I woke late this morning, not my normal 5am-6am appointment with the day, but 8.30 it was. Not to worry, everyone was still in sleepy mode, no-one was bleating, squabbling, clucking, quacking barking, or carrying on. There was no cockerel either, loudly proclaiming to one and all that it was about time he and his girls were paid attention to and let out.
As I trundled along to the loo, the air seemed quiet. I sat on the loo, thinking that I was missing the sound of Orpy talking to the air. And then it started. It was not a loud and boisterous sound as could be heard from Orps in his prime, no this was a thin sound, but obviously coming from a cockerel because the sound was in the general framework of 'cock-a-doodle-do', well sort of.
And it wasn't one little crow, it was a stream of them, one after the other. On they continued as I put the kettle on for tea, and then they stopped.
It would seem that the cockling grandson of Orpy has stepped into the vacant space of head crower.
Now if this had been December, then that little cockling would have probably gone into the freezer. We have tried letting young cockerels stay with the girls, but there comes a point when hormones arrive and those youngsters start wanting to fertilize the eggs being made inside the hens, becoming competitive and aggressive as they do so. This puts the hens under strain and puts tension into the air. So, for the sake of the well-being of the hens, we only have one cockerel on site.
But this little cockling has been different. For a start we thought he was a hen because he didn't seem to display any cockerel-like tendencies, and it has only been during the last couple of weeks that we have realised that he is a male because he has been growing tail feathers. But he has stayed docile and not showing any competitive spirit towards Orpy, neither has be seemed inclined to practice mating with the girls.
The little cockling crowed this morning, and it was a super duper first time effort making Lester make the remark about the spirit of Orpy living on. However, if the Cockling is to stay here it would mean that he would be mating with his aunts, sisters, cousins, etc, or even his own mum, although we do have several new hens here which are not related to him. Not sure what to do about this. For the moment, therefore, we shall let things be as they are meant to be. The Cockling has come into his own at the right time for us, so for the moment we shall let him be and let time give us the right solution.
Was supposed to be putting one of the young pigs into the freezer this weekend, but Orpy's passing sort of left footed us, so we didn't. The effort of terminating a life requires a certain state of mind, and neither Hubs or myself have it at the moment. But one day, when the time is right, we shall get up and it well be 'let's do it', then we shall.
One of our friends came round yesterday. Told us that when his pig was slaughtered professionally it first had all four feet individually roped, that four men then hung on to those ropes so that the legs became splayed, that the pig was squealing and wriggling the whole time, that then the two back legs were brought together, that the pig got hoisted up, then stunned, then the throat was cut. Strooth, but if we had to do that I would never ever be able to eat that meat, neither would I encourage Lester to keep on keeping pigs. For us, when that end moment comes, the pig will not know what has happened.
Lester has been practising for this moment and has started feeding the pigs in the pen, rather than putting the food over the fence. The small male pig has started letting Lester touch him. He will be the first to go, mostly because he has started putting pressure on his mum, his aunt, and his sister, all of who still live with him.
Lester will put the food down in separate piles as per normal, then he will move nearer to the male and put the humane gun to his head. The plan was to then slit the throat to drain the blood, then remove him quickly off site to carry on with the task of getting him into the freezer. According to what we have read, the other pigs do not bother with becoming involved. Not so, said our friend. He said that if the others got a smell of the blood then they would barge in to have a eat of it. He said that if Lester was in the way, that Lester might be got at too. This has worried Lester. Lester has just read on the Internet about a man who kept hogs, and that all that was found of him was his false teeth and few items of clothing. What with our friends opinion and the reading about this man, well, Lester has sort of freaked himself out about doing the job.
I am sure we shall manage. We shall keep responsibility for our animals and the food they provide us with. I shall bless the experience ahead of time, and ask the Universe for the task to go as painlessly as possible for all concerned. We shall not pass on this responsibility to others, that of killing our animals. We raised them. We shall do the task ourselves.
Meanwhile, the Cockling crowed this morning, and the male pig has another few days of being looked after and cossetted, and I did actually get to sing at the concert last night because my voice was needed to give some clout to the other soloist whose voice was being drowned out by the harmony coming from the rest of the choir, and Lester has come up with a plan about the best way forward to sort out that male pig.
The day has a curious quietness about it, a sort of waiting is in the air, of anticipation, of things going to happen but not yet.
An owl flew straight past my windscreen when I was on my way to the concert last night. When owls appear suddenly it means that something is on its way, but not today, for today is quiet day. I shall enjoy it while I can. Out into the field I am going. To scythe is what I shall be doing.
I hope you are enjoying a quiet day as well, and I hope you are looking forward to your tomorrows with eager anticipation of what it is to come.
Sending blessings to you.
Sunday, 7 October 2012
Saturday, 6 October 2012
She's better, he is not
The brown mum goat has had a limp. She doesn't have it now. Lester trimmed her hooves, found a wound in between her toes, sorted it out. Now she can charge into the sides of others, if she has a mind to do so. All four feet are now able to provide her with a springboard for her charge. She is well. She is better.
Orpy's comb was going from red to purple and back to read again all the day long. I watched it with fascination. He stayed close, seemed to want to be near to us. Missed him yesterday afternoon. Lester said he was around somewhere. Went to look for him at dusk. Found Orpy. He was in the Hen Hut, not on the perch but on the ground. Deceased.
We thought we heard a cockerel crow at dawn, but it was a splintered call, not Orpy-like. Assumed it was the young cockerel, who is the grandson of Orpy, starting to practice his crowing. It takes a while for them to master the art of doing this. We thought we heard him do his first practice. In hindsight, we think that it was Orpy trying to welcome the dawn, but the effort expired him.
But at least he died with his girls around him. The previous day he had even mounted one of the hens. You can tell when a cockerel has done his duty because the hen gets a bit of a wet botty. And we had made a fuss of him, just to let him know that we appreciated his efforts at keeping our hen flock provided with new additions.
All in all, it was a good death for him. At least he can rest now.
We are, however, feeling upset. Surprising how animals wriggle their way into the heart.
Orpy's comb was going from red to purple and back to read again all the day long. I watched it with fascination. He stayed close, seemed to want to be near to us. Missed him yesterday afternoon. Lester said he was around somewhere. Went to look for him at dusk. Found Orpy. He was in the Hen Hut, not on the perch but on the ground. Deceased.
We thought we heard a cockerel crow at dawn, but it was a splintered call, not Orpy-like. Assumed it was the young cockerel, who is the grandson of Orpy, starting to practice his crowing. It takes a while for them to master the art of doing this. We thought we heard him do his first practice. In hindsight, we think that it was Orpy trying to welcome the dawn, but the effort expired him.
But at least he died with his girls around him. The previous day he had even mounted one of the hens. You can tell when a cockerel has done his duty because the hen gets a bit of a wet botty. And we had made a fuss of him, just to let him know that we appreciated his efforts at keeping our hen flock provided with new additions.
All in all, it was a good death for him. At least he can rest now.
We are, however, feeling upset. Surprising how animals wriggle their way into the heart.
Thursday, 4 October 2012
Spring time, new blog, Hubs gets busy
Notice to self: it is best not to eat breakfast when in the area of the computer. Cheese on toast is alright, just about, because the crumbs, should they be dropped on to the computer keyboard, can be got out again by inverting the keyboard whereupon they should obligingly drop out, together with an amazing amount of other minuscule detritus lodged therein. But it is the jam on toast which is no go. It is the nature of jam that it likes to stick things up, as I have experienced when making pots of jam on numerous occasions. It is also in the nature of jam to have a certain runny characteristic, this characteristic producing dribbles of stickiness which hopefully remain on the plate but most times do not, creating drips of stickiness all over my fingers, sometimes down the front of me, sometimes onto the computer table. Now I am not a messy eater, just inattentive, so the sticky blobs and drips can go unnoticed. It is only later that I connect with them, like when I put my fingers on the keyboard and get stuck to a key. This I must be more attentive to, because it is in the nature of even the tiniest bit of sugary jam to spread itself all over the place long after the jam on toast has been eaten.
And oh what a lovely morning it is today. The birds up in the trees are in full voice, the air holds a warmth to it, and the promise of Spring is in the air. This happens every year around this time, that there is a day which says that no matter what weather lies ahead, that Spring will definitely arrive. It cheers the heart. I wish I could parcel up the loveliness of the morning and send it to you all.
I started writing a book about how France arrived in our lives, but at 70,000 words an electrical failure crashed the book, losing half the words. So I gave up. But Leon and Sue over at Melbourne -Our Home on the Bay asked me a while ago about how we came to be in France, which has triggered off my thoughts about getting the book again, but I thought I would work myself into the project by posting a blog about how we have done just that.
Here is a snippet of some of the first post:
How did we get to this madness, this insanity. It is dark. We have been on the road for hours. It is early morning. No lights are shining anywhere. I want to go to the loo. There is no ‘proper’ loo, only the porta pottie, and that is buried underneath stuff. I want to have a cup of tea and a warm bed. All I have is the camper van in which I am now sitting. Lester is out having a pee somewhere. It’s easier for men. A zip, that is all they have to manage. For us girls, there is a waistband to undo, knickers to drop, then hold a squatting position whilst trying to keep all the lower half clothing out of the way of the dribbles. But I need to go, so I do. Outside I go, into thigh high grass which is soaked through. I stumble a little way from the campervan until just out of range of its lights. Fortunately I have a skirt on. It is easier to go to the loo when wearing a skirt because it can be lifted up out of the way leaving just the undergarments to cope with. Less to have around the ankles.
Job done. Hem of skirt now soaked, but with wetness from the rain soaked grass and not from anything else. Bools bounces out of the darkness towards me. He is also feeling better after his loo trip. Easier for him. He just cocks his leg. He is our Springer Spaniel. He at least is full of joy, I am full of ‘What have we done.....’
Indeed, what have we just done. Only sold up in the UK and shipped us and our belongings to South West France. In a convoy we had travelled: two bright red vans, and us in our white campervan. Despite the satellite navigation system which Gary, our removal man, had insisted would get us all the way to our destination but which had had us going round and round in circles on the Paris ring road because the sat nav went into a hissy fit and kept taking us off the main road towards somewhere else despite the signs telling us to keep straight ahead which Gary ignored having more faith in that thingumyjig of a device. But it was done with grand bonhomie. No one lost their temper. On all of the drive down none of us became irritable. But now we are. I want my bed. Lester wants his bed. But our proper bed is packed in one of the vans. We have a bed in the campervan but it is drowning beneath stuff piled high upon it, this we throw onto the driving seats or on to the floor leaving Bools a small space so he can sleep too. Thankfully we lie down. Sleep does not come easily. We are too tired. Images of the day are stamped in our minds too strongly.
It is daylight. I look at my watch. 8am. I have a peep through the curtains. Feel an urge to explore my new home. Lester turns over, needing more sleep. No lie in for him today. We need to get on with unloading the vans so that Gary & Co can start back to the UK.
In the dark the house had looked like a big black lump. Now it looks smaller, less intimidating. Only half a roof of course, but we knew that, and less of it as well so more must have taken a tumble....... etc...... you can read more here.
I also have a friend who is in the middle of a crossroads in her life, and I thought that by writing about how we found our way through our own crossroads, and took the path that we did, might give her and her partner some encouragement as well. You can find her blog here.
Oh dear, time is pressing on, so will let you know how busy Hubs as been in the next post.
And oh what a lovely morning it is today. The birds up in the trees are in full voice, the air holds a warmth to it, and the promise of Spring is in the air. This happens every year around this time, that there is a day which says that no matter what weather lies ahead, that Spring will definitely arrive. It cheers the heart. I wish I could parcel up the loveliness of the morning and send it to you all.
I started writing a book about how France arrived in our lives, but at 70,000 words an electrical failure crashed the book, losing half the words. So I gave up. But Leon and Sue over at Melbourne -Our Home on the Bay asked me a while ago about how we came to be in France, which has triggered off my thoughts about getting the book again, but I thought I would work myself into the project by posting a blog about how we have done just that.
Here is a snippet of some of the first post:
How did we get to this madness, this insanity. It is dark. We have been on the road for hours. It is early morning. No lights are shining anywhere. I want to go to the loo. There is no ‘proper’ loo, only the porta pottie, and that is buried underneath stuff. I want to have a cup of tea and a warm bed. All I have is the camper van in which I am now sitting. Lester is out having a pee somewhere. It’s easier for men. A zip, that is all they have to manage. For us girls, there is a waistband to undo, knickers to drop, then hold a squatting position whilst trying to keep all the lower half clothing out of the way of the dribbles. But I need to go, so I do. Outside I go, into thigh high grass which is soaked through. I stumble a little way from the campervan until just out of range of its lights. Fortunately I have a skirt on. It is easier to go to the loo when wearing a skirt because it can be lifted up out of the way leaving just the undergarments to cope with. Less to have around the ankles.
Job done. Hem of skirt now soaked, but with wetness from the rain soaked grass and not from anything else. Bools bounces out of the darkness towards me. He is also feeling better after his loo trip. Easier for him. He just cocks his leg. He is our Springer Spaniel. He at least is full of joy, I am full of ‘What have we done.....’
Indeed, what have we just done. Only sold up in the UK and shipped us and our belongings to South West France. In a convoy we had travelled: two bright red vans, and us in our white campervan. Despite the satellite navigation system which Gary, our removal man, had insisted would get us all the way to our destination but which had had us going round and round in circles on the Paris ring road because the sat nav went into a hissy fit and kept taking us off the main road towards somewhere else despite the signs telling us to keep straight ahead which Gary ignored having more faith in that thingumyjig of a device. But it was done with grand bonhomie. No one lost their temper. On all of the drive down none of us became irritable. But now we are. I want my bed. Lester wants his bed. But our proper bed is packed in one of the vans. We have a bed in the campervan but it is drowning beneath stuff piled high upon it, this we throw onto the driving seats or on to the floor leaving Bools a small space so he can sleep too. Thankfully we lie down. Sleep does not come easily. We are too tired. Images of the day are stamped in our minds too strongly.
It is daylight. I look at my watch. 8am. I have a peep through the curtains. Feel an urge to explore my new home. Lester turns over, needing more sleep. No lie in for him today. We need to get on with unloading the vans so that Gary & Co can start back to the UK.
In the dark the house had looked like a big black lump. Now it looks smaller, less intimidating. Only half a roof of course, but we knew that, and less of it as well so more must have taken a tumble....... etc...... you can read more here.
I also have a friend who is in the middle of a crossroads in her life, and I thought that by writing about how we found our way through our own crossroads, and took the path that we did, might give her and her partner some encouragement as well. You can find her blog here.
Oh dear, time is pressing on, so will let you know how busy Hubs as been in the next post.
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