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.