Animal Ark

My hens show no fear of my cat, Spud.

Spud Cat fails in his duty as doorman

Shortly after they arrived, Spud paid close attention to them (as possible lunch) and they ganged up on him, flying at him with feet and claws outstretched.  Ever since he's been most respectful, which is a relief as I want all my animals to live in harmony, which for most part they do.  

Also the girls show no respect for place, theirs being the hen run and the garden.  It's becoming clear that they simply don't agree with my perception of where they should live, particularly Henrietta who is gang leader on their all too frequent forays into the house.   

This is the result.  Should I phone Gamblers Anonymous?

And she is getting bolder. 

A few days ago she hopped up onto the computer desk while my back was turned.  I just managed to grab the camera in time to catch her playing a game of Freecell on the computer.  

Is she a new breed of cyber hen, I ask?  Is the human obsession for constant Internet connection and all things electronic filtering down through the animal population of the planet?

Where's the phone charger?

 No longer content with a warm bed and a handful of corn, will my feathered friends now demand a telly complete with digi-box in the hen house.  Will it be  mobiles to stay in contact?  Instead of the gentle clucking that comes from the shrubbery, will the peace be disturbed by a dreadful tinny 'Cockadoodle Do' ring tone?
The mind boggles.
Plus, I don't think the neighbours would be impressed as  I promised them I wouldn't get a cockerel. 


 

Just waiting for 'Chicken Run' to come on.

I once lost Henrietta. I searched the garden, the henhouse and garage but she was nowhere to be seen.  I walked down the road, quietly calling to her.  The hens respond to certain sounds  but I prayed that non of my neighbours were about. The sight and sound of a woman wandering down the street, calling 'buck buck' while examining their gardens, could make them worry. They think I'm mad anyway, there was no need to reinforce that opinion.

It was only when I returned for the car keys that I found her, standing on the back of the sofa, gazing at the telly.

So if this constant influx of animals continues, will we be classed as overcrowded?  Will I be forced to fling out an extension to the house?    I think I'd better think this through again.

Brandy and Loquisha

Brandy and Loquisha

I've had to say goodbye to two of my animals recently.
Brandy and Loquisha both departed this world for the next.  One death was expected, one not.
I know it's all part of having animals but I always find it sad to lose friends, which is what they are after all.

Brandy was eighteen when she died, a good age for a cat.  She was very pretty, tabby and white and always immaculate.  She also ruled like a queen, putting all new arrivals in their place with a quick bash over the nose.  She trained all my puppies to respect cats in this way.

Unfortunately she didn't tolerate other cats.  She and Spud had a long standing grievance, with Spud wanting to play and Brandy taking offence and launching an attack.  She hated all the neighbouring cats, none were allowed into her space.  Once a cat had the temerity to come into the house.  Brandy, then aged seventeen and already not well, took a flying leap at the stranger and the two of them, entangled in a flurry of hair, teeth and claws, disappeared out of the window.
I ran outside, expecting to find an injured animal or two but was rewarded by the sight of Brandy patrolling her boundary fence, yowling at the other cat.  They were both fine thankfully.

Brandy sunning herself around the Hydrangea

Latterly I knew that she was failing.  She had dementia, constantly calling for food even though she had just eaten, but she was losing weight rapidly.  She went to the extremes of waking me up at three in the morning (by walking over my hair) so that she could have breakfast.  I knew it couldn't continue and took her to the vet who said she was ready.  And so she is buried in the garden, next to Ras, a Wolfhound x German Shepherd dog, one that she shared much of her life with. 

I don't know what happened to Loquisha (Lucky for short).  I found her in the garden one night last week.  There had been no attack, she had simply died as far as I can ascertain.  It might have been a residual effect of her illness but she had seemed really well after her recovery, eating, clucking, laying eggs.  Hens can just die for no discernible reason and I only hope that she wasn't suffering in silence.  I don't think so, hens that aren't well look so sad, tails down and hunched up, and there was no sign of this in Lucky. 

Sharing a bite to eat (Lucky, foreground)

She was a delight to have known. An affable hen, she simply lived her life as she wanted, not pushy like Henrietta, nor vocal, like Mrs Cluck.  She foraged in the borders, occasionally came into the house but only if Henrietta led the way, and was seemingly happy in her existence.

Putting the world to rights (Lucky, centre)

While I miss animals that have shared their life with me, I don't grieve for them if they have had a good life, one lived as it should have been.
And I believe both Brandy and Lucky had a such a life. There was good food, a warm bed, lots of love and the most important thing, freedom.

Who ate all the Peas?

A lonely courgette.  Hopefully there will be more

 I haven't written too much about my vegetable patch as the weather has been so awful that nothing much has been happening out there.
It's getting a bit warmer, thankfully, but it's ridiculous that we've had to wait until July and August for the temperature to rise.  The main growing season is nearly over and there isn't much to show for it.
The runner beans and courgettes are starting to grow, much later than usual, and I've had a few broad beans.  The tomatoes are still small and green and the tattie crop isn't ready yet.

A good garlic crop

 But hooray, I have had success with the garlic crop.
I plant garlic in the autumn and let it overwinter as it actually needs cold weather to bump-start it into production.  A deluge of rain helped the bulbs swell and when it was time to dig them up I was more than pleased with the results.  I reckon I should have enough to cook with for an entire year but will probably lose most of my friends as they retreat from the fumes.
I also share it with my hens.  Apparently putting a clove on the ends of their perch helps deter mites.

I was very late planting out the seedlings of the calabrese (I was really busy on other projects - like going to work) and the plants got leggy sitting in the greenhouse.  I finally got them out into the garden and I'm hopeful of a couple of mouthfuls later on, but I doubt I'll get much more than that.

So, is it worth it?  All this work for what might be a small amount of produce?  It would be a lot quicker and easier to go to the supermarket and buy a bag of carrots.  They even come ready washed.  But it wouldn't give me the same satisfaction.
Every year in early spring my thoughts turn to the garden and the amazing display I'm going to have.  I always get really excited as I plan where the crops are going to grow and imagine the freezer full of produce, enough to last the coldest of winters.  But they are just that, thoughts.  Things rarely work out as I've planned.
Part of the problem is that I have to do virtually everything myself.  I don't have the raft of gardeners that the telly programmes have.  They beaver away in the background, enabling the presenters to show us the amazing results. I understand why this has to be, but it's a bit galling when I see their perfectly tilled acres of land and then compare it to my few square yards of veggie patch with the weeds thrusting through in an attempt to kill off anything I've put in there.
And getting home late from work and only having the time, energy and inclination to throw a bit of water at the plants in the greenhouse doesn't make for good practise.  They need care and feeding - not just a deluge of water as night draws in.

Mr Toad on his flowerpot

However, gardening organically, or as organically as I can, I do have a little help.
Mr Toad has resided in the garden for a couple of years (there might be more than one but he/she/they seem to like the same flowerpot)  and I rely on him to rid me of a lot of the slugs that relish these rainy summers.
He is has a shy nature and doesn't like being disturbed, so I leave him to his own devices.
As far as I know toads bury themselves into the ground in winter and re-appear in spring. I once dug one up by mistake, not having realised that fact.

I also enjoy the hover flies that appear every summer. They are great assistants in ensuring that the plants are pollinated and I shout loudly at people who think they are small wasps.  They are  innocuous and very important in the pollination process so lets give them a cheer.

The pea thief

However, one crop I never try these days is peas and I have a very good reason for this.  I used to grow them but couldn't understand why they kept getting eaten before I got there to pick them.
And one morning I found the culprit.
A certain dog, found in the middle of the crop with a suspicious amount of green pods hanging from her mouth.  I won't mention her name but followers of this blog will note that she also likes seaweed.

So Many Dogs....

                                                  Henrietta conducts the singing

It's been a busy week.  My elder daughter's two dogs

came to stay plus I'm looking after Beau Samoyed

Beau rounds up the girls

whose owner is in hospital.  

Luckily the dogs all get on well with each other - and 

with Spud the cat - but the hens were a little insecure

for a few days as the incomers tended to gang up on 

them.

Nothing too awful happened but there were a few 

squawks and some ruffled feathers until the status quo

was re-established as the hens like to feel they are

in charge of the situation.

Samoyeds were originally bred for pulling sledges and for herding (and also used as nanny dogs, guarding the herder's children) and it's possible that Beau thinks the hens are small reindeer, not having clapped eyes on either before.  But he has a lovely nature and soon made friends with my girls, which is just as well as I don't know how long he'll be staying with us.                                                          

Ross, Pup and Beau, my three visitors

As you can imagine, the logistics of looking after so many animals in a small house proved difficult.  The dogs are each used to a particular brand of food and Beau has medication for arthritis and epilepsy.  Ensuring that each dog had it's nose in the correct bowl at supper time was tricky.  I had to stand over them to make sure that nobody sneaked the wrong meal and Spud had to eat his dinner on top of the fridge otherwise he would have missed out, the competition was too great.


Another logistical problem was keeping the various animals in the right place at the right time.  Visitors to this blog might have noticed a children's stair gate at the front door and wondered why it was there. 
It's to keep the hens out and the dogs in or out, depending on where I want them to be.  It seemed to be a really good idea at the time, allowing me to keep the door open in summer if the weather permitted.  But like all good ideas, it has its failings, animals being brighter than we give them credit for.
Megan can open the gate if it's not fully locked down.  She lifts the handle with her mouth (after opening the front door with her paws) and leaves it open for the hens to come in.  I've tried to explain the merits of closing it behind her but this bit of logic seems to have gone over her head.  Consequently I'm often met in the hallway and kitchen by a feathered flurry of girls investigating various food and water bowls.

Okay, where's the corn?

Henrietta has also worked out that when the gate is closed it's there to provide an additional perch, plus, if she hops down, she can investigate any crumbs that might be lurking in corners.  Mind you, with all these dogs there are few crumbs left to lurk in any corners, canines make efficient hoovers.
Which rather neatly leads me to another revelation, which is the sheer amount of dog hair that I am left to vacuum up.  It is phenomenal.  I could knit jumpers with it if I had the time - or the inclination.
But no, I don't.
 

Help, I've got squatters

Before leaving all was normal

I was in London at the weekend, spending time with my son and his family.  Visits between us are rare as it is a long journey, virtually the length of the country.  I had a wonderful time and all too soon it was time to take the overnight train and head for home.

However, when I got back I found that things were not quite as I'd left them. Not only was the grass decidedly longer and the veggie patch  more overgrown (the weeds are loving the rainy weather we've been having) but  the garden and the hen-house had been over-run by squatters.

It's not something we normally have a problem with up here in the north; squatters prefer the inner city.  And living in a small village, I thought that the Neighbourhood Watch signs would be an effective deterrent to any miscreants. But either the intruders were bolder than most, ignoring the twitching 

of net curtains, or they had arrived under cover of darkness.

I'd arranged for friends and family to look after my animals while I was away but

Megan eyes up the intruders...

I discovered that a certain member of the family had left the garden gate open, allowing the 'visitors' to get into the property.  Thankfully they hadn't broken into the building itself but it was a close run thing.  

Margo realised the visitor was holding a shotgun

 Two had taken up residence on the doorstep and I found another  (a far more dangerous looking individual) lurking in the hen-run.

...and bests the cauliflower thief

To add insult to injury I noticed that one of the little people was holding a cauliflower.  He must have pinched it from a neighbouring allotment as I haven't any growing in my patch.

With horror I realised I could be arrested for receiving stolen goods.
Action had to be taken. And quickly.

Megan made quick work of the cauliflower thief but the hoe-less gnome and the murderous twitcher proved harder to shift.

I decided that the only course of action was to pay them off.

The member of the family responsible for their arrival lives in one of Scotland's major cities so, after extolling the virtues of metropolitan living, I gave them her address, directed them to the bus stop and handed them the fare.

They accepted my bribe with alacrity, obviously the thought of clubbing in the city appealed to them, although I omitted to mention that the cauliflower and shotgun might be removed from their persons before they gained entry to city nightlife.

'Hey Ho
 Hey Ho 
To Aberdeen We Go'

I watched them leave with no feelings of regret but I do hope that their new life in Scotland's oil capital will be a great success and that any ventures they pursue will bring them happiness - and the desire to put down roots there.
Permanently. 

Mysterious Fauna

Iggy in the bath

As I've mentioned before, I work as a dogwalker.  A friend and I run a small business called 'Animal Aunties'.
We also look after cats, parrots, chickens, horses, small caged animals and whatever happens to come our way, which is why I had an iguana living in one of my bedrooms for a few weeks.  In a large tank, I might add.
My grandchildren were fascinated and my grandson, on looking at her for the first time, turned to me with wonder in his eyes, asking 'Granny, is that a dragon?'
'Yes,' I replied, not wanting to spoil the magic.
'Does she breathe fire?', he asked in a whisper, as if frightened that she might let loose with a burst of flame.
I told him no, and that there was nothing to worry about, but clearly he felt that she should.  And perhaps he still imagines that she does spurt flame, despite what old Granny told him.  And why not?  If you can't experience some mystery and magic when you are a child then it's very sad. 

And it's amazing what mysteries we come across when we are dondering around the countryside with dogs in tow.  Or in tow to the dogs, which is usually a more realistic scenario.
A few weeks ago, on our usual morning walk by the sea, I looked up and saw two pigs in the distance.   I know there are wild boar on the loose in the countryside but these were Tamworths.  Yes, our very own 'Tamworth Two'.
We got closer.  The pigs looked at us curiously then started following us.  We put the dogs on leads as they were turning themselves insides-out trying to fathom what on earth these strange creatures were.
We must have looked an odd sight as we walked along, with the dogs having to be pulled backwards, followed by the two friendly sandy coloured pigs.  Maybe they thought we had food but, eventually realising that there was nothing to be had, they trotted off in search of richer pickings.  We later discovered that they were escapees from a nearby farm and apart from a few later sightings we've heard nothing more of them.  I hope they have been recaptured and are back where they belong.

Then there are the regulars, the dolphins and the ospreys.  In the summer we often see dolphins cavorting in the Moray Firth.  They are wonderful animals and a sighting of them fairly sets you up for the day.  Sometimes they are heading for Chanonry Point on the Black Isle, but often they hunt here at Spey Bay.  The dolphins round up the shoals and then the gannets come in, diving into the water and creating the tremendous spectacle of a feeding frenzy.
The dolphins often come in close to the shore and it's an amazing experience to just stand and watch as they leap and twist out of the water.
And the ospreys fish here too, in the pools behind the shingle bank and in the river, catching the salmon to take back to their chicks further inland. 

I've also seen Orcas.  Although they come into the Firth on a yearly basis my sighting was some time ago.  I simply couldn't believe my eyes.  Five killer whales broaching the waves not two hundred yards offshore.  I checked up with the local Whale and Dolphin Society which operates from across the river Spey and they confirmed the sighting.  I just felt so lucky to have witnessed them as they made their way west.

But there are also animals that I've spotted that perhaps shouldn't be here. Or maybe they should, depending on your point of view.  And after years of watching these particular creatures I'm beginning to believe they've been around for a lot longer than we may have thought.

I'm talking about big cats.

I've seen them five times in fifteen years.  The first time was at Mulben in 1999, when a cat crossed the road in front of my car.  This was a Eureka moment for me as I'd  heard of them, interviewed people who had seen them and written about them, but, until then, never seen them myself.  I've also seen them twice in Lhanbryde and twice here where I live.   I've heard the cats (a leopard's cough, and on one occasion a sort of 'grumbling' noise) and smelled their strong tomcat odour.
The animals are black, have the bodies of leopards with very long thick tails but have a slightly different head.  It's more like a giant domestic cat's face, they don't appear to have the strong jawline of the African leopard.  This makes me think that they may be a slightly altered strain of panther.  They live in the woods and appear to be completely self-sufficient, having a good amount of food available.  They will eat almost anything, from insects and birds, to rabbits, fish, deer and the occasional sheep, which explains their success.

I'm not the only one to have seen these animals of course, many people have reported sightings.  But there was an event, something very strange, that happened just a few weeks ago.
I was walking with a friend, along with our own three dogs, when Megan rushed out of the bushes, ears down and hackles up.  She refused to go forward, as did my friend's dog (Mrs Mist was behind us, chewing grass, and hadn't noticed anything).  We tried to urge them on but it was a no go. They just wouldn't move.

Megan at the spot where she refused to let us go forward.  What did she see?

Megan went back down the path towards home, then turned and looked at me as if to say 'don't be a plonker'.  You could almost hear the audible sigh as she returned, took my gloved hand and pulled me back, away from any perceived danger.
Usually on a walk, Megan is like a bull in a china shop.  She crashes through the bushes and will chase rabbits, birds and, on the odd occasion, deer.  I don't like it when she does this, but it happens.  However, this time she was clearly petrified and so we decided to take notice and walked away, with the dogs looking back to where we had been standing minutes before, as if checking that nothing was coming after us. 
What had they seen that we hadn't?  Was it a another cat?  I don't know, but it is possible as big cats have been seen on several occasions in this immediate area.  And no, I haven't managed to photograph them but I live in hope that one day I will.  Unless Megan takes me away first!

Make Do and Mend

My dogs amongst the pink flowers of 'Thrift'  An appropriately named plant under the circumstances

Sadly, when I look at the glass this week, it's half empty. This coincides with the state of my bank account, thanks to Mr Chancellor.  I've managed to pay the car tax and the council tax but my self-employed national insurance payment is overdue.  And because of these taxing demands on my income, I can't afford to fix all the things that have gone phut recently.
I admit the situation isn't life threatening but it's damned annoying.

The dishwasher broke.  This doesn't matter as I can always use the sink but I miss being able to hide dirty dishes when somebody comes to the door.  And the digi-box is on the blink.  It freezes the screen and only works if facing away from the telly. Now I have to leap off the sofa and stand by the window every time I want to change channels otherwise the box doesn't receive the command signal from the remote control. 

My faithful old hairdryer went 'ping' and expired on Friday.  No, it's not the end of the world either, but it used to belong to my mother, was at least 20 years old and I was accustomed to having it around. 
Okay, 20 years is a good innings for any appliance, but this one went just as I switched it on, minutes before I was due to go to work.  I resorted to towel drying and then combed my hair into some semblance of style before applying half a can of lacquer to keep it in place, otherwise it looks as if I've stuck my finger into the plug socket.  A further downside was that the hat I have to wear at work wouldn't stay on as my new hairstyle was completely solid.

Then there is the car.  It has gasket problems (I know how it feels) and it's tappets are tappeting.  They make a noise that resembles a sub-machine gun going off at full blast. My friends casually raise a hand in greeting without taking the trouble to turn their heads to look at me.  They know who it is by the sound of the engine.
Everyone else dives into the bushes.
And to add insult to injury, the starter motor is playing up.  Or, I should say, it's playing dead - for at least four turns of the key.  I've got a stone in the car that I use to beat it into submission.  I was told this was the thing to do but I'm not so sure.  It doesn't seem to be the slightest bit afraid of me and I've no doubt that it'll take revenge and refuse to start at all when it's most inconvenient - and raining.  It's the same stone that I used on my last car.  With that one I used it to hit the battery connection whenever it decided to take the day off and so the stone has become a very necessary part of my mechanical tool kit.

Finally in this tale of woe, the loo has broken.  I don't know who decided to manufacture a ballcock and all the trimmings out of plastic, but it was not a good idea.  At least with old fashioned copper you could bend the arm and lower the ballcock so the water switched off before reaching the overflow.  Not so with plastic.  It simply breaks. Which mine did.
The result was a constant trickle of water through the overflow pipe.  It ran down the outside wall and could have threatened the foundations if left that way.  Not being able to afford plumber's rates at the moment (children, become plumbers or electricians, trust me, you'll never be poor) I had to resort to ingenuity.  Being unable to turn off the stopcock (it was jammed for some reason) I stuck a screwdriver into the cistern to hold up the ballcock so as to slow down the flow of water, rammed a hosepipe into the overflow pipe outside, covered the join with duct tape and ran the hose around to the veggie plot. At least in the short term the water wasn't being wasted and as we don't have a hosepipe ban up here, it was perfectly legal.

My business partner came to the rescue.  She very kindly brought over some new parts for the cistern, reached in to lift up the plastic arm and snapped the joint completely.  Water shot up out of the pipe, hit the shelf above and soaked us.
With great presence of mind she covered the breach with her hand while I rushed to find the duct tape, while shouting something along the lines of the little Dutch boy, thumbs and sea walls.  She wasn't impressed.  Maybe she thought she'd have to stay in the bathroom for five days or however long it took for him to be discovered.
I eventually tracked down the tape (it was still outside - see above) and we repaired the joint.  She did manage to turn off the stop-cock completely, but unfortunately the bits she'd brought for the repair didn't fit.
Now going to the loo has become quite an experience.
I have to turn on the stop-cock, let the water fill the cistern and then switch it back off otherwise water floods the bathroom.  The overflow can no longer cope with the rush of water as my screwdriver/hosepipe system is defunct.
This is all very well, but, as all ladies of a certain age know, time is not always of the essence when needing  the loo.  But at least it amuses my grandchildren.

So if there is a mechanically/electrically minded plumber out there who would take pity on a poor old soul and come to her assistance, your help would be gratefully appreciated.  And while you are here, is there any chance that you could cast your eyes over the sealant around the bath?  It's not looking too good either...