This boy needs a dog!
A Duck In The Dark
At the moment all animal activity is being intently observed by a somewhat excitable eight year old with a dog fixation. Supervising him is just fine as we only have to keep him amused in the early evening , as during they day he and his parents are off roaming the rather wet hills and valleys of North Wales.
Last evening we collected the eggs, I taught Leo how to blow a large goose egg at the kitchen table and we herded the geese and turkeys back into their houses for the night, a procedure that was not a easy as it sounds as the geese and turkeys are all larger than he is.
When it came to the ducks only seven were seen standing nervously in the dusk light. I have eight ducks. 5 pure bred Indian Runners, a magpie female, 2 half breed Indian Runners and a bog standard drake called Halleh, who, long term readers will remember was a lone ducking that was brought up by Blanche, an over broody hybrid hen, who had a desperate need for babies.
I have found through bitter experience that a ratio of 7 females to one male is more desirable given the fact that drakes in season will shag the arse off every female in sight and will do so without finesse or any delicacy whatsoever..
The ratio of 1 to 7, I have found, will give the females some respite in spring and early summer.
The ducks are a constant on the field. The Indian Runners criss- cross their way through the grass all day long, screaming like teenage girls at a Take That concert as they do so, and all look as though they do bugger all except show off this hysterical part of their somewhat neurotic personalities.
The truth is somewhat different.
The female ducks remain the most prolific eggs layers on the field given their age, and provide an invaluable contribution to the animal care piggy bank by doing so.
Anyhow, like I said, last night at bedtime only seven ducks were standing by their house waiting to be locked away for the night. After a quick head count, I worked out that it was one of the Indian Runner females that was missing, an unfortunate thing, as Runner Ducks go even more hysterical ( if that was at all possible) when they are alone and separated from the flock.
Leo and I looked everywhere. In the pond, in the stream, in the long grass......she was nowhere to be seen and with a heavy heart we locked up the other animals and headed back to the cottage.
As we came back I explained to Leo that she was either sat on some eggs somewhere under a hawthorn bush or she had been snatched by a fox.
He thought about this for a moment, the concentration almost steaming up his glasses
"What you need to do", he said at last, " is to go out when it is very dark and light a candle for her so she will see it and she will find her way home!"
I said I would see... and we went off to walk the dogs down the lane...
Around 11.30pm , as I was tidying up after our guests had gone, I remembered Leo's advice and took myself out on the field.
I didn't have a candle but a small wind up torch which I shone around the bushes and trees for one last look before bed.
Suddenly, from out of a mass of nettles came the duck, quacking loudly as she galloped forward across the field like an extra from a disaster movie.
I caught her easily and placed her back safely with her chattering flock who were sat quietly in the duck house.
I had to smile to myself and the phrase
"Out of the mouth of babes"
came to mind
Last evening we collected the eggs, I taught Leo how to blow a large goose egg at the kitchen table and we herded the geese and turkeys back into their houses for the night, a procedure that was not a easy as it sounds as the geese and turkeys are all larger than he is.
When it came to the ducks only seven were seen standing nervously in the dusk light. I have eight ducks. 5 pure bred Indian Runners, a magpie female, 2 half breed Indian Runners and a bog standard drake called Halleh, who, long term readers will remember was a lone ducking that was brought up by Blanche, an over broody hybrid hen, who had a desperate need for babies.
I have found through bitter experience that a ratio of 7 females to one male is more desirable given the fact that drakes in season will shag the arse off every female in sight and will do so without finesse or any delicacy whatsoever..
The ratio of 1 to 7, I have found, will give the females some respite in spring and early summer.
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| The Ducks facing off a cat in the grass next to last year's Bosoms |
The ducks are a constant on the field. The Indian Runners criss- cross their way through the grass all day long, screaming like teenage girls at a Take That concert as they do so, and all look as though they do bugger all except show off this hysterical part of their somewhat neurotic personalities.
The truth is somewhat different.
The female ducks remain the most prolific eggs layers on the field given their age, and provide an invaluable contribution to the animal care piggy bank by doing so.
Anyhow, like I said, last night at bedtime only seven ducks were standing by their house waiting to be locked away for the night. After a quick head count, I worked out that it was one of the Indian Runner females that was missing, an unfortunate thing, as Runner Ducks go even more hysterical ( if that was at all possible) when they are alone and separated from the flock.
Leo and I looked everywhere. In the pond, in the stream, in the long grass......she was nowhere to be seen and with a heavy heart we locked up the other animals and headed back to the cottage.
As we came back I explained to Leo that she was either sat on some eggs somewhere under a hawthorn bush or she had been snatched by a fox.
He thought about this for a moment, the concentration almost steaming up his glasses
"What you need to do", he said at last, " is to go out when it is very dark and light a candle for her so she will see it and she will find her way home!"
I said I would see... and we went off to walk the dogs down the lane...
Around 11.30pm , as I was tidying up after our guests had gone, I remembered Leo's advice and took myself out on the field.
I didn't have a candle but a small wind up torch which I shone around the bushes and trees for one last look before bed.
Suddenly, from out of a mass of nettles came the duck, quacking loudly as she galloped forward across the field like an extra from a disaster movie.
I caught her easily and placed her back safely with her chattering flock who were sat quietly in the duck house.
I had to smile to myself and the phrase
"Out of the mouth of babes"
came to mind
The Blitz and Botty Jokes
What with the Jubilee, Operation Dog Snot removal, the arrival of Chris' family and the occasional Intensive Care Shift, I am way, way behind with my chosen blog reading and commenting.
I will endeavour to catch up this evening when the cottage goes quiet and still after the final dog walk of the day and after every soaked animal has been locked up safely for the night.
Last night Chris' brother, sister in law and nephew arrived for dinner.
The dogs braced themselves for the hug- fest that was Leo, and after a somewhat convoluted bedding in introduction boy and dogs ended up all together on the kitchen sofa , where Leo read them all passages from his Scooby-doo annual.
My experience with children is , as you would expect, rather limited. What I have learnt is that kids will find interest, enjoyment and humour in their own things....things that are often miles away from anything an adult could suggest and offer them........
Mind you toilet humour is always a good starting point when kids need their imaginations pricked....they love bottom jokes!
As a child our Liverpudlian grandparents would tell us amazing stories about the war. The May Blitz in 1941 caused over 2,800 casualties and flattened much of the city .. but all we children wanted to hear is the story where my gran was "blown off the loo" in the School Shelter during the December Blitz
We were told of the dreadful loss of life in the Durning Road tragedy, where an Edge Hill public shelter suffered a direct hit and 166 people died, but again all we wanted to hear was how My Uncle Jim, who was then around ten years old was rushed to a shelter in a pair of ladies high heel shoes and a chenille curtain when the munitions train exploded!
The story of how my great grandfather died was a very different and sobering story for we children to listen to, for he was killed in the Louisa Street bombing of October 1940., a bombing raid that very nearly killed my grandmother, mother and uncle who were racing towards the shelter that suffered a direct hit at the time.
My grandmother recalled stopping in the road, as the bombs were falling, not knowing whether to run to the Louisa street shelter , where her in laws were taking refuge, or to take the chance to run to the local school which had a reinforced room in which they could hide.
They ran to the school, at the same time as eight people including her father in law, James Samuel Fry was killed in the Louisa Street bombing, a bombing that precipitated the family's flight out of the Liverpool to Wales.
This story always received the goggle-eyed respect and solemnity from her grandchildren that it deserved, and it proved to be a valuable parable and first exploration into the subjects of death for children who had previously had no experience of it...
Having said all that....... the story of how Gran got blasted across the floor with her bloomers around her ankles, still remains a firm favourite of mine even at 50!
Who said it is only kids that love a good botty joke.
I will endeavour to catch up this evening when the cottage goes quiet and still after the final dog walk of the day and after every soaked animal has been locked up safely for the night.
Last night Chris' brother, sister in law and nephew arrived for dinner.
The dogs braced themselves for the hug- fest that was Leo, and after a somewhat convoluted bedding in introduction boy and dogs ended up all together on the kitchen sofa , where Leo read them all passages from his Scooby-doo annual.
My experience with children is , as you would expect, rather limited. What I have learnt is that kids will find interest, enjoyment and humour in their own things....things that are often miles away from anything an adult could suggest and offer them........
Mind you toilet humour is always a good starting point when kids need their imaginations pricked....they love bottom jokes!
As a child our Liverpudlian grandparents would tell us amazing stories about the war. The May Blitz in 1941 caused over 2,800 casualties and flattened much of the city .. but all we children wanted to hear is the story where my gran was "blown off the loo" in the School Shelter during the December Blitz
We were told of the dreadful loss of life in the Durning Road tragedy, where an Edge Hill public shelter suffered a direct hit and 166 people died, but again all we wanted to hear was how My Uncle Jim, who was then around ten years old was rushed to a shelter in a pair of ladies high heel shoes and a chenille curtain when the munitions train exploded!
 |
| The wreckage of the Louisa Street Shelter |
The story of how my great grandfather died was a very different and sobering story for we children to listen to, for he was killed in the Louisa Street bombing of October 1940., a bombing raid that very nearly killed my grandmother, mother and uncle who were racing towards the shelter that suffered a direct hit at the time.
My grandmother recalled stopping in the road, as the bombs were falling, not knowing whether to run to the Louisa street shelter , where her in laws were taking refuge, or to take the chance to run to the local school which had a reinforced room in which they could hide.
They ran to the school, at the same time as eight people including her father in law, James Samuel Fry was killed in the Louisa Street bombing, a bombing that precipitated the family's flight out of the Liverpool to Wales.
This story always received the goggle-eyed respect and solemnity from her grandchildren that it deserved, and it proved to be a valuable parable and first exploration into the subjects of death for children who had previously had no experience of it...
Having said all that....... the story of how Gran got blasted across the floor with her bloomers around her ankles, still remains a firm favourite of mine even at 50!
Who said it is only kids that love a good botty joke.
Get your sharp little teeth off my bosoms!
Despite Albert's best efforts the baby rabbit population has trebled over the past few weeks.
They are pretty little things, of that I have no doubt, but they do possess the rather tiring ability to chomp their way through a whole allotment's seedlings with the tenacity of a shoal of piranhas!
The little buggers also are small enough to squeeze themselves through netting and under cloches and are just tiny enough to escape my eagle eye, when they embark on their lightening raiding parties through "Bosoms" front lines.
Albert has done his bit, and for that I am very grateful.and I am no longer even slightly shocked at the scene of headless rabbit corpses being deposited by the back door and all on a daily basis,!
To be honest ,I am getting the distinct feeling that Albert is getting rather sick of the whole "rabbit thing"...he's got far too much fluff between his teeth.
This morning I counted 12 of the little bastards.
I tried the old psychological Robert de Nero "Taxi Driver" "I SEE you" threat with them but all they did was bounce around in silly little circles laughing at me, so I think it may be time to dangle the carrot of some home made sausages in front of my air rifle wielding brother in law.
My Bosoms need protecting from these pesky varmints.
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| Rooster... he'll never see it coming |
Operation "dog snot removal" is almost complete in readiness of the arrival of Chris' bro, and the tame Rooster Cogburn 's previous experience of being stroked to death at the petting zoo at Alton Towers will come in handy when Chris's nephew Leo, arrives.
Like most children, he adores being close to animals, especially the dogs, who put up with the constant kissing and petting with a great deal of resigned good humour and eye rolling.To be honest, I suspect that they understand, on some strange and distant level, that Leo is a little boy who needs their affection....he is a boy who would adore a dog of his own.
I don't know just what it is with small boys and dogs... they just seem to go together like The Queen Mother and Dubonet!... I think it is a loyalty thing......girls have and need friends.......boys need to have a pal.....there's a subtle difference..and dogs ,like we all know, generally make great pals......
I think the next photo of Leo on his last visit allows me to rest my case
Lights in the Sky
Last night we joined a few hardy souls on top of The Gop for the lighting of Trelawnyd's Jubilee Beacon.
The Beacon was in fact a Jubilee "Skip" filled with dried wood, and within seconds Trelawnyd echoed the the flaming beacons on Dyserth Hill a few miles to the West and the one on the 1,800 foot Moel Fammau, some 17 miles to the South East.
(Moel Fammau literally means Mothers Mountain in Welsh)
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| The Red light on the right of the photo is the Bodfari Mast |
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| A few Hardy Trelawnyd-ites salute the night ( I am the dick head in the hat) |
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| Chris "enjoys" the night |
Welcome to Flaming June!
Trelawnyd Carnival 2012
The village population must have thought the same, for at 1pm it seemed as though the whole of Trelawnyd. pulled themselves up by their bra straps and lined the streets to support the hastily rescheduled "Queen's Parade"
Now Going Gently was originally always meant to be an on line diary of our life here in Trelawnyd. so in the spirit of that wish, I won't apologies for the numerous photos of today's events
I really wanted to remember the day!
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| Meg and her flag cape |
And so we tied small Union Jacks around the dog's necks, packed some beef sandwiches into greaseproof paper and went up to London Road to watch the events unfold
Initially we thought that we were going to be the only ones to show up, but within a few minutes, everyone seemed to turn up from our part of the village, Pig Wrestler Pat, Joanne, gentleman farmer Ralph and Louenna,The Barnsley's with a mass of flags, Della and her family from the farm down the lane..I have never seen so many people on the street in the seven years we have lived here........ and they kept on coming
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| The RFWF's Son Ed, one of the organisers of the day leads the procession on his bay hunter |
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| Show Chair Alun Hughes ( yellow jacket) with one of the local Olympic Torch Carriers who ran his part of the relay in nearby Abergele |
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| The "QUEEN" Beryl Evans on her trap pulled by two Shetland ponies! |
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| Affable despot Jason with the village Children dressed as sheep! |
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| Health and safety reps would wet themselves at this float! |
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| Audrey Jones, veteran of the village |
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| A tight Corner in High Street |
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| Beryl, Complete with Crown and red , white and blue scarf! |
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| Waiting for the Queen to arrive! |
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| The Red Faced Welsh Farmer (centre) |
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| Queen Beryl, the Carnival Princess and Prince all on the throne!!! errrhhh hum |
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| Auntie Glad chuckling at the whole afternoon! |
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| Some of the Villagers |
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| Local "squire" and Counsellor Nigel Steele Mortimer (left) presenting the awards |
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| The Randa's |
Funny to think that all over the country, events just like this one, are bringing communities together, in a bit of flag waving, and good humour
Queenie Days
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| Queen Beryl In Drier Times |
It's Trelawnyd Carnival today
What a shame the weather has closed in somewhat!
The carnival Queen will be driven through the village in a vintage car at 11.30 am
So Mike and I will be donning our waterproofs, and will be waving our soggy Union Jacks with gay abandon as Beryl Evans ( a lady in her 80s) passes by!
I thought It a nice touch that a more mature lady was picked as the figurehead
Meg with her 5th place Rosette in the Scruffy Dog Competition
Chris and Mike in the "ale" tent
PS. Unfortunately the weather closed in even more by 11.15, so as Mike and I stood alone on London Road, waving our flags as Chris sat in a warm dry church, a farm land rover roared past with the RFWF's son announcing through a megaphone that the parade had been cancelled to tomorrow!
Mike and a VERY wet Boris
I am off to work later
PS. Unfortunately the weather closed in even more by 11.15, so as Mike and I stood alone on London Road, waving our flags as Chris sat in a warm dry church, a farm land rover roared past with the RFWF's son announcing through a megaphone that the parade had been cancelled to tomorrow!
I am off to work later
Show Time
I cannot download photos from Christopher's iphone today
So I will try to do so tomorrow!
Suffice to say Mike Arrived from Sheffield
and embarked on a short crash course of village celebrity meetings
Mrs Trellice
The RFWF
Affable despot Jason
Auntie Glad's scones.
we then downed some "Trelawnyd ale" in the beer tent
and marvelled at George and William winning 3rd and 6th respectively in the "best looking dog in show" category!
Congrats to the Trelawnyd show committee... the day has been an impressive one
I especially loved the good natured pack of Welsh Foxhounds that galloped through the Show field overseen by an all seeing and all controlling pack master
A wonderful sight
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