Remembering Finlay
http://disasterfilm.blogspot.com/2007/03/chasing-cars.html
This is an early post but is perhaps one that follows the previous post very well......
(forgive the photo....it was taken when I was very....well FAT!
This is an early post but is perhaps one that follows the previous post very well......
(forgive the photo....it was taken when I was very....well FAT!
Domestic trials
Because of the fox threat, I usually don't let the birds out until 8am, but this morning as it was warm, sunny and I had been awake, off and on since 4.30am, I got up early and did all the morning jobs by 7.30.Chris is to blame for my ungodly morning shenanigans. He was up early, making tea and and probably planning research adventures in his brain ( which is the size of a planet)....unfortunately he has the flat feet of a middle aged dancer (he used to be a dancer in a previous life)...so clomps around the bare floorboards of the cottage like a penguin with clogs on.
As I sit here with the first coffee of the day, warmed by the sun in the window of the living room, I am quietly joined by Maddie. The other dogs and Albert have all retired upstairs to bed, so in the peace and quiet we can enjoy each others company for a short time.
I was thinking about Maddie yesterday. The signs of old age are beginning to show on her just a little now. Her eye sight is failing ( she has a tendency to trip over curbs), there are small rings of white hair around each eye and her tolerance for silly behaviour from the other dogs has diminished considerably, to the extent that she will stop dead any tomfoolery with a bark and a robust chest barge. She has effectively turned into a sort of maiden aunt, who dresses in black and who reads the daily obituary
It seems only yesterday that we brought the tiny ball of hysteria back from Nottinghamshire to our home in Sheffield. She constantly barked, covered every inch of the house with copious amounts of urine and refused point blank to be walked on a lead. Yet from day one of her arrival, Maddie was and remains consistantly loyal. She comes when called, sits when told and never causes us any concerns save for the occasional bout of constipation, to which she is prone .
She will sit within a centimetre of you, yet hates to be cuddled. She loves her food more than any dog we have ever had and loves to relieve herself in a deep cold puddle.......in short she "asks" for very little and gives so very much and is no trouble at all, I just find it a little sad when I remember (as I was reminded by my previously posted Kipling poem), that you never really own a dog for very long..do you?....sigh.............
Anyhow...enough of all this, I am at risk of getting maudlin. Today I am getting stuck in with the clearing of the back garden, tonight we are having our usual Friday night fish and chips and then will be going to theatre Clwyd to see ME AND ORSON WELLES, a film I missed on its first run
Spring Incubation
The girls have started to bang out the eggs now that the days are longer and somewhat warmer. Yesterday I collected two dozen from 30 laying hens, so I have had a small surfeit to sort out.
So the incubator is back in use on the kitchen top. In three weeks a motley group of chicks will hopefully be hatched, and the circle of life will continue quite wonderfully.
Of the original 12 laying hens I bought four years ago, seven old girls remain under the watchful eye of the geriatric Stanley. they are still laying eggs, which I guess is a sign of them being happy contented hens, here's hoping the new chicks will be healthy,happy and ALL FEMALE.....yeah right!
Men of Harlech (Zulu)
An ideal dvd for a Wednesday night!
......and who said that the Welsh have no balls!!!
For Kim
The Power Of The Dog
by Rudyard Kipling
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie--
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find--it's your own affair--
But...you've given your heart for a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!);
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone--wherever it goes--for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart for the dog to tear.
We've sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long--
So why in Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
by Rudyard Kipling
There is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.
Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie--
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.
When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet's unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find--it's your own affair--
But...you've given your heart for a dog to tear.
When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!);
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone--wherever it goes--for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart for the dog to tear.
We've sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we've kept 'em, the more do we grieve:
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long--
So why in Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?
The Object of a pig's affection
Gladys is the quietest of my pigs, she is usually shy, and nervous of me, even though both pigs have been with us for just over a year now, and will just about allow me to touch her ear occasionally.
Today,she had the devil in her for some strange reason, and time after time, I caught her biting at the wire fencing of her enclosure, squealing and grunting at me as I cleared the remaining herb beds.
Finally I ambled down to the pig pen and sat down to see what was all the fuss about, and as if she had a personality transplant, she galloped over and started to rub herself on my knee in a fit of flirtatious sluttery!
I tickled her behind the ears and her seduction behaviour intensified as she concentrated upon my wellies, which she started to bite and suck on!
I had never seen Gladys like this before, so I had to put this uncharacteristic show of affection and playfulness down to a sudden rush of hormones.
I had to smile......to myself......
Chris and a pig called Gladys are the only two individuals that actually find me attractive!
Oh be still my beating heart!
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