Goose Cooked (or will be soon)

WHO ME?

Bloody Bruce the Goose!!  Anyone got a recipe for gander stew?  He is in deep brown-and-sloppies.  He was not even threatened by my fowl language which made me madder.

I picked up some seedlings from the shops that were in the 'half dead' section, some flowers and some vegies.  Not being successful at growing veg I only paid $1.30 for six carrot seedlings and six broccoli seedlings with faith that I could get them to survive their current neglect.  If not, well I did not spend a lot.

I had everything planted and went to retrieve the hose, feeling wholesomely farmy and dirty.  I could see the stunted yet almost formed vegies that barely coped with my poor management and care sitting on the dinner plates ready to be consumed knowing that I had provided for my family.

BLOODY BRUCE!  In the 20 seconds it took to retrieve the hose he had eaten five of the six broccoli seedlings.  Who invited him to the table?  How quick was he?  I now have a large parrot cage sitting over the one remaining broccoli seedling and the six carrot seedlings.  I suppose he took the statistically weak likelihood of me managing to keep them alive out in a mere 20 seconds.  He really should have more faith in me, after all I am going to university soon.

It feels better to get that off my chest.  Bruce can stay.... for the moment.

Dogs of Monopoly

That's my property Roger, it has my slobber on it and a house.

Found this old picture while searching for another one.  I think they actually were the ones that broke the board down the middle.

Chihuahua Pocket Rocket

I want to introduce posthumously, our chihuahua Pocket Rocket.  She has been dead for many years now but what a little dynamo she was.  Now all you chihuahua haters out there (and I know there are many) just hold on to your bib and brace overalls and give me a chance to tell you what she was like.  Many people over the years we had her had called her a 'rat', not a real dog or cat food but she was amazing.

From the beginning we treated her like a dog, sounds stupid but so many chihuahua owners treat them like babies which does neither dog nor owner any favours.  Pocket had a sense of humour and was forever in a good mood.  She loved people and was a lousy watch dog.  She never barked at visitors but greeted them like old friends every time.  Even the vet loved her. 

Being of good nature we decided to breed with our little Pocket Rocket, you know, increase the number of non-snappy, happy chihuahuas in the world.  We borrowed a little boy named Bozo for the appropriate week in her cycle and I worried about the virtue and safety of our little bitch in the clutches of this hormone driven male dog. Silly me.  Bozo was an overweight and happy little dog at the beginning of the week.  By the end of the week he had lost weight, was a nervous wreck and spent his time hiding from our little nymphomaniac.  At first he was as happy as a mating dog could get but she never let up.  She wanted servicing all the time.  Bozo became an expert at hiding, middle of our double bed was a favourite, he stopped eating and always looked worried.  We had to send poor Bozo home early, he was no match for the Pocket Rocket.  I was worried he would have a heart attack.  Unfortunately our girl had a false pregnancy and was miserable the whole time so we had her desexed.  The male chihuahuas of the area breathed a sigh of relief.

When we moved to the country I worried that some bird of prey would take our little dog or perhaps a large snake would swallow her.  Perhaps she would get lost in the long grass.  Huh, I must learn not to underestimate the Pocket Rocket.  She took to country life with ease.  Not only did she tease the cattle by running in under their girth, yapping at the last minute and sprint away leaving them jumping into the air but she soon learnt to take down wild rabbits.  At the time of a mild rabbit infestation she and her canine accomplice, border collie, Tassie the Wonderdog cleared the land in a matter of months.  The rabbits burrowed in under the farm buildings and she would go in after them, either catching them and bringing them out complete with broken neck or she would flush them out for the border collie to grab.  Quite a number of the rabbits were bigger than her and she could be seen dragging them out between her legs.  Our old Italian neighbour was forever impressed with the Pocket Rocket for her rabbiting skills.

All this from a lap dog, a 'rat', a waste of canine space.  Our Pocket Rocket was a much loved member of this family and we will always remember the fun and laughter she gave us.  She proved that size does not matter and chihuahuas can be of value in areas apart from keeping your lap warm.

I Am Going Back to School

I am attempting to improve my mind... OK friends of mine, stop laughing! 

I was an average student in high school and didn't go past year 10.  I have some qualifications from TAFE but now am embarking on the ultimate challenge for those of us who are learnedly challenged.  (See what I mean?).  I have applied and been accepted to our local university to do a course that teaches you how to be a uni student.  How odd eh?  It is free and the course even has an orientation day which I think is classic. They will lead us by the hand, which I desperately need, and so am pleased.

I feel quite intimidated by the idea of uni and have a fear of failure.  Not so much my ability but my brain's habit of shutting down if I concentrate too much and which leads my body to need sleep.  The course involves four units but I am only attempting one at a time, even that seems too much considering I work a whole seven hours a week.  I know, where will I find the time?  It does not sound like much but my damaged brain has a limited capacity for working and this will be a major challenge for it.  Even so, I am looking forward to the toga parties, the binge nights, trying to sneak into pubs under age.... oh right, I haven't been asked for ID for a very long time.

If, and I mean a very big IF, I complete this course and do reasonably well I intend to take it further and do creative writing.  Then maybe after that I could take on engineering.  Then after that I could become a neurosurgeon.  After that I could have a shot at political science.  The possibilities are endless (just like my imagination).  One small step forward at a time I think and more than likely three steps back.

I may not manage to blog so much when I "commence my studies" but then I think my personal hygiene could possibly suffer too so just be grateful that you only read my blog and don't actually live with me.  Heart break of heart breaks my camera club might have to continue without me to, depending on how much I can cram into my noggin before it implodes. 

Wish me luck dear bloggers and bloggees for I will need the luck of the entire blogging community to get through this and perhaps an occasional shower.

Logging Old Style in Australia

Spring Flowers

Scribbly Gum Trees

These are the Australian trees the Scribbly gum.  The "grafitti" on them is left by the larvae of the scribbly gum moth which does no harm to the tree but I think looks fantastic.

Kookaburra Company

My Criminal Past

Soul Sister reminded me of my criminal past today and I thought I would share it with you.  You are reading the blog of a law-breaker, a thief, a person of disrepute!

Some years ago our little family were grocery shopping on a quiet Sunday afternoon.  It was one of those large chain supermarkets and we had a trolley full by the time we got to the check-out chick (actually young man, does that make him a check-out chum?).  The check-out chum was learning the job and had a supervisor with him, someone I vaguely knew.  Anyhoo, the shopping bags were piling up when I saw one of the kid's school teachers at the beginning of one of the aisles and walked back into the store to speak to her.  The Lovely Husband stayed with the groceries and I assumed he would pay.  My chit chat finished I returned to find the Lovely Husband all stocked up and ready to go, trolley facing towards the exit.  And so we did, exit that is.

Riding the travellator down to the underground car park we saw supermarket staff and security guard rush past us.  Wow, we think, something is afoot.

Packing the groceries into the back of the station wagon we see more security staff rush through the car park, frantic, and with very serious faces.  One asks us if we have seen someone run off with a trolley full of groceries.  No we hadn't but wow, this is serious stuff.  A whole trolley load.

Walking down the street to deliver our small daughter to her dance practice we see yet another security guard rushing around looking for these unscrupulous people.  Again we are asked have we seen the culprits.  No, sorry.  The hide of some people.

Later at home we are unpacking the groceries.  Where is the ice cream I ask.  I don't know says my man.  Where is the cheese?  I dunno.  Where is such n such, where is this n that?  I don't know, you paid for the stuff.  No I didn't, I thought you did?!  The look on our faces as we stared at each other would have been priceless.  Bloody hell, we are the thieves that we told the security staff we had not seen.  Wow, we are wanted fugitives.  Wow, we are missing all our cold stuff.  Holy macaroni salad, the supervisor knew me.  We immediately rang the supermarket and explained ourselves.  Amazingly, they had very kindly put our cold stuff in refrigeration but we would have to come pay our bill.

On arriving later and paying our bill we were told that the young check-out chum was on his first day in the job, had been focusing so much on the job at hand that he had not noticed us walking casually away.  He thought we had done a scarper and promptly burst into tears.  The supervisor returned to find the poor lad distressed and feeling totally at fault.  Oh this story made us feel even better.  NOT! 

Except for the poor young man, it is kind of funny.  My man and I obviously read each other's body language to believe that the other had paid the bill.  We walked away, relaxed and innocent of all and so our body language relayed to the security staff that we were as we appeared, I nice young family who had paid for their groceries.  A whole trolley load (minus the cold) in one foul swoop.  We could have been known as Ocean's 4.

So there you have it.  Corrupting the little people in our lives at the tender age of, I don't know, very young anyway.   I feel better, having confessed to this heinous crime.  It could have been worse I suppose.  We could have walked out of a store with a fridge, a TV or maybe a wall unit or something like that. 

Aggressive Dogs

Warning:  I am about to rant.

Our Staffordshire Bull Terrier has the 'look' of an aggressive dog, in fact with other dogs he can be.  He loves people with a passion whether they are impressed with dogs or not.  He gives them no choice.

When we take our dogs for walks on the beach they are both always on lead.  Neither can be trusted to return when called.  Roger, as I have said, loves people whether they want it or not - and with staffy enthusiasm.  He also cannot be trusted with other dogs.  He may not always start a fight but will not back down to any aggression, typical staffy.  Greyhounds, by law, must be muzzled, a law from about 1902.  Our Layla Greyhound is neither aggressive nor interested in approaching dogs or people but loves a pat from strangers and is very quiet and subdued.

Twice in the last couple of months we have had unleashed dogs challenge our staffy.  Twice the owner has been less than concerned with our dog's retaliation.  Both times the dog was half his size.  It makes me so angry that we are being responsible, knowing our dog's personality, and the owners of these other two dogs are not.  If he managed to harm their pets, our dog would probably be branded as aggressive.  Well, gee ya think?  I like to think these dog owners also know their dogs' personality and would be acting accordingly.  But no, apparently not. 

OK, rant over.  I feel better.

Friends to the End

They look dead don't they?  Roger and Champers have a special relationship.  Roger will back up to the little horse for a back massage and more often then not receive one.  Champers has a habit of lying around like this making me check her breathing, damn her.  Quite relaxed but looks dead.

Goose Waddle

Bruce and Fanny taking a waddle walk no doubt to give ol' Fanny a break from sitting with those pesky eggs that still have not hatched.  One has smashed, so I am assuming we still have four left.

Geese are so gorgeous when they are not pooing, honking, attacking us or eating the garden.  I just love them.

Seagull & Sunshine

This photo was taken on 1/2000 shutter speed on a bridging camera not happy with that particular setting but I like the picture just the same.  The Lovely Husband and I were at the beach side cafe where the seagulls often visit in the hope of a snack or two.

skate park skills

 

My assignment for our camera club this last month was 1/2000 shutter speed.  My camera did not like that at all.  Not being an SLR this shutter speed was at its outer limits/ability and every time I touched the zoom it would drop the shutter speed down to 1/1300 where the camera was obviously much more comfortable.  The camera, and therefore myself, complained bitterly about my forcing it to higher limits.  These photos were taken on 1/1300 at a local skate park.  The ISO was too high and so the photos are grainy but I have messed with them to take your eye of that.  I asked the three largest boys at the park if I could take their photos and they were so nice and co-operative.  Very, very skilled and fearless young men.

A Ladee Just Like Her Mother

Reading in the late afternoon sun, the Dynamic Daughter has the style and grace of her mother.  At least she has trousers on.  But she is comfortable and obviously very relaxed.  (She will kill me for blogging this).

Pillow Fight

The Lovely Husband and I had a three day weekend away, all by ourselves, alone and un-teenaged.  It was lov-er-ly.  We were able to get a special at a beach side resort.  Our room was on the nose bleeding first floor.  We had uninterrupted views of the tin roof below us and the pool.  We had glimpses of the ocean between the other high rises.  But we were more than happy.  We were a short walk to a plethora of cafes at the beach. 

Our room was comfortable and we had a king size bed (actually it was two king singles put together) and six pillows.  You know what that means?   PILLOW FIGHT!  We are so mature.  It was such a large complex that the car park confused us endlessly and the number of walkways had us lost more than once.  We are so sophisticated.

It pelted with rain the first day and we both had some sort of four our stomach bug, me first then the Lovely Husband.  This weekend was looking a little dodgy at first.  But our illnesses subsided and the rain cleared away leaving the next two days to be enjoyed thoroughly.

We shopped, caught a show, ate seafood (some of which probably gave us the gut issues), we walked endlessly along the beach and worked our way through the coffee shops.

The above sign was situated on the steps of an older style motel on the water front.  It tickled my funny bone.  Does one walk around looking up at the coconut trees hoping to dodge a falling nut?