Mango Season

Aah mango season. We have three trees and every second year we get a bumper crop. The ones that benefit the most are the possums who eat them before they ripen, birds, insects and fruit bats. We humans get the mushy left overs to toss over the fence for the horses and cattle. Yep, the mangoes we eat come from the shop.

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.