"Talk about handicap — I'm a one-eyed Negro Jew".....

.....so said Sammy Davis Jnr.....

I have always thought that our cat , Albert is a spit for Sammy Davis Jnr.

Like the entertainer, he is a slight little chap with more chutzpah than you could shake a bagel at.

He is resolutely cheerful, has coped well with a disability ( he broke his leg badly when a kitten which has resulted in him having a faint limp which often resembles a bit of a swagger) and he is surrounded by his own canine " Rat pack" , who he clearly adores with a passion.

Can you see a resemblance?

....he also has a heart as big as a lion, for as small as he is, he will take on all comers without pause or thought. When only out of kitten hood, I remember watching him fight with a rat, which was just a little bit bigger than he was and I only let George administer the final "coup de grace" when the rat looked as though he was just about the get the upper hand.

The dogs tolerate Albert., and are careful not to act too roughly with him as he is not adverse in giving them a bit of a pasting if the need arise. He is accepted but not embraced by them, a fact that does not bother him in the least , as he delights in welcoming each dog in turn with a face rub, when he returns to bed after a night's mouse killing.

Mabel wrong footed him only slightly this week, and after a momentary pause to work out that she wasn't in fact Constance resurrected, he gamely  rubbed his chops against hers as she stood there, shaking like a bulldog shaped leaf

I don't think that she had ever "met" a cat  before.....especially one that could easily belt out "The Rhythm of life"

Dogs give a home a heart.. I always feel

A cat makes a house a home

Vinegar Tits,Blind Boris and Bulldog Nerves

Bruised and a little battered

Boris is in the wars today. Bingley during a sudden rush of testosterone broke into his enclosure and attacked him, scratching his head and neck with his claws.

Luckily Boris (who is a big soft pudding really) legged it into the goose house and safety but not before he was scratched in the eye. Initially I thought the eye looked alright, but this morning, things don't look too bright.

I have bathed and cleaned the wound this morning and will hopefully conscript my animal helper, Pat later for a repeat cleansing. I have kept him in his shed today

Nervous and eager to please

 72 hours after arriving, you will be glad to hear that Mabel is doing very well. For a five year old dog who has never been house trained, I am gobsmacked that we have not had any accidents as yet, ah the joys and strengths of two hourly toileting!

Mabel, I think, is a complex character.She is a show dog with a string of certificates to her name, and is a boisterous dog who has lived her life in a kennel rather than inside a family home.

Living inside a house with 2 new humans, a cat that has a personality similar to that of Sammy Davis Junior, and three other dogs has provided her with a whole new set of rules to deal with, and despite it all, she has coped extremely well.

Vinegar Tits

And as for the Crackhead Whores (which in future will be referred to as The CWs- to protect the sensibilities of my more delicate readers) They are all doing very well. "Vinegar tits" has led her small unkempt band to the field borders where they spend their day quietly away from the existing hens.

This distancing behaviour is normal for hen groups, I have seen it before time and time again....in a few weeks they will return and join the main flock, but will keep their own portion of the field just for themselves.

This morning I had a phone call from a guy asking me to take in 2 ducks

Believe it or not .......I have said no!

Phyllis Remembered

I am not a Churchgoer..in actual fact I have very little to do with religion in general.
Of course I know our vicar, who is a rather gentle and affable soul, but as my contact with clerics go, a few friendly words with him, is as far as I go.
As I was driving up to my brother's house today, I got to thinking about my professional relationship with hospital chaplains. (This train of thought was sparked by the sight of two elderly nuns driving what looked like an old Vauxhall Nova through Denbigh..But that's another story)
Over the years I have known several. For nurses they are somewhat shadowy figures that lurk on the periphery of nursing care. I am sorry to say that I have not particularly found their work "useful", apart from  perhaps the briefest of interventions with a dying patient and I must admit there is one Chaplain , I remember from my student nurse days in psychiatry with some irritation.


This is what I remembered today


The West Cheshire hospital . way back in the early 1980s still had a small and functioning Church. It was a rather unwelcoming, mid Victorian building of red brick, which always seemed rather more utilitarian in its design, for it had few of the period excesses and decorations one would expect from a Victorian house of worship.
Many of the long stay patients, most of which lived out their twilight years on the hospital back wards, would attend Church services on Sunday and occasionally we students would accompany them, especially if there was a "big" service on , say at Christmas or at Easter.


I remember one Christmas marshalling perhaps 15 patients from Irby Ward and with my fellow student helping out ( the trained staff would all be drinking coffee in the office) we walked down for Church service.
The chaplain was a man , I had never met, but I kind of took a dislike to him immediately for his obvious lack of warmth he showed to any of the institutionalised patients filing in to his church.


Dressed in some sort of robe ( robe in a Hospital Church?) I remember quite clearly the look of distaste on his face when one old lady chirped up loudly "Are you God?" from her place in the pews...
His reply was a short and rather sharp "No!"


Late to arrive was a patient called Pat, who was always a favourite with the students as she was "almost normal" in her behaviour and affect. Pat had been in hospital since the 1940s, and although dreadfully institutionalised , still retained a noticeable sense of humour, which was a rarity. She also took a great interest in people and would go out of her way to make a nervous young student nurse welcome on her ward, a fact that was much appreciated , especially as some of the ward staff were well known for not being THAT student friendly.
Pat always had a bad perm,an oversized overcoat with matching handbag (which was filled with fags and sweets) and too much make up on.....she also always had a strange companion in tow, by the name of Phyllis.(*)
Phyllis , too had been in hospital probably over forty years, but whereas Pat was sociable and interacted with staff, Phyllis remained in her own, isolated little world.
Today she perhaps would come under the broad definition of someone with learning difficulties.... back in the 1940s, she would have been lumped with the official title of "Moron".


Phyllis could not speak, in actual she had difficulty breathing, which she did in strange guttural gasps and she had the oddest "look" about her, as she resembled a sort of a caricature of a rhino,( this sounds dreadfully unfair and unkind but it was true!) She had great difficulty walking and would only do so by holding on to Pat's arm, and the two women were devoted to each other as they pottered around the old asylum, running errands and smoking cigarettes together.


Anyhow,like I said, Pat and Phyllis were ever so slightly late for service and as they entered the Church door, we all heard Pat cheerfully apologise to the chaplain who was just about to start his service.
The chaplain walked across to the two in silence showing Pat where to sit down with a wave of his arm, and impatient at the interruption he actually pushed Phyllis, who was somewhat slower than her companion, brusquely to her seat.


I could see a couple of female student nurses in their pink uniforms and blue capes bristle at his behaviour, and as he started his big speech about the importance of Christmas, he looked annoyed at the clip clop of Phyllis' built up shoes on the stone flags as she struggled to find her pew.


I remember thinking... well if this is Christianity in hospital well you can shove it up yer arse!


The rest of the service was nice enough.... the hymns were sweet... the lady that shouted out "are you God?"...did so only once more....and  despite it's austerity the Church felt just that tiny bit festive, no thanks to the Chaplain...
But do you know what made the whole experience a memorable one for me and all of the other students dotted around the pews? it was Phyllis!
For when she and Pat got up to leave...Phyllis  tottered to the front of the aisle, and just as the chaplain was being congratulated by the hospital bigwigs for a job well done... she growled like a lion, squatted down, and pee'd all over the floor like a horse!

The mural at the bottom of Irby Ward Steps  Now demolished

* not her real name

Mabel and the Real World

A rather nervous Mabel in the back of the car

It must be hell coming to a new home in Wales when all you have known for 5 years is a kennel mate in Liverpool!

New sights, new smells, new dogs (and cat), new routine and new owner...it's a lot to cope with even though I am know I am pretty good at bedding a new dog in, so to speak.

Nervous dogs need consistency, patience and routine. They must not be pushed or forced to "join in" in any way but need an unhurried "boss" to lead them into the direction you want them to go.

Voices need to be lowered and actions slowed....it's all common sense really

Toileting has to be done every couple of hours ( Mabel has never lived inside a home so therefore is not house trained) and the company of a more laid back dog ( in her case George) should help her adjust to the changes of a new way of life.

Well that's the theory!

Bless it can't ever be easy.

Mabel managed to follow the other dogs into the car, and bless she shook like a leaf as I collected animal feed from the wholesalers and paid my Nurse registration at the bank (Did you realise that nurses have to pay nearly 80 quid a year just for the privilege of working?)

As we drove through a neighbouring village of Meliden, I noticed a mound of flowers outside one of the old miners' cottages....it was the many tributes left by the locals in memory of a Hungarian delivery man,Gabor Sarkozi who was murdered there only a couple of weeks ago..

Even in our semi rural situation the big bad world sometimes rears it's ugly head!

So when I got home, I was sort of happy to be lulled back into the pedestrian world of the village by

Mrs Hopkins, who called me over to her tidy little bungalow with the kind offer of my new winter mittens!

 They are a triumph of knitting engineering! Phase 1- fingers

Phase 2- mittens!!!!

I like living in the 1960s..I only hope that Mabel will!

Nosferatu and the new Gal

I enjoyed the showing of the 1922 Nosferatu. The 6 piece ensemble that played the accompanying music were talented enough and the whole experience was a new one for me.......the film was ok.....I loved the iconic vampire shots (vampire magically rising from a coffin/ vampire shadows on the wall etc)

and to be honest, I have never sat through the whole movie before even though I had studied two key scenes in detail when I did my films studies course in sheffield.

It was worth the effort.

When I got home, I got a shy little welcome from newbi Mabel.

She's a nervous little character, more robust than Constance physically, but she is a smaller and somewhat prettier bitch that . 

has never been away from home before. She has the look of a dog desperate for  gentle reassurance and a friendly smile ( yes dogs understand smiles very well), and she constantly searches your face for a sign of welcome and acceptance.

The other dogs, after giving her the usual welcoming "sniff" ( whilst rolling their eyes with a sort of "bloody hell here's ANOTHER one!" expression) have left her to her own devices, so I have been careful to constantly give her a gentle smile,a  kind word and a small stroke every time I've passed her.
The ghost of that affable despot Constance  is much in my mind at the moment

Funny just  how when one door closes... another one opens eh?.................

ps Hazel.... I sat in D13.. the woman on reception asked me how I was!

Mabel

She's stayed
..

Calm

Well only short post this morning....more later (bet you all can't contain yourselves!)

We survived Halloween. No little darlings trick or treating here (I wonder if the crackhead whores frightened them off?)..so the night (for Chris anyway who was working on paperwork all evening!) was quiet and uneventful.

After the bar room brawl of yesterday, peace of a kind has reigned on the field. "Vinegar tits"* is still "giving it large" towards the home field hens, but after getting a good pasting from the turkeys, she is a little more subdued

The pub quiz fundraiser for MND did very well last night, but I will let my sister tell the "official" story of that one.....I am suffering from the evening ever so slightly though... too hot a chili supper I am afraid......

Every time I cock my leg over a gate or fence..I am blowing off like the Queen Mary's Fog horn...

but that's a little too much info

I have a lot to do today (more later!) and I even have a ticket to tonight's special showing of the 1922 classic Nosferatu at Theatre Clwyd
* For those that don't know Vinegar Tits was the nickname the female prisioners had for a particulary horrible guard in the Australian soap Prisioner Cell Block H

Whore Wars

As any poultry keeper will tell you,  it is unwise to "let loose" a load of new hens into an existing flock. You have to introduce your girls gradually, preferably over a few days of seeing each other through a fence or run, and even then you are not guaranteed a peaceful amalgamation of birds.

The eleven new hens. the ones that had been shagged ragged by a cockerel the size of a bear, are a tough looking, sorry bunch who have been somewhat unkindly nicknamed the "Crackhead whores". Not one of them has a full set of feathers between them, and in actual fact two of the bigger ones have that crazy kind of look only seen in the eyes of Jerry Springer's most unsavory guests. So I just kind of knew that when I let the new girls out of their pen, the resulting introduction, would be interesting to say the least.

At first, nothing happened. "The Crackheads" slowly left the safety of their run in a tight knit group, led by an buxom alpha female black rock who I have subsequently nicknamed "Vinegar tits". Jane the American turkey wandered over to take a look and was immediately set upon by the black rock (a thing I have never seen before as turkeys can be terribly violent when challenged)

Jane retaliated, as the guinea fowl and other hens joined in, and before I knew it, a full cat fight from hell had started..with even all the seven geese shrieking at the top of their lungs as the brawl spread through the ranks

Only the Indian runners didn't join in, they all stood nervously next to the pond chattering " leave it....leave it..... they're not worth it" to themselves

I have seen all this before! The best thing to do is to take a big breath and walk away.

So with feathers flying like confetti,

I turned on my heels and went to have another cup of coffee