The raping of the hens

Chatting to neighbour Mandy over the compost heap yesterday, I was in an ideal position to see the sex crazed drake Halleh molesting another juvenile Hen. Being adopted by a hen, has given this handsome drake a penchant for nubile young chickens and 2 poor hybrids Ripley and Newt have been repeatedly flattened, mouthed and harassed by him
Mandy watched open mouthed when I interrupted our conversation with a sharp "oi!!!!!" and on impulse and with some frustration I lobbed a metal feeding bowl at the duck as he tottered past with his mouth full of hen feathers.
The bowl unexpectedly clacked Halleh on the head, and the poor thing stopped and immediately fell over, shaking violently.
"Bloody hell!" I cried to Mandy "I think I've killed him"
Mandy got on with her weeding, used to the somewhat bizarre goings on on the field, but as I checked on Halleh she did ask "well?............is he alright?"
In fact he was alright.....well, eventually that is.
He came around slowly, shaking his head from side to side then went to sulk in a patch of nettles for the rest of the afternoon.
Gawd I felt guilty, and checked on him occasionally, just in case he suffered a delayed subdural haematoma.
Every time I found him, he watched me warily with beady black eyes following my every move.......

Post Office Gossip, George and Dan's duck eggs

I bumped into Aunt Gladys in the post Office this morning. Deaf as a post but with her eyes bright and interested in all village gossip and news she eagerly asked me how the open allotment went. (although I am sure she had already had a detailed run down of the day)
When I informed her that her 60 "world famous labelled" scones had been sold within minutes of our opening I was delighted to see her beam with pride and mischief.
It is this almost childlike quality of enjoying life's little victories that seems to keep Gladys "younger" than most people in their twenties, and her genuine pleasure over the success of our open day was rather moving.

The only other bit of drama of the afternoon was the fact that George got a twig stick in his throat when we were out for a walk up the gop. A blue light dash to the vets, a quick anaesthetic , a nifty twist of a set of magills forceps and thirty five pounds later he was returned home non the worse for wear.....
These animals will be the death of me.......

......and finally....... the second batch of this year's duck eggs have just had a clean and polish and have been set up in the kitchen incubator!
I am hoping to hatch out a score of ducklings for a guy that attended the open day and for Dan, a fellow blogger over at http://allthatcomeswithit.com/, who is risking divorce by agreeing to add several runners to his back garden menagerie!
hey ho

ps welcome to another village blog reader at Anchor house!!

But. . . he's gay!

couldn't you just kiss her?

Crossing the Stone (Tros Y Garreg)

I heard this traditional Welsh piece of music on Classic FM this morning and it kind of stuck in my head.

Traffic cones in the Graveyard and morning observations

After the council workmen had cut the old Churchyard grass yesterday three brightly coloured traffic cones appeared much to the consternation of the guinea fowl, who crowded around them chattering furiously.
I ambled over to have a nose at what was going on, only to find that two of the older graves had collapsed into themselves, leaving rather creepy dark cave like holes in the grass.
I have been asked several times do I ever get nervous at living right next door to the Graveyard and I can honestly say no.
Now I am no goth here! I don't get my kicks wandering around, dressed all in black and musing about death all of the time, but there is something rather peaceful and almost comforting about the presence of old tombstones and graves.
No doubt the health and safety boffins will be swarming around the Church with their clipboards and red tape tomorrow!

Boris is slowly improving but still remains weak and pale after his collapse of last week. This morning he ambled over to stand under my arm as I fed him titbits of left over dog food and a piece of wholemeal bread and although quiet, I think the improvement I saw on Tuesday is continuing.
I have given him the wonder drink of apple cider vinegar in his water,wormed him, and sneaked him tasty morsels but the recovery remains slow.
Perhaps some of the turkey owning blog readers could suggest things that may well help even more?




On the other hand, the Ghost hens are going from strength to strength! Fat like ducks they waddle out of their coop every morning eager to face the day. They resemble a gaggle of old fashioned (mack and headscarf- you know the type) ladies that are off to do a bit of shopping as they do their circuit of the vegetable patches. Then, when they realise that they have daringly walked some 20 yards from their hen house, they look at each other, raise their heads in mild panic and then break for home (right pic)
I know I will not cull them now, the joy of seeing them turn from sick, sad little birds to robust bouncing hens is such a tonic, that the thought of eating them literally leaves me with a bad taste in my mouth....I have an idea....If they continue to improve, I will set them up with Jesus when his leg mite problem has improved. - Hopefully they will breed some impressive eating birds who will also lay

Continuity bollocks

Hazel and I walked out of the movie Samson and Delilah (2009) after around half an hour. It was not because it was bad ( ok the story of poor and dispossessed aboriginal teens was not a bag of laughs), it was because the reels of the movie had been mixed up and the narrative jumped from one unconnected part of the film to another.
I got up and complained after 20 minutes and was told that the film was being shown "correctly" which was a load of bollocks, so we walked out.
I have just double checked with a wikipedia version of the plot and found to my delight that I was right........
so at least we will get to see another movie free of charge!
Hazel took me for a drink and a nice (and overdue chat) at the lovely Soughton Hall (pic) which is situated just outside Mold, so the night was not a total bust

A Man's gotta do......

My Brother is Walking down Snowdon on Saturday. Snowdon ( Welsh name Yr Wyddfa) is the largest Mountain in Wales and the walk is not an easy one for anyone "our "age let alone for a guy who is suffering from a particularly nasty neurological condition. Yet my Brother is giving it a bash in support of his friend, the Welsh singer Mike Peters who supports a whole array of cancer support services in the North Wales region.(below information regarding the day from Google)

On Saturday August 7th 2010, Mike Peters, the internationally acclaimed singer of Welsh rock and roll band The Alarm will once again host 'Snowdon Rocks' for an incredible fourth year running. For 2010, Snowdon Rocks is also expanding its format to include a first ever concert at the historic Rhuddlan Castle with a very special guest performance by The Levellers and additional appearances from acclaimed singer songwriter, Nick Harper and Mike Peters himself.Mike Peters is once again calling on all members of the Love Hope Strength / Alarm community who are fit and able, to join him on the mountain for 'Snowdon Rocks 4' (Supported by Barclays) on the weekend of August 6th and 7th 2010

Typically,my brother has kept this challenge rather quiet, (I only only found out that it was happening via an email from my sister).and I must say that his stoic reaction to his own debilitating condition ( with the unwavering support from his wife Jayne) has been impressive to say the least.

We send him our love, admiration and best wishes for the day.....

and my only advice would be......don't wear flip flops!

Quietly Nuts

Albert dragged in another flapping hysterical young sparrow this morning, which escaped from his clutches in the kitchen as I was feeding the stock outside. When I eventually returned soaked to the skin, a scene of carnage lay before me. The bird had managed to wedge itself in a bloody heap behind the toaster, and in his effort to retrieve it, Albert had kicked an enamel pan, a whole array of utensils and my favourite American coffee cup onto the floor!
I could have cried.....not because of the mess......gawd having 83 animals,means that mess is a way of life, no, it was the potential loss of a simple ceramic mug that upset me the most.

My reaction beggared the question of Why on earth do people have such close relationships with inanimate objects?
There is no real reason for it, is there? but I can honestly say that I love my battered old coffee cup, with its typically American rounded, slightly art deco edges and chunky comfortable handle.
I "hate" drinking coffee from any other mug ( it doesn't taste the same either) and I have lovingly looked after my mug since "our eyes met" on the shelf in the tourist shop on the top of the Rockefeller Centre.
I know there is more important things going on in the world. But in my own little goldfish bowl here in Wales, my mug , does have a special place in my affection......
Anyhow the story does have a happy ending.....with its robust chunky make up, my mug survived its fall and now is steaming away on the kitchen table with its usual cargo of coffee.

Message to self.
Am I odd...or do I really need to get out more......