lots of ups and downs, some great adventures and of course the laughs. Always the laughs.

Ken the Rooster

Ken had a life in suburbia,
But the neighbours didn’t like his crow.
He started up at 4am,
Just to let them know
The sun is coming up,
Get ready for a brand new day!
But the neighbours weren’t ready for a wakeup call,
They had him sent away!

So Ken came to us in a cardboard box,
To live with our free rangers.
We kept him separate for a while
Until the rangers were not strangers.
Ken was full of self-importance,
Although a scrawny little boy
He strutted up and down the fence,
As though a wound up toy.

He was a little Belgium bantam,
All the way from the village you see,
He was black, with white specks on him
His wings were quite droop-y
Ken was half the size of all the hens,
But did not seem to care,
He wanted to get amongst those girls
He thought it was not fair

And so we let him in,
With all the bigger hens,
He could strut around night ‘n’ day,
Then start all over again.
Ken started crowing at 4 am
But we all just ignored him.
He thought that he was the king, the boss,
That all the girls adored him.
We hadn’t the heart to tell him the truth,
Out there in the paddocks of home,
That that poor little guy
Had short man’s syndrome.

Then the tragedy happened,
It made us oh so blue.
We found that Ken could not be found,
We knew that it was true.
The great big carpet snake,
That had been eating all our eggs,
Took Ken away for dinner
And ate those scrawny legs

We miss that little rooster,
That cute little guy,
So if you ever own a rooster
Be careful!
… The snake may come say hi!

Geese for Peace

Bruce & Fanny are our pair of geese. We actually purchased a trio but Cordelia turned out to be a Colin and two ganders in a trio is just too much for the poor old chickens to deal with. I gave Cordelia (aka Colin) to a grain grower who in turn gave me 10kg cracked corn. That lucky gander was going to woo and schmooze 10 love-starved geese on his property with a damn. Damn he must be one happy honker now.

Anyhoo, Bruce and Fanny are a lovely couple, always caring and sharing, swimming together in the old clam-shaped wading pool. Fanny tried to hatch out a batch of giant eggs but was unsuccessful. She tried a second batch but at that stage I was not wanting them so I kept taking her eggs when she left the nest which was located safely inside the chook pens.
So-o-o she thought bugger you chum I will lay them out in the paddock under the lantana bush. We lock up out poultry every night to protect them from the foxes and no matter who tried, none of us could get near her nest to move her. She is a feisty feathered female. Bruce was happy to be locked up every night so she stayed out every night alone.

Now Bruce, the big sook, when released every morning went straight to her, honking and carrying on and every morning she totally ignored him. She had his DNA and she was perfectly happy. He suffered, he complained and then it struck him....Bruce became my new best friend. He followed me, he told me all about it and he complained when I left him alone. If I was in the paddock he was right behind me (at least he knows his place!). Eventually I sat down on a log and listened to his sad tale for 5 minutes. He sat with me and it was nice but I was finding the midday sun a bit much and had to leave him again. Poor fella'. Eventually I let him into the back yard where he was able to keep tabs on me with more efficiency. When I watered the plants with recycled wash water he was there. When I hung out the washing, he was there. But when I sat at my computer, which allows me to look out over the back veranda and yard, he decided he would be there. Slowly this orange beak and pleading eyes ascended the six steps to the veranda. He was sent back down but once again Bruce the Desperate gradually made his way up those steps again.

Meanwhile, Fanny, whose nest was not far from our bedroom window, was braving the nights alone. Then one night it happened. The Lovely Husband and I were about to fall asleep when the goose was attacked. We could hear her calls recede down the paddock. Out of bed we leaped, torches grabbed and boots on to try and rescue Fanny. Now, I sleep in pyjamas, I love pyjamas, girly ones, funny ones, whatever but the Lovely Husband sleeps naked. So had the situation been less serious it would have been quite funny. We ran through the paddock but had to stop a couple of times to listen for her calls but eventually we tracked her down. The fox had dropped her. Speculation of why is an interesting discussion. She is a large bird with a good wing span and may have been too big and struggled too much. It could have been our voices and torchlight. My favourite though is the site of the Lovely Husband in his best outfit leaping across the paddock in hot pursuit of said fox. Whatever takes your fancy really.

The poor thing was badly traumatised and I thought she would die. She survived the first night but looked very unwell. She barely ate and was swollen around the base of her neck. One her eyes was damaged and she moved as little as possible. For three or four days she was very unwell, the gander, to his credit, looked after her beautifully. He never left her side. Late one afternoon I thought I saw a tick hanging from the base of her beak. When captured, the teens and I were able to remove a fully engorged paralysis tick. It was a wonder it did not kill her. Poor Fanny must have had the mother of all headaches though.

Fanny is back to her normal self (except for her eye which looks permanently damaged) and the pair of them are once again caring and sharing. Bruce has dumped my like a hot potato but I am coping admirably.

Introduction

I live with my husband and two teenagers on a small "pretend" hobby farm in country Australia. We have dogs, cat, three horses, 15 chooks and a pair of geese. I will be writing about the everyday stuff that happens with the family and animals that inhabit our property.

Until about four years ago I would ride my Waler horse when she and I had a difference in opinion as to which direction we would ride. The last thing I remember thinking is "She is going to throw me!!" I have no recollection of the accident but woke up eyeballing the grass. I felt quite "out of it" and my ribs hurt like hell. After establishing that I could move my legs etc I got up and caught my "piece of poop" of a horse (not the exact words I used at the time). She was grazing not far from me and I rode her very gently home because my ribs were not happy little campers.

Long story short I received a minor brain injury. Although only minor the brain injury has had long term affects on my life. I was unable to work or drive for six months and had a lot of difficulty with problem solving, short term memory, temperature control and fatigue(the big one). Before you have a mental hernia I was wearing a helmet at the time of the accident and always wore it when I rode.

Four years later I am only able to work 10.5 hours per week and still need to have my afternoon sleep but most of the other problems are now minimal. My fatigue is life changing but I have adjusted to the limitations quite well I think.

I had a counsellor with the local brain injury rehabilitation service and she told me I was one of the best at handling my disability she has seen. Just my luck, I have to have a brain injury to excel at something.

But all is good with my little part of the world. I still have that piece of poop of a horse and I love her. I do not ride but we talk quite often.

Will write again soon. Keep smiling.