Friday Follies - Rain - The Good, The Bad and the Ugly

I'm officially sick of the rain.  Even on days when it looks like it might not rain, it still rains at some point.  I usually like rain, it has lots of positives, but everything in moderation.  Especially with the Easter long weekend upon us, I wish the rain would disappear for the next few days.  I'm craving some sunny beach time and a bit of  Vitamin D. 

Rain, like everything else, can be a good thing, or too much of a good thing.  Here are my top picks for the good, bad and ugly about this weather.

A nice green yard for a change.

The Good - Everything is green again, and the lawn isn't some brown thing that crunches under foot.  It also means less dust coming into my house.

The Bad - Our yard is squishy and wet like a sponge, so your shoes and feet always end up wet when you go to feed the chickens or get something out of the shed.

The Ugly - Muddy dog feet.

Dogs are talented at this.

The Good - The smell of newly fallen rain is one of the freshest smells in the world.

The Bad - After too much rain, everything starts getting that musty, mouldy smell to it.

The Ugly - Wet dog smell.

Make that plural.

The Good - The grass is growing and plants are sprouting new growth.

The Bad - The lawn needs mowing a lot more often and is growing at a phenomenal rate.

The Ugly - The new growth seems to mean more insects - moths, caterpillars, ants, spiders and various other creepy crawlies.

The Good - The humidity is staying high, which means the curls are staying in my hair and my eyes aren't dry all the time.

The Bad - The humidity means that my floors take forever to dry after mopping.

The Ugly - Ugh, the mould!

A common phrase in my house

The Good - Falling asleep to the sound of rain falling on the roof.

The Bad - Sometimes the gentle sound of rain turns into a roaring waterfall, and sleep is impossible.

The Ugly - With rain, comes storms and storms mean that my neurotic dog destroys the house trying to get in, or keeps us awake all night with her panting and terrors.

A recent example of Chamois' work during a storm.

Happy Easter to All, enjoy whatever you are doing - spending it with family and friends, or on some much-needed me time.

What a Bone-Head

Bones.  Dogs love them.  My dogs love them.  My dogs love them so much that it always turns into an interesting social experiment when I give them bones.

My dogs are big, so they get big bones - one half of a femur each.

My arrival home with bones is a cause for great delight for the canine members of the family.  They must be able to smell it in my car, because they are beside themselves by the time I pull up at the house.

Chamois always takes hers to a spot on the lawn and promptly lies down beside it. Not eating it, not sniffing it, just guarding it. Manu has to be given his around the side of the house, otherwise he won't touch it while Chamois is staring at him. He knows that the minute my back it turned, she will come to steal it.

Manu doesn't waste any time - he's eating that bone, well, like a dog on a bone!  Sometimes he lets out a quiet growl if a chicken or wild bird or cat or ethereal object only known to him comes a bit too close.

The chickens are too close

Eventually he'll have to leave the bone to see a dog about a tree, or to come and eat his dinner.  Chamois doesn't let this opportunity go, and quickly rushes in to steal the bone.  Then she will sit and guard two bones.  I can't say I like the look on her face - she really is a bitch. And damn proud of it too.

Eventually when no one is around or able to spy on her, one or both bones will be taken to be buried somewhere in the yard.  We never see her do it, but I watch her come back from some obscure corner with mud and dirt on her nose.  And she looks quite pleased with herself. 

Manu looks around sadly for his lost bone.  Ah well, you win some and you lose some.  If you live with Chamois, you usually lose some.

But patience does pay off, and I saw some sweet karma play out in front of my eyes.  I was coming home from shopping, and I could see that Chamois had dug up a bone (because it was black and smothered in dirt) and was back to her guard duty.  She stood up as I pulled in at the gate, obviously excited to see me (who wouldn't be?).  As she ran up to meet me, I could see that the bone was left unguarded, with Manu standing on the other side of the lawn, watching.  I knew that this was going to be interesting.

"My bone...ha ha, I got it!"

As I made my way down the driveway, I watched Manu sidle over to the bone, nice and casual, nothing to see here folks.  Chamois' ears pricked up, but I think she knew the game was over - for the moment.

Manu quite calmly picked up the bone and walked around to 'his' side of the house to eat it.  He wasn't running, but he wasn't looking at her either, but his tail had this slow steady wag which gave away his quiet pleasure at his cunning plan.  Chamois looked a bit dejected, but accepted the fact that her bone (or was it Manu's) was lost to her for the moment.

Mmmm, rotten bones and dirt, his favourite.

Manu chewed at that bone with great gusto, growling at unseen adversaries, ready to guard it at all costs.  It must have been tasty, because it had definitely had time to ripen while it was buried.  Phoooeeeee, that stunk.  But Manu eats poo, so who am I to judge his culinary tastes? Clearly they are beyond me.

About half an hour later, Manu left his prize to get a drink of water.  Eating a rotten bone must be thirsty work.

Chamois didn't miss a beat - she trotted over and lay down about two feet from the bone.  She didn't want to eat it, she just wanted to possess it.  How else can you lord it over other dogs if you don't have the bone?  She meant business too -  Clawde got snapped at, as did the chickens (Harvey loudly voiced his displeasure) because they dared to go near the vague vicinity of the bone.

She saw her chance, and she took it.

This scenario will play out over the next few days like an infinite loop.  Currently both bones are sitting in the middle of the lawn.  No dog is near them, but each dog knows exactly where the other dog is.  No dog leave their vantage point until the other one does.  I will occasionally hear one loud bark out of Chamois, alerting me to the fact that either a magpie, butcher bird, dog, cat or chicken has even looked at the bone.  And still she won't eat it.

But it's hers, all hers.

"And...it's mine again!"

Friday Follies - First Dates - A Murky Pool



The TV has been awash lately with reality TV shows, most of them about getting married to strangers, dating strangers, or having your friends fix you up with strangers.  It seems that dating is considered to be entertaining for everyone - for both those involved and those on the outskirts.

It has prompted some discussions amongst my friends about dating 'back in the day' and what we thought of it.

I didn't meet my husband until my mid-30's, so there was a lot of dating water under the bridge.  I also know people that are on second marriages (hubby included), so they had to endure dating after a significant break.

I don't think I'm spilling any state secrets by saying that the dating pool is murky and can be equally fully of danger, unknowns as well as a whole lot of fun.  And the unexpected surprise when that first date turns into a last date when you fall in love and want to spend your lives together.

Personally, I really liked dating.  Obviously a lot went badly - I was single for a long time.  This might give you some insight into my psyche, but I didn't mind the bad dates.  I can't tell you how much fun it was to get home from a bad date, call my bestie (because we were usually both single at the same time) and dissect the date and the poor guy.  So many laughs were had, and we never lost our sense of humour.  Well, that's not true.  Sometimes we would get quite down about never finding the 'right' guy at the 'right' time.  There were lots of guys (whoops, sorry honey, not lots.  Just a few....) that were great but it was not the right time for either him or me, but that meant it wasn't to be.

I always approached dating as an entertaining activity, and an opportunity to learn more about yourself. 

Were you being unrealistic? 

Was there a pattern forming? 

Were you attracting the right type of person? 

Should you have bothered to shave your legs? 



Maybe you should have ordered the Lobster Thermidor, because  the rest of the night was a write off. 

Is there a possibility that your cat is the best companion you can find? 

Nothing!

Is it really that hard for people to chew with their mouth closed? 

You know, those kind of queries that run amok in your head.

It was fun.  That little flutter of anticipation while you wait to meet with them or wait for them to pick you up - that was always a rush.  And quite often there was the drop of disappointment when you knew immediately that it was not going to work out.  I didn't mind that though, because it just meant that the pressure was off, and I immediately knew to start taking notes for the obligatory phone call to your friend after.  As far as I'm concerned, a story is a story, and the funnier the better.

After date gossip sessions



Then there were the dates that had you floating on Cloud Nine. Everything went well, your tummy did that little flip when you saw them (again or for the first time on a blind date), the conversation flowed, he thought you were hilarious, you thought he was hilarious, there was no greenery stuck in your teeth when you got home, and that little spark was lit with the good night kiss.  Ahhh, when it went well, it went well.  And yet it still warranted a blow by blow description on the phone to your bestie afterwards.  Trust me, neither of us minded being woken up in the middle of the night for these phone calls.  We both listened with relish and cackled our way through many disappointments.

Everyone high 5's after a good date.

I won't recount any of my 'bad' date tales, or my friends' tales, as I don't think that's fair in a public forum.  Hand me a glass of wine in a private setting, and I'll most likely spill the beans. There truly is someone for everyone, and just because you didn't like the person, or found the way that they moved in for a kiss completely repulsive, that doesn't mean that someone else won't think that they have found the 'one' with that person.  Just walk down the street and observe all of the different pairings.  I think it's fantastic that we all want a different kind of person.  There were be an awful lot of lonely people if we all chose the same type.

It takes all types...



As much as I miss the fun and the surprises of dating, I'm pretty happy where I am now.  The fact that I did get to enjoy dating in all of it's forms means that I don't ever feel like I missed out, or think that there is someone better out there.  I kissed my frogs, I met my prince.

We had a pretty good first date - we met for coffee and ended up talking for so long that we had dinner.  There were heaps of laughs, a cheeky kiss and the promise of a future.  That's my kind of date.



Was That on Purpose?

Do you ever feel like there is a plot to end your life?

I'll admit to being a bit suspicious last night.  Granted, I have cats, so I'm used to these sorts of plots. As anyone with cats know, one glance at their face tells you that they do indeed plot to do evil deeds.

This is the usual scenario.

It's not often though that I have these unsettling thoughts about my dogs.  I mean, dogs are pretty transparent. You know what they are feeling and when - they aren't what you would call a deep brook.

Nothing devious going on in that head.

Last night caused me to consider a shift in my attitude.

Surprisingly, as I do every night, I went to bed.  I'm crazy and wreckless, I know.  And, as happens almost every night, Chamois came in at about 10:30 to ask to go outside.  It doesn't matter if we make her go out prior to bed time, she still wants to go out in the middle of the night.  Some say I should ignore her, but she's a big, big girl, and I really don't want to be cleaning up her mess.  She hasn't messed in the house since she was a puppy, and I'd like to keep it that way.  So if one of the dogs is insistent about going out, I do it.  The lesser of two evils.

Only plotting Santa's death...nothing to
see here.

In my dear girl walks, paws clicking on the floor, tail wagging and hitting every wall and bit of furniture on the way in, and she sticks her nose right into the middle of my face with the gentlest of licks.  I'm so used to this scenario that I barely wake up as I fling back the sheets to walk to the front door.

Her tail picks up its tempo as she realises that I was responding.  She trots past me and towards the front door, with me following like an obedient slave.  And then on my next step - bam - death (or at least maiming) was imminent.

Suffocation attempt

Unbeknownst to me, laying at the step outside our bedroom, was another large canine.  Fast asleep and spread out, he was invisible to me in the dark and with my sleep-laden eyes.  You know that reaction that you get when you sense that you're about to step on one of your pets and you try not to - at all costs.  It's instinctual. 

Purrkins working on his suffocation technique.

That instinct kicked in, and before I was even aware of what was happening, I stopped my foot from stepping down and squashing the big yellow dog, but my momentum hadn't caught up, so I was still moving forward.  Without a foot to land on, I stumbled and bumbled, fortunately grabbing the back of a chair just in time.  One foot landed on its side, the other struggled to gain balance, but I didn't fall.  Apparently I didn't disturb Manu much either, as he raised his head, saw that there was nothing to see, and dropped his had back down with a groan.

Clawde having murderous thoughts.

Did they plan it?  Were they disappointed that I lived to tell another day?  As far as I could see, Chamois was still wagging her tail while she waited patiently at the door.  Manu is too good a boy and eager to please - he would never want to harm me.  Chamois - I'm not so sure. 

Without me in the picture, she can spoon Shawn to her heart's delight.  I'm going to keep believing that some part of her does love me, and that she doesn't plot against me on a regular basis.  She does seem to be in my way a lot though.

Even the monkeys plot my death.

And speaking of laying in the middle of my path or directly behind me, let's not get onto the subject of the cats.  They are plotting my death.  I'm sure of it.

Friday Follies - Are you Reddy to Roar?

Do you ever hear a song that is not usually on your radar, and suddenly you are flooded with memories and emotions?  This happened to me on the weekend - cleaning as usual - while I was listening to a 70's playlist on a music streaming service.  The song stopped me in my tracks.  It literally stopped me mopping the floor (a welcome break).

I've got your curiosity piqued now, don't I?  It's definitely not a song I normally listen to...it was a song by Helen Reddy - "I Am Woman", released in May 1971. 

Usually this song gets bandied about when someone is talking about feminism or woman's rights, so to be honest I never really paid attention to this 70's anthem.  In actual fact, Helen Reddy didn't believe that the song is only for women, it was written about empowerment, feeling good about yourself and more importantly, believing in yourself.  She played it for her brother-in-law when he was going through a rough time.

Me and my baby bro, around the time that the single was released.

The words washed over me, taking on meanings that seemed intended only for me.  Not so much about my life, but about my mother's life, and her mother's and her mother's lives.   As soon as the music started, it took me back to a time when I was very, very young, and memories started to flash.  I know that shag carpet was involved with all that glorious 70s furniture,  and I just know that Mum turned the volume up when it was played on the radio (AM obviously).   She would have had it on vinyl too, because I remember it being played over and over again, enough to ingrain the lyrics in my memory.  It appears I could sing along to this song, almost word perfect.

70's with two little kids

I am woman, hear me roar

In numbers too big to ignore

And I know too much to go back an' pretend

'Cause I've heard it all before

And I've been down there on the floor

No one's ever gonna keep me down again

Oh yes, I am wise

But it's wisdom born of pain

Yes, I've paid the price

But look how much I gained

If I have to, I can do anything

I am strong

(Strong)

I am invincible

(Invincible)

I am woman

You can bend but never break me

'Cause it only serves to make me

More determined to achieve my final goal

And I come back even stronger

Not a novice any longer

'Cause you've deepened the conviction in my soul

Oh yes, I am wise

But it's wisdom born of pain

Yes, I've paid the price

But look how much I gained

If I have to, I can do anything

I am strong

(Strong)

I am…

(written by Helen Reddy and Ray Burton)

It wasn't really the flashbacks that made me pause and, to be honest, brought a tear to my eye, but I did have a big lightbulb moment.  I had so much empathy for my mother.  She would have been raising two young kids, in a relatively new marriage and with her family was on the other side of the planet.  It must have been so hard.  There must have been times that she was so lonely.  And she toughed it out, she committed to it and she, along with Dad, worked together (probably not all the time, as partnerships never work out that way 100% of the time!) to build and nurture our family. 

I can imagine Mum having a really bad day - bratty little toddlers, husband working to provide for the family - and cranking 'I Am Woman', gaining strength while singing loudly and proudly.  She already had the strength in her, this would have just reminded her. 

In all of her 70's glory.

I come from a family of strong woman and am so grateful for it.  The stories of the women in our family are stories of strong, determined and clever women. But we all need something to remind us of what we are made of, where we are going, and what we need to do.   I can tell you that Alannis Morrissette 'Jagged Little Pill' album was played a lot in my life in the 90's. And who can forget the scene in the movie 'Love Actually' where Emma Thompson's character has Joni Mitchell's Both Sides Now to get her through the tough times?

On of my anthem albums

Since I heard Helen Reddy last weekend, the song has been a constant earworm providing the background music of my days and nights.   So much so that, a week late for International Women's Day, I needed to pay tribute.  It's so true - the older we get, the more we understand our parents.

Maybe this song can touch a place in you too - the message is timeless.

Broody and Moody

At various times through the year, my hens get quite broody.  Typically two of the them are the worst culprits - Honey and Penguin.  They spend more than their fair share of time sitting in the nest boxes for weeks on end.  Despite my best efforts to get them out of this state by removing eggs and forcibly making them go outside for a forage, they are stubborn and remain broody until they are good and ready.  They are girls, after all!

They are nasty when they are in this mood.  I can count on being pecked quite aggressively when I try and remove eggs or move them.

Don't mess with a broody girl.

One of my hens, Sesame, is an older girl and has rarely gone broody.  Generally, she's a pretty social and happy hen, and is quite even tempered (unlike the neurotic Electra or the bitchy Penguin).  It's safe to say that she is probably my favourite of the girls.

Sesame isn't quite this affectionate.

It was quite upsetting a couple of weeks ago when she disappeared.  Was it a fox?  Had she suddenly departed this world and gone to the great chicken coop in the sky?  Had she wandered into the neighbours yard to be hen-napped again?  Where was my girl?  It's always the favourites that seem to disappear or meet an untimely end.

Our first unplanned pregnancy - Apricot - shortly after hatching.

The other explanation for her disappearance was that she had gone broody and was sitting on some eggs somewhere in our yard.  When Electra disappeared the year before last, we thought she had been dinner for a neighbour's dog, but then she reappeared three weeks later with almost 20 adorable chicks in tow.  We had no idea that she had been hiding out in our yard for that whole time, and making sneaky little forays to get food when we weren't looking.

The remains of Electra's hatch last year.
The one on the right with the white dot on his head
is Harvey Henbanger.  The other two are
Uno (left) and Penguin (middle).

So where was Sesame?  Fast forward to a couple of days later and she was spotted down at the chook pen, desperate for some food.  Phew, she wasn't dead.  But where was her stash of eggs?

Occasionally, I would have a wander around the garden, checking all of the usual spots that they liked to lay eggs.  Nothing.  I tried to stalk her when she was out one time to see if I could follow her, but she took her time and I had to go to work.  I was still in the dark about her hiding place.

I felt sorry for her too, as we have been having very wet weather, and she had to suffer through it while sitting on her eggs.  It was her choice, I guess, to be a mother.

Electra and her chicks

The thought of having cute little chicks again was very enticing.  They are really, really cute, and I had so much fun watching the last lot grow up and develop.  You can see their individual personalities very early on, and it's amazing to watch how the mother hen manages and raises them.  However, the down side is that in any hatch, there are going to be roosters.  And unfortunately for roosters, there isn't a lot of space for them in this world.  We have two acres and are only allowed one by council, and they are very hard to rehome.  The sad fact is that most end up in the pot.  Not mine, because I can't bear to eat something that I've watched grow up.  Dealing with roosters is a big negative for raising chicks. 

Honey with Apricot (oh boy, that sounds
like a recipe!)

I had two roosters to deal with last time.  I kept one, but no one wanted my other boy.  Fortunately we happened upon a lady who doesn't believe that roosters should go in the pot, and she has a little sanctuary with about 40-60 roosters.  I don't feel right though about the possibility of continually giving her roosters because I think chicks are cute and fun to raise.  Someone has to be responsible about all of this.

Harvey Henbanger in all of his glory.

A discussion ensued and we agreed that once the chicks were old enough to sex, the boys would be humanely dealt with, we would keep two hens and the rest could be given away.  That wasn't going to be fun.

A week and a half after Sesame's disappearance, I happened to be looking at some plants not far from our back patio, and spied her hiding spot.  Clever little girl, we walked by there at least once every day and never saw her.  I lifted her up (much to her disgust) and Shawn counted 12 eggs.

Unfortunately Chamois saw her too.

When I got home from work, I was told that the dogs had eaten all of the eggs, and that Sesame was walking around the yard with the rest of the chickens, making a sad sound (yeah, yeah, I'm anthropomorphising again.).  Poor girl, all of that hard work and sacrifice.

So that was our problem solved.  No chicks means no roosters means no unpleasant culling.

I wish they hatched kittens.

Still....chicks.  So much cuteness. But we still have Harvey Henbanger, and he does live up to his last name.  I am quite confident we will go through this process again.  And (hopefully?), we may yet see some chicks.

What my girls think when Harvey gets near them.