Oh by the way, Red the baby quail is still doing very well in the shed
Pig Visit
Oh by the way, Red the baby quail is still doing very well in the shed
Mixed Bag, Red the quail, Flower Show Meeting and Supporting Andrew
Chris was up early again today. He is working away tonight and has all of the high pressure lifestyle so typical of a PhD at the top of his game. He loves his work, so the pressures of deadlines and workload will always be there.....but I do worry that his downtime is non existent at the moment
It was still dark when he left this morning so I walked the dogs early ( they were not amused) and fed and watered the runner ducklings in the shed. The quail have been set up in their own brooder box on a trestle table and all six babies (including "Red" the miracle baby) are doing just fine. They remain absolutely tiny, but I guess like all game birds, they are robust, tough little fellas that are designed to withstand the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune!
Last night we held the first Trelawnyd Flower Show committee meeting since the show was held in August As usual it was a lively bunfight of a meeting with plenty of ideas being bandied about Auntie Glads kitchen. Auntie Gladys is quite deaf, especially in company when there is constant chatter, so contents herself with preparing copious amounts of tea and buttered scones when the meeting is in progress, but having said this, the meeting went so for so long last night ( we had to thrash out the new 2011 schedule) that she did flag just a little when sat next to her kitchen aga, and started to doze in her arm chair before we called it a night!
It is my sister-in-law's birthday today and my sister and I will be calling up later with gifts and cards.Janet (twin sister) has really got the bit between her teeth with developing her blog site, facebook page and fund raising efforts in order to support our brother Andrew and his progressing illness. Generally, Janet has always been the more reticent of the four siblings ( I am sure she wont mind me saying that) but with determination and drive she has single handedly turned into a bit of a warrior queen, in organising event after event AFTER event in support of this new cause.
Thank you to all of Going Gently's readers who have supported her (and me) by taking the time to comment on her blog http://supportingandrew.blogspot.com/ and by buying the MND (Motor Neurone Disease) charity bands
You all have been very kind and I am very grateful for your efforts believe me!
(Above is a photo Janet took of a local dance group all wearing their MND wrist bands)
It was still dark when he left this morning so I walked the dogs early ( they were not amused) and fed and watered the runner ducklings in the shed. The quail have been set up in their own brooder box on a trestle table and all six babies (including "Red" the miracle baby) are doing just fine. They remain absolutely tiny, but I guess like all game birds, they are robust, tough little fellas that are designed to withstand the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune!
Last night we held the first Trelawnyd Flower Show committee meeting since the show was held in August As usual it was a lively bunfight of a meeting with plenty of ideas being bandied about Auntie Glads kitchen. Auntie Gladys is quite deaf, especially in company when there is constant chatter, so contents herself with preparing copious amounts of tea and buttered scones when the meeting is in progress, but having said this, the meeting went so for so long last night ( we had to thrash out the new 2011 schedule) that she did flag just a little when sat next to her kitchen aga, and started to doze in her arm chair before we called it a night!
Thank you to all of Going Gently's readers who have supported her (and me) by taking the time to comment on her blog http://supportingandrew.blogspot.com/ and by buying the MND (Motor Neurone Disease) charity bands
You all have been very kind and I am very grateful for your efforts believe me!
(Above is a photo Janet took of a local dance group all wearing their MND wrist bands)
A Little Miracle
I was not going to blog again today. I have had to get on with harvesting beetroot and swede and the runner ducklings needed their new house to be cleaned and disinfected before they are due to be transferred outside next week, but I just had to share one of the Sweetest little victories I have been a part of in many a month!
Last night I switched off the incubator after "bobbing" the final few quail eggs. Non were "pipping" and none bobbed when immersed in warm water, so convinced the remaining couple of eggs were duds I shut everything down.
Today at midday, I remembered that I had left the last eggs in the incubator, so I removed them,(throwing them in the rubbish bag) and disinfected the dirty incubator out. As I was drying the equipment I noticed Albert digging through the rubbish bag and suddenly he stopped dead when the faintest of "peeps" sounded beneath a load of potato peelings and banana skins.
I dug through the crap and pulled out an egg with the smallest of cracks in it. A tiny beak was pushed through the gap and as I looked carefully at it, it gave the smallest of shudders. The egg was literally stone cold, so I cupped it in my hands and blew on it gently. The chick moved slowly and gave another weak peep, so I kept breathing on it willing the little scrap to survive.
The eggs had been cold over 16 hours, so it is unbelievable that the chick had found the reserves to hatch but hatch it did and half an hour later it kicked free of its shell, still hidden away in the palm of my hand.
I transferred the baby to the hastily re assembled incubator (you try setting one up with one hand!) and here he is 2 hours later!
What with everything going on in our lives......(Chris has a multi million pound research bid to complete! and the bloody coalition Government is still bleating on about the unemployed and benefit cutting) the saga of a tiny chick no bigger than my thumb is hardly of any importance.........but to be honest, as the tiny quail valiantly raised his head as I lifted the incubator lid, I literally could have wept.
Last night I switched off the incubator after "bobbing" the final few quail eggs. Non were "pipping" and none bobbed when immersed in warm water, so convinced the remaining couple of eggs were duds I shut everything down.
Today at midday, I remembered that I had left the last eggs in the incubator, so I removed them,(throwing them in the rubbish bag) and disinfected the dirty incubator out. As I was drying the equipment I noticed Albert digging through the rubbish bag and suddenly he stopped dead when the faintest of "peeps" sounded beneath a load of potato peelings and banana skins.
I dug through the crap and pulled out an egg with the smallest of cracks in it. A tiny beak was pushed through the gap and as I looked carefully at it, it gave the smallest of shudders. The egg was literally stone cold, so I cupped it in my hands and blew on it gently. The chick moved slowly and gave another weak peep, so I kept breathing on it willing the little scrap to survive.
The eggs had been cold over 16 hours, so it is unbelievable that the chick had found the reserves to hatch but hatch it did and half an hour later it kicked free of its shell, still hidden away in the palm of my hand.
I transferred the baby to the hastily re assembled incubator (you try setting one up with one hand!) and here he is 2 hours later!
Sociability and Bullied babies
The dogs usually have a long walk/run on the beach in the mornings. Their walk in the afternoon is centred around the village and I take this opportunity to deliver eggs to my regular loyal customers dotted here and there around the six or seven streets that make up Trelawnyd.
Yesterday, I walked the dogs later than usual ( I had been collecting apples for my neighbour Trevor) we walked up to the main road where I waved and called "hello" to neighbour Pat as she drove out of the village then passed old Mrs Jones who was deep in conversation with a friend. By Llys Mostyn, I waved again at Robert C who runs the neat allotment in the centre of the village and Derek and Heulwen from the Flower Show Committee, hooted their car horn in a brief "hello" as they drove up High Street.
An elderly lady (I dont know her name) waved her thin pale arm at us when we passed her sheltered bungalow (it is a habit we both have gotten into) and pretty Joanne who has a couple of the biggest dogs you will ever have the pleasure to see, gave me one of her bubbly "hellos" as I passed her on Bron Haul before I stopped and chatted to Meirion about his famous hanging baskets and tubs.
The red faced Welsh Farmer in his distinctive red landrover and knackered old tweed hat gave me a grubby thumbs up as we negotiated the zebra crossing back home and neighbour Mandy stopped to chat briefly as we entered the garden gate before she carried on with one of her power walks up to the garage shop.
It was only after I got home that I realised that my usual solitary fifteen minute walk could be...well..... so bloody sociable!
Bingley the Bourbon red turkey got out of his enclosure this morning and sneaked up to where Boris is housed and gave the older boy a good pasting. Luckily the geese, upset at the violence honked at the pair so loudly that I heard the commotion from the cottage and went out to investigate. I chased Bingley off with a rake and have just finished cleaning Boris' scratches and lacerations as he sat rather forlornly on my knee, like a big fat baby. As imposing as he is, Boris is just one big puddin' when it comes to physical confrontation ( with the exception of his constant hatred of Chris- who he will attack at the drop of a hat).Bingley, the geese and even the more robust hens will intimidate Boris constantly and I am constantly touched with the way he will seek me out to "cuddle "up when things dont quite go his way........
Yesterday, I walked the dogs later than usual ( I had been collecting apples for my neighbour Trevor) we walked up to the main road where I waved and called "hello" to neighbour Pat as she drove out of the village then passed old Mrs Jones who was deep in conversation with a friend. By Llys Mostyn, I waved again at Robert C who runs the neat allotment in the centre of the village and Derek and Heulwen from the Flower Show Committee, hooted their car horn in a brief "hello" as they drove up High Street.
An elderly lady (I dont know her name) waved her thin pale arm at us when we passed her sheltered bungalow (it is a habit we both have gotten into) and pretty Joanne who has a couple of the biggest dogs you will ever have the pleasure to see, gave me one of her bubbly "hellos" as I passed her on Bron Haul before I stopped and chatted to Meirion about his famous hanging baskets and tubs.
The red faced Welsh Farmer in his distinctive red landrover and knackered old tweed hat gave me a grubby thumbs up as we negotiated the zebra crossing back home and neighbour Mandy stopped to chat briefly as we entered the garden gate before she carried on with one of her power walks up to the garage shop.
It was only after I got home that I realised that my usual solitary fifteen minute walk could be...well..... so bloody sociable!
Quail, Sheep and piglets
The lady who was giving me the sheep, let me down a little by not being able to sort out the necessary paper work for them. Since the foot and mouth disasters of the 1960s ( and again in 2001 and 2007) the documentation relating to the registration of sheep and the movement of livestock is complicated and important. All sheep owners ( and that includes someone who only has one pet lamb) has to have a "flock number" and all animals need to be tagged and the relevant papers completed before any movement can be carried out. I have learnt that things have to be done properly, so when things are not quite "right" I will not be involved.
I discussed all this with one of the local farmers, who has offered me a couple of his grazing sheep on a "loan" basis which is very kind of him. This will allow me the opportunity to learn about the care of sheep,so that perhaps next year I will get a couple of my own!
I am also asking around to see if I can get an alternative turkey house for Bingley and his two hens......the old pig house in which they live needs a spring clean in readiness for the Gloucester old spot weaners I hope to buy very soon! I am going to check the piglets out later in the week!
Nigel's comment
This is just a part of the comment left by Nige on my previous post about therapeutic "touch"
It deserves a blog entry all of its own...and is , I think, a beautifully written piece of "self"...hope he does not mind
It deserves a blog entry all of its own...and is , I think, a beautifully written piece of "self"...hope he does not mind
When I lived in Sheffield, the barber who used to cut my hair (an Italian guy about the same age as me) used to press my shoulders down firmly with his hands as he wrapped the short black cape around my neck and fingered its edges beneath my collar. It approached sensuality (although, of course it was not) and, admittedly (and quiet sadly) I miss the precision of that three-weekly contact.
When you’re rarely touched, you remember each occasion in intimate detail: the most banal of contacts (the dry, scrubbed hand of the supermarket checkout operator; the glance of the young Pakistani guy who sells you a ticket on the train; the grasp of my Father’s hand as he leaves, recalling the physicality of a mythical childhood). Fleeting moments; brushes of falling autumn leaves.
Being Physical
Last night I looked after an elderly lady with a particularly nasty skin condition. Every couple of hours various creams had to be applied to 90 % of her body in an intensive, sometimes painful and time consuming procedure.
I had not looked after this lady before and made sure she was happy for me ( as a man) to initiate this rather invasive treatment. Politely she said she was happy and throughout the night I completed her therapy in her superheated side ward.(she was effectively a burns patient and therefore had to be nursed in a "hot" environment so that she would not lose too much body heat)
As I worked, we talked, and the conversation led to how she was in fact coping with her admission to hospital and the intensive nature of her nursing care.
"I don't mind all this too much", she said rather sadly "it's the first time I have been touched by another person in such a long, long time!"
We often forget the importance of physical contact with others. older people especially sometimes live in a desert of physical isolation and the briefest of touches can be as uplifting and as important as the most expensive and convoluted of therapies.
I think it is something that we all have a tendency to forget
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