So this 'ere donkey is, at this very minute, supposed to be partaking of the grass in our back field.
He is the donkey, who at this very minute, is supposed to be on a trek across France with the Dutch girl, who got sixty kilometres up the road before deciding that that particular adventure wasn't for her. (She was supposed to be travelling back to Holland with a white camel only the camel which got brought down from Russia was unfit for the journey because it was knock-kneed with rickets so she had to buy a donkey from round the corner at the donkey farm which provides the donkey manure with which I have so much trouble. Anyway, she got the donkey, did a couple of saunters up and down the road then headed out in the general direction of Holland but as I say sixty kilometres up the road and she decided to come back. She is staying with Sara of the Camels.)
Said donkey needs feeding. Grass out on the back field is growing, needs cutting. Donkey introduced to grass. Hey presto! Job done. Grass cut.
Ah, actually no.
You see, the only means of stopping the donkey from going AWOL was to put it inside an electric fence. Good idea. Fence up. No means of getting electricity to the fence. Not to worry. Donkey can be put inside the portable electic-tape hung on plastic posts paddock. The theory being, that it will think that the electricity is on. Again, good idea!
Donkey put inside paddock yesterday. Ah, good donkey. Munched his way through loads of stuff: all the wild flowers, some of the grass, none of the dock weeds, none of the nettles. Never mind. He's doing well. Told him so when I went to have a pat with him in the late afternoon. Inside the paddock I went. So did Boolie. "Ah, munch-time" thought Bools when he espied a pile of donkey poo.
"No, Bools" I yelled, startling the donkey who was having a fondling moment with me, particularly round his ears. Up came his head. Spinning round, he charged at Bools, who was by now yelling his delight at the whole adventure. Round and round they chased. Actually round me, they chased. Fleet of foot I sprang through a gap which opened up between them, and got myself out of the paddock, hearing chortlings from the roofers who were perched up on the half-barn roof.
A little pat to say 'Good donkey', a growl at Boolie to say 'leave that blasted donkey poo alone, you have been fed today', and in retreat I went. Later on the donkey was fetched, walking back down the lane to Sara's.
Today: along came donkey. Into paddock. Left to eat whatever was left from yesterday. Busy in pow-wow with the roofers about things, donkey not made a fuss of. Lunch comes and goes, so do the roofers. Everyone fed. Apparently not. A garbled yell, and an urgent knock on the office door calls my attention to an escapee. Yes, you've guessed it! The donkey had walked through the 'electric' fence, and was under the oak tree partaking of a lovely tall clump of juicy grass. Obviously he had gotten bored with what was on offer in his temporary paddock.
He is the donkey, who at this very minute, is supposed to be on a trek across France with the Dutch girl, who got sixty kilometres up the road before deciding that that particular adventure wasn't for her. (She was supposed to be travelling back to Holland with a white camel only the camel which got brought down from Russia was unfit for the journey because it was knock-kneed with rickets so she had to buy a donkey from round the corner at the donkey farm which provides the donkey manure with which I have so much trouble. Anyway, she got the donkey, did a couple of saunters up and down the road then headed out in the general direction of Holland but as I say sixty kilometres up the road and she decided to come back. She is staying with Sara of the Camels.)
Said donkey needs feeding. Grass out on the back field is growing, needs cutting. Donkey introduced to grass. Hey presto! Job done. Grass cut.
Ah, actually no.
You see, the only means of stopping the donkey from going AWOL was to put it inside an electric fence. Good idea. Fence up. No means of getting electricity to the fence. Not to worry. Donkey can be put inside the portable electic-tape hung on plastic posts paddock. The theory being, that it will think that the electricity is on. Again, good idea!
Donkey put inside paddock yesterday. Ah, good donkey. Munched his way through loads of stuff: all the wild flowers, some of the grass, none of the dock weeds, none of the nettles. Never mind. He's doing well. Told him so when I went to have a pat with him in the late afternoon. Inside the paddock I went. So did Boolie. "Ah, munch-time" thought Bools when he espied a pile of donkey poo.
"No, Bools" I yelled, startling the donkey who was having a fondling moment with me, particularly round his ears. Up came his head. Spinning round, he charged at Bools, who was by now yelling his delight at the whole adventure. Round and round they chased. Actually round me, they chased. Fleet of foot I sprang through a gap which opened up between them, and got myself out of the paddock, hearing chortlings from the roofers who were perched up on the half-barn roof.
A little pat to say 'Good donkey', a growl at Boolie to say 'leave that blasted donkey poo alone, you have been fed today', and in retreat I went. Later on the donkey was fetched, walking back down the lane to Sara's.
Today: along came donkey. Into paddock. Left to eat whatever was left from yesterday. Busy in pow-wow with the roofers about things, donkey not made a fuss of. Lunch comes and goes, so do the roofers. Everyone fed. Apparently not. A garbled yell, and an urgent knock on the office door calls my attention to an escapee. Yes, you've guessed it! The donkey had walked through the 'electric' fence, and was under the oak tree partaking of a lovely tall clump of juicy grass. Obviously he had gotten bored with what was on offer in his temporary paddock.
Out Bools goes as well. With joy he espies the donkey. Off he gallops towards the donkey. Off the donkey goes at a matching gallop, with Bools gaily chasing on behind. Then Bools chanced upon a delightful smell which stopped him in mid-gallop enabling the donkey to have a breather as well. Me too. I was chasing after both of them. (Fortunately the moment was captured in the handily placed camera in my skirt pocket).The donkey was last seen heading back down the lane towards Sara's. It is unlikely that he will be allowed back to partake of our grazing, so I will have to resort to Plan A, which is strimming the whole field down myself, which is good for my waistline, and superb for my arm muscles, plus encouraging my bosoms not to give in to gravity. They are definitely more pert since I have been doing this self-sufficiency lark.
Now Boolie's turn to do watch-dog duties, as he has a look at the back field through our latest addition to the house: a hole. Of which we have plenty.This is the back wall to the winter garden, or antrim, being broken up. Sad to see it go, but it is tipping the whole back wall of the house outwards. So that piece of wall has to go, to be replaced with a ghastly block-brick wall, which will be covered over eventually.
But this wound is deliberate, and will save that side of the house. Bless. Labartere has been having such a lot of knocking around that it's a wonder she is still standing. But she is. 
And here I am listening to a cricket chirping away. At least I think it is a cricket. It is making an almighty amount of noise whatever it was. I was hoping to get a photo of it, but the little creature kept shutting up whenever I was in its neighbourhood. Never mind. Here are the buttercups in our back field, which is looking prettier than what it did last year when we arrived: it was covered over with wheat. Now it has lots of prettiness.
The donkey has now reached Sara's. The rest of the wall is coming down tomorrow. Lester has unglued himself from the PC at long last after a humungously long session over the last couple of days, and is out with his rotovator, shattering the peace and quiet of a lovely Spring evening. But at least he is doing what we came here to do. And I am doing what I came here to do which is writing.
All is well.
The donkey has now reached Sara's. The rest of the wall is coming down tomorrow. Lester has unglued himself from the PC at long last after a humungously long session over the last couple of days, and is out with his rotovator, shattering the peace and quiet of a lovely Spring evening. But at least he is doing what we came here to do. And I am doing what I came here to do which is writing.
All is well.
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