White Pants Blue Tarp Black Swan

It was a day I thought: should I really where those white pants?  They are so clean, so white.  Goose!  What is the point of having them if you don’t where them?  Simple t-shirt, mesh covered shoes, the kind that let the air in as you walk, and an appointment in town.  Uneventful, normal, no surprises.

The country road I chose to drive along follows the river at about a distance of maybe two hundred metres as it winds its way to town.  So when I saw a large black swan on the side of the road I was surprised but not gobsmacked.  Right, I thought, this is the reason I carry a compact camera with me wherever I go.  Don’t let this opportunity pass you by.  When was the last time you saw a swan at such close quarters?  Never actually.

I had the swan in my camera sights as I approached, zooming in with my 12 x and depressing the shutter should the bird fly off and I miss the chance.  Only the bird could not fly off.  It was stumbling, falling to the side, wings clumsy and unco-ordinated.  Oh crap!  Trotting back to the car I was planning my daring rescue and perhaps a title like ‘Swan Saviour’ or The Wonder in White Pants (see how white they are!).  Oh crap, I’m wearing white pants.  No time for laundry concerns I had a daring rescue to perform.

Luckily in the boot of my station wagon I keep a couple of blue tarps and a rope.  No, no kinky reasons you dirty minded mollusc.  Tarps are to keep the straw ridden carpeted floor of the boot clean when a certain Megatron Destructodog travels with me.  Her toileting in the car is the unfortunate habit of a dog afraid of car travel.  I have no idea why there is rope in my car.

The beautiful, big, black and drunken looking swan was not particularly keen on my daring rescue and kept moving further away from me.  Perhaps my pants were too white.  I ran ahead of the creature to prevent it going into the really long grass and bushes only to send it careening towards the four strand barbed wire fence.  Oh crap no.  I ran headlong into the aforesaid long grass towards the reluctant rescuee only to miss it by a feather as it somehow struggled between the wires and continue its escape across paddock.

My tarp and I looked warily at the fence and knew there was nothing for it, even though neither of us may make it through unscathed.  But I did.  Not a prong to my shirt or white pants was suffered; the tarp however gained a couple of holes for its trouble.

The chase continued to a small, muddy gully.  Again, I looked at my white pants, my mesh shoes and hesitated.  The poor swan was losing its tenacious battle.  I could see it was tiring and slowing down.  I suspect it has been injured or ill for some time. 

The swan began hissing at me.

How does one actually capture a swan hmmm?  That was a question I had never Googled in my life and was never likely to and unfortunately Google has no jurisdiction in this dewy, grassy paddock or muddy little gully.  I did not happen to grab a device and bring it on my daring rescue.  But I have captured geese before and I knew you had to grab the neck first because those beaks can be very effective weapons.  I know, I had one bight me on the right buttock once. Ouch!

You would have been proud of me.  I lunged into that gully, tarp flapping wildly at my side, hair just right, look of determination on my face and those lovely white pants fairly glowing in the sunlight. I grabbed the hapless bird’s neck and immediately tarp-wrapped the wings to prevent them taking off my face or ear or mussing my hair.  Alas all this drama was overkill as the poor bird was spent.  No struggle ensued and I picked the swan up (surprised at how light it was) and headed back to the car. 

I could see a gate further up the paddock and immediately headed for it.  My feet were soaked but surprisingly not muddy.  I am not sure how that happened but then again I was unable to see what state my white pants were in.  Oh crap, the gate was chained and locked and not opening any time soon.  My swan infested tarp and I once again assessed the barbed wire fence and I sighed.  There was nothing for it but to go through.  The daring rescue must progress through to completion.  Ever climbed between barbed wire with a black swan wrapped in a blue tarp? No?  Me neither.  This time my shirt, my pants, my tarp and the swan were snagged by those pesky little barbs but we made it through and headed for the car. 

My plan was to tie the rope around the tarp around the swan and drive to my local vet clinic.  This seemed simple enough but the swan revived slightly and argued the point physically.  Then I remembered seeing docos on TV where rangers covered the heads of distressed wildlife and it calmed them down.  Tarp number 2 was brought into action and voila!  Keep in mind I did not actually tie the rope as such, just used it to wrap the swan roll for travel purposes. 

As I drove into town my daring rescue seemed pretty darn adventurous and exciting and my white pants were unscathed.  Amazing!  All the good heroes keep their outfits clean of course.  Unfortunately while negotiating a round-about probably a little too fast I heard the swan roll, well, roll. Oh crap.  Two blocks from the vet clinic and a comical looking swan head appeared in the reflection of my rear view mirror looking left, then right and straight ahead.  Then a stray wing came into view and I began to giggle.  What must the drivers behind me think?  Luckily I do have a cargo barrier so there was no concern the swan would plan to sit up front with me.

The vet nurses were suitably impressed with my story and we all took pictures with the rescuee.  They had never had a swan patient before as I am sure the swan had never been a patient.  It would be treated by the vet and sent to the wildlife rescue people for rehabilitation.

My white pants and I continued onto my appointment and I had nothing more than wet feet.  What a day.  What a daring rescue.  What a swan song!  (Sorry had to be said).

 

The Adventures of Dementia Dog & Geriatric Cat

Poor old Roger the Dodger Staffy dog (11 y.o.) has dementia.  He sometimes stands there looking completely lost.  He now wanders off seemingly aimlessly and tires easily on walks.  But Roger is also a gentler, calmer boy and is still a delight to cuddle.  His appetite has not diminished and he still loves us unconditionally.

Cous Cous (15 y.o.) looks old now.  This photo shows her before her bones started to protrude.  She is also gentler these days and no longer bites or scratches when it takes her fancy.  Sleep is her thang but Cous Cous still loves a run and play with young Dr Watson the rex cat. 

Both of our elderly animals suffer somewhat under the persistent and sometimes less than gentle attention of our younger animals but would be lost without them.  Mixing the ages keeps the old ones young and the young ones learning.

Frangipani Art

At first I thought someone had been drawing on my old plastic table under the frangipani tree but it turns out the flowers leave their imprint somehow.  How lovely.

Devon Rex Super Cat

Microbats in Da House

My poor Dynamic Daughter.  The Lovely Husband and I left her alone last night (she is 17) and went out to a show featuring a couple of old rockers - Brian Cadd and Glenn Shorrock. Fantastic show by the way.

Keep in mind I had already freaked the Dynamic Daughter out by telling her that when the termites are finished munching on the house they would come down and consume her flesh.  I know, I am mean but after appreciating the shocked look on her face I did recant that statement.  Poor child.

So here it is in the country, night time and my girl has to put the dogs outside to their kennels.  The Dynamic Daughter hates, hates, HATES toads.  Cane toads to be exact.  They come out at night and sit there with good posture, poisonous glands glistening in the drizzling rain, beady unblinking eyes.  The DD runs the gauntlet of these creatures, terrified they will touch her, or worse, attack her in an organised group and bring her down (not likely to happen).  Job done, DD can relax and 'work;' at her computer in her room.

What's that?  A small shadow flits across her wall in front of her.  Able to ignore it for a little while the DD finally discovers there is a blood sucking, disease ridden, huge as an albatross bat in her room.  (Actually it is a harmless little microbat).  Fear once again envelopes this poor defenseless teenager and when the bat flies out of her room, she locks her door and stays safe and isolated in the knowledge that bats cannot turn door knobs.

If we have taught our daughter one thing it is to face up to your challenges and/or fears, even when it involves terrifying wildlife.  I once left her here armed only with an extended Enyo mop to fight off a carpet snake that was in the habit of trying to eat the budgies.  Again she had that horrified look on her face but this time I was serious. Luckily no snake that day.  Back to the bat in the house, DD opens her door and all the external doors to allow the poor terrified creature to escape, which it does.  Able to breathe again she heads back to her room only to be 'swooped' by a second little bat.  I imagine her nerves are close to shot by now but her hero, Dr Watson (the cat) takes that albatross sized creature out of the air and kills it.  Poor thing.  DD wraps the little fellow in newspaper and puts it in the bin.

The Lovely Husband and I arrive home and DD is in a state of nervous excitement.  While telling us the story, a third microbat whizzes silently past our heads.  Oh how cute says I.  I don't believe it says DD.  Dr Watson is on the job again but I don't want the poor little fellow killed.  They are little, silent harmless creatures.  The microbats eat insects and probably poop insect bits everywhere so it has to go.  It does fly out a window which is subsequently closed but that window leads to a closed-in veranda.  There are lots of places to hide on this large veranda for a little trapped bat.  It would appear that tonight we could be witnessing the flight of the microbat once again.  Poor Dynamic Daughter, all this nature is too much for her.

http://backyardbuddies.net.au/mammals/tree-dwellers/microbats

Young Negotiator Has Flown the Coop

The Young Negotiator at age 20 has left home.  Wahoo!  Yeehar!  Woop Woop!  Oh but he is lovely, that lad.  I did not mind living with him at all.  He is quiet and tends to be invisible but I am a person who, at age 17 years and one month left home to discover herself and live, I could see it was more than time for this lad to grow up away from parental concerns.  He has been cooking, washing, ironing, cleaning successfully for a long time so I was not worried about him domestically.  In fact, he was a lot better prepared than this innocent child of 17.  I was able to boil mince and overcook chicken like no-one ever before.

I believe strongly in learning through consequences.  Young adults do not always believe or listen to their parents advice, especially when it is offered through a poorly worn veil of frustration. I also believe you cannot tell a young adult what to do, only advise them.  It is their life to live but sometimes you wish you had that power again from when they were young.  And so as far as I am concerned the only way is through life experience, eg. paying your own bills, keeping the car serviced without the nagging of your parents, if you burn the crap out of a fry pan it may never recover and so you need to replace it, and perhaps cook on a lower heat.  It is also a time for me as a parent to stop worrying about him being late for his licence renewal or car registration etc.  We as parents try to prevent them from falling on their faces, being troubled by the stress of not being organised but we have to stop.  The easiest way is by them not being there.  Youth will learn by their mistakes, falling on their faces and 'oh, the electricity is out because I didn't pay the bill.  My internet!!!  I won't do that again' type scenarios.

Strangely, yet wonderfully, the Young Negotiator is asking for advice these days.  He wants to know why his steak is not cooking nicely when he has the pan on a low heat (fear of having to replace the burnt out remains as before).  He appreciated the advice of storing meal size left overs in the freezer for those late shift dinners instead of eating chilli con carne for four days in a row.  He has asked me where I buy my meat and what I think of certain cuts.  I LOVE it.

When people ask me how the Young Negotiator is going I tell them I can find out every second Tuesday night.  That is when he comes home for dinner.  Otherwise there is silence.  The Young Negotiator is not big on communication but those twice monthly dinners are when we hear it all.  He talks and laughs and enjoys home cooked meals.  He tells us what he has eaten, where he has been, what bargain he has purchased.  For example, he bought himself a table recently.  Yeah?  A wooden one?  Yes and it extends if I want it to. I bought it from an Op Shop.  It is for card games with friends and it is "out the back". Under cover? Yes.  OK, did it come with chairs then?  Yes.  How many?  Not sure, maybe six or eight.  Got to love him.  Maybe he will have a meal on it one day.

I am waiting for the need of money or the love of a good partner to spur him into at least a mild form of ambition.  He works and earns money and is happy which is more than a lot of people but when it comes to ambition he is very relaxed and, perhaps, that is not a bad thing.  Happiness is more important than status or money and he is happy.  I would not wish him otherwise.

One down and one to go.  The Dynamic Daughter is completing some studies at home and then she will be off.  Empty nest?  Not every second Tuesday anyway.

Megatron Destructopuppy Escapes Stalag 13

Yes, just look at her.  Who doesn't love a puppy right?  They are so cute and soft, playful and happy.  Oh yeah Megatron is just a bundle of joy.

Megatron was a free puppy, you know, the backyard mongrel that should be able to survive and thrive because of their hybrid vigour.  Tough as old boots and easy to care for.  Our new puppy is all of this and more.  She also comes with an uncanny ability to excavate where you are most likely to tread when not looking.  Her skills at destroying all that is beautiful in this little part of the world is unmatched, eg. water garden, fake lillies, hats, balls, Roger staffy's ears, food dishes - hers or not (OK, they're not particularly beautiful) and hats.  Megatron has a particular liking for socks; clean or dirty it does not matter.

Her interest in the cats has scored her many a scratch on the nose but she can't help herself.  Those furry little soft critters are just so mesmerising.  Dr Watson will chase her and Cous Cous will stand up to her so there is no danger to them beyond the pest aspect.

The latest and biggest problem with owning a puppy is the yard security - keeping her in. And this free puppy has cost a fortune in fencing materials.  The first fence was put up by professionals with apparently dog proof fencing - HUH!  Try again. 

We had some left over fencing wire so we moved it along the half-way mark to the last fencing installment (literally halving the space available to escape through) and the Lovely Husband and I spent many hours clamping it to the original fence.  We had just stood back and sighed with relief at our completed fencing when Megatron Destructopuppy stuck her head through the fence.  Oh how cute, she can get her head through, we smiled knowingly.  But then our smile was wiped completely away as a front leg followed, then another, her body twisting and turning, and then FLOP! She fell to ground on the outside of the fence.  We stood there, slack jawed and didn't know whether to cry or rant.  I think I swore profusely at this stage.  She is part snake or lizard or something. 

Fencing Part III:  The Lovely Husband bought some small gauge welded wire and again we clipped that to the original fence over many hours and again stood back to admire our hard work.  This time there was no way that part puppy, part snake was getting out.....sigh, finally she is locked up.

Megatron Destructopuppy, escapologist extraordinaire is contained.  We can relax in the knowledge she is not going visiting the neighbours and digging in their yards, destroying their hats and stealing their socks.  That fence willl stand for many a year and contain all manner of dogs big or small. We are able to relax on the back veranda, drink in hand and watch over all that is fenced.  Job well done, again.

Seagulls

TERMITES!! Oh Bother

Oh yes, that word strikes fear into any home owner, especially a home in excess of 100 years of age. We have an infestation of the little buggers in FOUR of our rooms, three bedrooms and one bathroom.

You see it all started when the Young Negotiator left home.  He is 20 now and it was time for him to leave the nest (pun intended).  He "cleaned" his room and moved out leaving just the bedroom furniture.  No 20 year man wants to take his single, childhood bed with him.  I entered this den of teenage manhood for the first time in years to de-cobweb the ceiling, no mean feat I can tell you.  It was thick with webs in that gloomy room.  Yes, gloomy because he had the lowest wattage bulb known to exist I think.  Why?  Ambiance? Mood lighting? Save the environment?  No I think it was the first one he picked up when he needed to replace a blown bulb.

My cobweb broom was filling fast with dusty, sticky but spiderless webs (even the spiders found it too gloomy) when I noticed an anomaly in the corner of the ceiling:  dirt build up and puckered lining boards.  One step ladder and one egg lifter later I am jabbing at this strange dirt to find it hard and unmoving.  So I poked the puckered wood next to it, just once, and oomph, the egg lifter went straight through the wood without resistance causing a hole for the little white ants to fall out of.  I said something along the lines of "Oh bother" or some such benign exclamation and started to inspect the rest of the room.  Not good.  I turned my attention to the rest of the house, "Oh bother" many, many times. Holy white ant damage Batman it was in the walls and ceilings of four of our rooms.  This calls for the help of Termite Man!!

Termite Man came and looked and said something like "Oh bother" which did not instil confidence in me.  He went up into the roof space and said "I am going to take photos" which made me tremble at the knees.  Termite Man was happier when he re-emerged from the roof.  The frame of the house is untouched but the little buggers have followed the lining boards along in a straight line and have done a fair bit of damage.  It could be worse, the house will not collapse around us leaving us stunned and covered in dust.

Next step:  treatment with non-toxic traps under the house.  I love the fact they don't use dangerous poisons anymore.  Termite Man told me the bait is as toxic as salt, no harm to domestic pets or wildlife.  Fantastic.

"Have you seen any snakes around lately?  Because if there are any brown snakes (very poisonous) I charge double." said the smiling assassin.  No-o-o, not for a long time.  Within five minutes I hear this almighty groan from Termite Man.  A brown snake has slithered under the house and he has yet to set the traps under there.  "Oh bother" we both say.

"Err, can you keep the dogs inside while I go under the house on my hands and knees to set the traps?  I was under a house once and their little dog came and licked me in the ear, frightened the bother out of me. I lifted my head in response and crowned myself on the flooring above.  I saw stars!".  A very reasonable request I thought.

Traps are set.  My termites' time on this earth are numbered.  Apparently when the termites die and the eaten wood is left to dry out it will crumble to dust.  "Oh bother" that will be an expensive event to deal with.  That is in the future and will be dealt with then.

Termite Man will be back to check on the traps and possibly top them up and from now on we will have him out for a yearly inspection, something we should have been doing for the last 20 years.  Sigh.  Hindsight eh?  Bothersome little creatures.

Chicken Thief Strikes Again

"Hormone" pronounced with a lousy French accent.

At the moment we have about 35 chickens and one happy, happy Faverolle rooster, Hormone.  We did have a Transylvanian Naked Neck boy (Vlad) as well but a stray dog has taken him recently.  I was a picture of ladylike behaviour NOT as I ran, in my big gumboots, across paddock and through barbed wire fence chasing the mongrel thief .  If swearing could drop him he would be a desiccated shadow of his former self but alas no, it only made him run faster.  Sigh.  The big brown kelpie x has visited our free rangers about five times now and I have had it up to pussy's bow with him.

Fortunately this is a small community and I have been making enquiries of people in the area.  I have possibly traced him to a property I will check out tomorrow.  Someone told me that someone else saw a dog with a chook in its mouth crossing their paddock so I have a direction to head in at least. Short of putting a map of the local area up on the wall, sticking coloured pins in it and calling Tommy Lee Jones to come and co-ordinate a dog-hunt, I will take persistence, gossip and a lot of luck to find the culprit.  Wish me luck.

Elementary My Dear Watson

Meet Dr Watson, a new member of our furry family.  So named because he is always, always investigating.  He needed a home and we adopted him which our old girl Cous Cous the puss puss was not impressed with.  She doesn't give a toss that he is a blue smoke Devon Rex and that he just loves people, his affection is endless - to the point of annoyance sometimes.  Fair enough too.  Cats are naturally loners and our 15 year old moggy is no different.  But after months of having half the house each to themselves they are now co-habitating getting on quite well.  No cuddles and smooches between them but lots of chasing and playing just the same. 

Dr Watson has the new pup on the run and respects the old dog.  He has had to learn about the outside world as he was an exclusively indoor feline.  He has been rescued from a very tall tree top, from the roof top twice and if he is left outside when we leave the house during the day he gets a little anxious and lets us know his displeasure when we return.

Devon Rex cats are active and athletic, affectionate and vocal and they barely moult.  Love him.

She's Ba-a-a-ck!

Yes, it has happened.  After nearly a year off from blogging I will attempt to get back into it with more regularity, just like the proverbial high fibre diet, the blogging must continue.

Updates

We have lost our lovely Layla Greyhound to a nasty lesion on her spine that paralysed her within six days of her first symptoms.  What a special dog she was.  We were heartbroken and she has left a hole in our family that still hurts sometimes.  No surprise to me that if you look hard enough there will be something funny about the dire situation.  I am sitting on the floor of the vet surgery, crying, cradling my poor greyhound's head and saying my goodbyes.  The vet sat with me and we talked about what a treasure she was as a pet and a patient.  He rose to go get the euthanasia solution drawn up and our lovely Layla, ever ready for a meal, was able to raise her head (the only movement she had) and watch him leave and I knew in my heart her thought processes were "He is off to get my food.  How much?  Doesn't matter, any food is good food".  I was able to laugh about it much later.  Her pleasures were simple.  Affection, attention, playing with Roger staffy, a good zip around the paddock and most importantly of all FOOD.

I suspect Roger felt it worst of all.  He became depressed and lethargic.  We waited for two months before applying for another rescue greyhound but there was a waiting list.  We needed a cat friendly one but so did many others.  Roger did not improve and out of desperation I acquired a free Pound Puppy of sorts, a cross bread of beautiful brown eyes and black, shiny coat.  Apparently this little waif was a Border Collie x Rottweiler....hmm right.  It transpires she is a B/Collie x Kelpie x who knows what.  I have said all along I would not get a Kelpie/cross.  Too busy, too much stimulation but of course when you are in love with your pup you don't return her do you?

Megatron Destructopuppy is our newest member of the family.  She is now seven months old and a beautiful natured beast that sometimes tests my ability to keep patience, as puppies do.  More about her later.  Roger the Dodger, it turns out, has dementia which also accounted for his strange and quiet moods.  He is 11 years old and it seems he is ageing quickly.

Farewell Layla Greyhound.