I am bereft. Naughty Chicken has died.
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Death in the Afternoon?
Well hello again everybody. I’m afraid My Muse is still on vacation, but someone has to write a post, so I thought I’d try to manage without its (his? her?) help. Oops… nearly got endlessly distracted by the question of whether my Muse has a gender, and if so, which. After a brief sojourn in the enticing alleys of Googleland, I caught myself disappearing down yet another pointless rabbit hole of procrastination. I suspect the Demon of Distraction is brain-sitting, while My Muse is away.
So let’s see. What can I write about without the assistance of any creative inspiration whatsoever? The lovely September weather? Nature’s Bounty and the plethora of plums and potatoes? The gorgeous cuddly bounciness of the happy, healthy and only surviving Barn Kitten? The glorious Joys of The Simple Life? Nah! Let’s talk about Death.
Continue reading
Posted in Chickens, Dogs, Life
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Ticked Off
This year is becoming one that I shall remember for the medical consequences of animal bites.
In March, I had the rare but painful experience of being bitten by a llama.
In June, I was bitten by a tick, and yesterday that took me to the doctor once more, to receive a message that could have significant long-term implications.
Empty Post
Aargh! It seems that I have forgotten how to write. Or maybe I have just forgotten how to think of things to write about. Or actually, maybe I have forgotten how to think of interesting things, to write about entertainingly. Whatever. The fact of the matter is that there is nothing but a big blank space in the place where my ideas used to live. The playground where my thoughts used to skip and slide, and squeal with the childish pleasure of a pocketful of possibility is deserted and silent, save for the ominous clanging of the left-open gate that chimes hollowly in the chill breeze of emptiness. Continue reading
And we’re back . . . . .
Val and I have just had our first week away from home together since we moved to France 2½ years ago. Thanks to good friends who came out from England to ‘farm sit’, we were able to leave the animals while we went off to enjoy ourselves.
Well, sort of. Continue reading
Bridge building
Val wrote about the flooding effect of the unseasonable rain in June. This episode was a forceful reminder of my long-standing wish that there was a bridge over the stream capable of allowing a tractor and mower to pass.
To reach the Willow Field, where Pedro and Ana are living, or to get to the path under the hazel trees that provides an essential part of our ‘parkland walk’, it is necessary to cross the stream. On foot, this is no problem (especially since Val improvised some plank bridges). However, with the tractor, unless the weather has been dry for some time, there is a real danger of bogging down in a great depth of sogginess. Although the tractor does always get through, the muddy, rutty mess left behind is pretty horrendous.
The alternative route, avoiding a stream crossing, involves travelling several hundred metres along the little chemins which run alongside our land and some neighbouring fields. A bridge would provide an all-weather, direct alternative.