The Rule For Old Birds

I have a strict rule on the field

Old birds are never culled, they are retired and cared for until they die away naturally.

Sick animals are treated and culled if necessary.

But generally after their 'production' time is over, the birds are allowed to have a couple of years respite with their faces in the sun until they shuffle off this mortal coil.

Sun! I have almost forgotten what sunny days are like.

Yesterday was a wild, wet and stormy day, it was a day when the weather seemed to cut right through you, and twice during my rounds I found the bodies of two pensioners tucked away in the hedgerow.

An ancient buff ( above) had disappeared off and away from the others before she had collapsed as did Theresa the knackered old one eyed turkey, who had wandered off just before locking up 

I wasn't sad at all at the findings for winter weather is the equivalent of the ice flows for Eskimos , it culls out the old.

The bodies, I moved to the local Badger sett. At least they would enjoy a good meal during the night and when I thought about it all, the more I felt that the Eskimos had the right idea.....

When my time comes, before I have to rely on some uninterested carer in a urine smelling retirement home to wipe my arse, I think I would like to have the opportunity to wander away in the rain to lay down under a hawthorn hedge and have a final chance to look at the sky.

Then the badgers could stuff their fat faces on me for a month

My Rocky Relationship With Vomit

Now not wanting to sound like a rotund Julian Clarey, Still I have to say that I can cope rather well with most bodily fluids if they are flung at me.
This 'robustness' hails not only from my general nursing experience but from my time as a psychiatric nurse, a time when I have been pelted with and covered by every consistencancy of human waste possible.
(I remember one particularly revolting experience,when as a student nurse I got hit by a wet 'Cowpat' of a human turd right on the back of my neck, just as I was enjoying a cup of tea too!)
Anyhow, I do have one Achilles' Heel when it comes to waste,
And that is vomit.
Even now when I am holding that paper mâché vomit bowl up to the retching face of a patient, Inside I do that reciprocal heaving motion in sympathy so to speak, and if I was totally stripped of my professional responsibilities, I am sure that I could quite easily push their face out of the way and fill the bowl myself......TO THE RIM!
Now this weakness comes from another long distant nursing experience........it's not a product of the all of those student-post-nightclub-on-an-early-shift throw ups.....no....it hails from an unfortunate mouth-to-mouth moment with an elderly drunk, who promptly vomited the contents of his savory mince dinner into my mouth moments after he had so thoughtfully collapsed at the dinner table.

So....keeping all this in mind...imagine my delight in finding one of the hens suffering from sour crop.
Now sour crop IS a fun thing!
For those that don't know it's a fungal disease of the crop of a bird and happens when the bloody thing does not empty. The crop fills with what could only be described as green foul smelling liquid vomit which has to be expressed by the caring owner ( ME!) before the poor animal can be treated with a soothing medication of natural yogurt.
God I hate this job
Twice a day I have to turn the poor bugger upside down and drain her of what often seems like a quart of what can only be described as 'zombie fluid'
Then, when I am in a state of that could only be described of as an attack of the vapours, can I inject the much welcomed yogurt, moments before I start retching myself.
It's all rather unsavoury to say the least.
Hey ho
I am off to lie down in a darkened room

You can just make out the crop contents.....how delightful

Disney does Zombies

The Walking Dead goes Disney

Thanks to Kate. 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY

Today is my father-in-law's 70th Birthday

He is celebrating in Kent with the family today and next weekend

On his next visit up to Wales my family will hold a Birthday meal in his honour

Have a grand day Richard

X

Sister Gray of The nine hens

People may recall the lady from the village who has been suffering from short term memory loss...she  is the lady we had planned to visit on Christmas Day, that was until she received a better offer of a cooked lunch.
Anyhow,ever since then, around three times a week, I have got into the habit of plating her up a portion of lunch or dinner if I have made a little too much for the two of us. It's not much of a job to do, and it gives me an excuse to 'pop in' so to speak, but I had to chuckle to myself on Friday afternoon when I called in all virtuous and worthy with my foil covered plate only to realise that others had already beaten me to it.
A freshly baked cake had pride of place on the kitchen top, a gift from one of the Church ladies and in the fridge was a couple of shop bought puddings.
I was informed that a male neighbour had just left after sorting out a few problems with this and that and as I was just about to leave another villager was arriving with some items requested only that morning from the garage shop.
Such is the uncoordinated good will of the middle aged....
I think there is a fine line to be walked here between being 'helpful' and being an f@€king pious and saintly old fart who is full of their own importance.
I would like to think that most of us hail from the first category but I do in fact possess the self awareness to realise that being a good neighbour makes me feel just that tiniest bit happy and self congratulationary with myself put,more simply...being 'good' makes you feel good....
It's not rocket science.......and yobbos of the this world please take note......
Show an old lady across a road and you manufacture more back slapping endorphins within your brain than ever could be let free by downing two cans of red bull and a few n-cat tablets.

so here ends the sermon for today

Get out there

And hug a hoodie

Moel Hiraddug

Our friend Nigel has just made a flying trip to Trelawnyd which has been lovely.
I always enjoy his visits because being a history geek, he does drag us around local points of ancient interest by the scruff of our necks; jaunts that I must say that we ultimately rather enjoy even though I remember one rather unfortunate and painful expedition up the slope of an Iron Age hill fort near Conway dressed in a rather flimsy pair of flip flops.
Today he took us up Moel Hiraddug, a hill fort that more or less over looks Trelawnyd a little way to the South West.
It was fascinating, muddy, very skippy and all a bit of a laugh. especially as Nige and Chris had just a little trouble climbing to the top of the Hill Fort due to the conditions ( fortunately I was pulled up to the summit by the dogs) -

Nigel and Chris ( in his Australian hat---he told me it was Australia day!)

I am lucky knowing Nigel for he is blessed with the same somewhat tasteless sense of humour as I.
This afternoon was a case in point
On our return from Ancient hill fort explorations, Nigel decided to make some tea and as the dogs crowded around to watch he searched through his bags and gave each one a small treat.
" What did you give them?" I asked in passing
" warfarin tablets" Nige replied sardonically.

BitchWars

Jess and Meg in happier times

For most of January I will be popping into my sister\'s house on a daily basis to walk her patterdale terrier, Jess.
Jess and our Meg have hated each other ever since they met some five years ago and all it needs is a look in the wrong direction and the two of them can be found noisily locked together biting the f@*k out of any anatomy part that manages to come to hand.
Bitches are like the females of most species, for they never forget a slight and they NEVER forget a nasty bite up the arse.
Unfortunately Meg and Jess are both terriers (and terriers for those that don\'t know never EVER back down)
Having said all this, things have seemed to have settled down somewhat over the last year , so when I called down to Prestatyn to walk Jess on Monday,I thought I would take the chance to give her a further break by allowing her to come on a bit of a drive in the car.
Things went well all week. Jess was tied into the back seat with the ever calm William and George and Meg was given alpha female status in the front seat next to me. Everyone looked happy..and everyone got along. We have been out together all week long now and have visited the beach, the animal wholesalers and even been on a jaunt to my friend Eirlys\' farm, everything has been fine... That was until I made the mistake of taking my eye off the ball by putting a scotch egg into my mouth as I started to drive out of Sainsbury\'s car park.
I think it was the delightful aroma of egg and sausage meat that finally did for me, for as I took my first heavenly chew, all hell let loose.
OUT OF NOWHERE Jess started to manfully drag a barking Meg into the back of the berlingo by her face fur.
I slammed to a halt ( blocking the road as I did so) and spattering scotch egg everywhere tried desperately to separate the two as a small crowd started to form to watch. William was happy enough to each the shrapnel as it fell and I could hardly yell at any of them as it is almost impossible to utter anything bit a faint squeak when you have a mouthful of boiled egg.
For god\'s sake I could have choked to death but after a minute or two I did manage to separate the bitches and re tie them to their respective seats after vacating the car and clambering manically into the back .

during all of this palava, I have to note that George being the opportunist that he is, clambered into the front seat and managed to steal my last remaining scotch egg from its resting place on the dashboard.

Ettie Steinberg

This series is one of my favourites EVER.........