It's a Topsy Turvey World

Myka, the youngest of our two dogs, came to live with us from an animal rescue centre as a 12 week old puppy who had clearly been removed from her mother too young, had by that point had two further addresses before ending up left at the centre and had clearly suffered some abuse. We wanted an older dog, something the same age as Bryn but the rescue centre simply took us "round the back" to introduce us to the pup they wanted us to have despite my protests of "But I never ever want a puppy again!". (This was because when Bryn ended up coming to live with us after being dumped in a bin at around 8 weeks old he was my first dog, I much preferred cats. I have never forgotten the 3 months of Post Natal Depression which I went through with Bryn).
Anyway, we ended up with this scraggy sorry looking little thing who's heritage was questionable. She's now 7 and turned out to be a natural born comic, completely unladylike and a totally stinky muck magnet. Good job we love her (so does Bryn by the way). When we first took her to our vet for her vaccinations, Louise looked at her trotting along at the side of us and said "Ooo. Designer shabby chique!"

We do know that she has an awful lot of terrier in her (bearded we think) and some border collie, a combination which makes her a feisty dog who is happy to take on much bigger dogs if they threaten her.

Bryn, who weighs in at 46Kg and certainly has Labrador, staffordshire bull terrier and rottweiller in him,
had always assumed he was a little dog and had never figured out that his teeth were for anything other than eating dinner and tearing chewy toys apart. This is the boy who was chased up the lane by a chauwawa (or however you spell it). The same boy who seemed to firmly believe that if he sat behind a Daffodil, you couldn't see him, the same boy who frequently had me chewing my knuckles in frustration whenever he decided to be an adolescent and the same boy who spends his evenings sat on the floor of the lounge staring at me......all evening...... .every evening!

It is Myka who finally, (and unfortunately) taught Bryn that a dog's job is to bark furiously if anyone dares to walk past the house or use the public pathway at the side of the house, or chat as they stroll along the Trans Pennine route running along the back of the garden or if any other dog is walked past our house. Bryn is nearly 12 but after all these years I still damn near have heart failure when he barks unexpectedly. As big as he is, his bark is even bigger.

It is because of Myka that Bryn discovered what his teeth can be used for. Despite both my dogs being on leads Myka was targeted and attacked by a (oh God, I wish I could spell) Wiemeraner (tall, good looking grey thing) and a collie when she was around 20 weeks old. Somehow and whilst still on the lead with me trying to get my dogs away and "politely" advising the other dogs' (male) owner to take control of his pair; Myka simply flipped the, by now astonished, Wiemerama straight onto it's back. I felt a tug, dropped Myka's lead and, very luckily, managed to grab Bryn's collar in one hand and use his lead in the other to haul Bryn's head back as he suddenly went full on for the attacking dog's throat. He missed by a hairsbreadth. Both the other dog's realised their mistake and ran whilst they could. From that point on Bryn seemed to realise that he wasn't actually a pint sized pup and that, if needs be, he didn't necessarily have to run away like he had before if another dog glared at him. Thanks a bundle Myka!

Anyway, the point of this day's ramble is that, due to Myka's terrier part and the potential for trouble, whenever we let the chickens out of their run and into the rest of the garden for an hour or so, we make certain Myka is kept indoors, (much to her disgust). This means that on those hot sunny days which happen so often in England, if the chickens are having a garden moment we still have to have all our doors closed.

Last weekend I decided enough is enough, Myka was just going to have to learn to behave, that chasing or attacking the chickens is not acceptable and that everyone can be in the garden together if she follows these rules. So I went for it. I was in the garden working & I had let the chicken out to wander free. I then took a deep breath and opened the French windows where Myka was, as usual, sat staring at the chickens like they were dog TV.  Luckily Myka is very responsive to commands and tone of voice, so I made sure that I knew, (and that Myka knew I knew), where she was in relation to the chickens. I kept saying things like "Steady Myka, leave it, good girl, settle, no etc etc. My Bantam Drew was a little uppity and avoided being in the same space as Myka (which obviously made Myka more interested in her than in Harmony). Harmony remained cool and casual, although she did get a tad "huffy" whenever Myka tried to sniff Harmony's bum.

I repeated the exercise the next day and we can now, finally, leave doors open on milder days (another joy with Myka is that she is a quick learner). Never forget however, this is my world we are dealing with here.................

Currently Harmony is sat asleep in the kitchen where she has discovered the central heating radiator and apparently it's just the best thing ever and it's lovely and warm and it's everything a chicken could desire and she's finally inside the place where the Big Chicken (me) goes.

Myka, meanwhile, is very happily sat in the chicken run. Ho hum.

Nobody Likes Change

Drucilla is my bantam Silky chiken. Anyone who knows chickens will know that Silky's hold the world record for broodiness. Drew can spend up to 6 weeks at a time sitting on an imaginary egg. These periods call for special attention, otherwise she would not move to eat or drink. I think we've been quite creative in our methods of shaking her out of it. For example, taking her for a run around the block in the car seems to work. Throwing her out of the hen house and shutting everything so she can't get back in has some effect, as does not letting her go to bed until after dark.

Last weekend we decided to have a move around in Drew and Harmony's enclosure, including changing the position of the chicken house. Harmony was truely facinated and extremely (un)helpful as ever. Drew though was in mid brood on her usual imaginary egg and had no intention of leaving the house.

We figured we might as well leave her in there whilst we spring cleaned, so we closed the chicken house door and carefully moved it with her still inside. Oops.

Now Drew does regularly feel it is her task to take on the role of cockeral on Sunday mornings. She climbs up onto a rock in the enclosure and starts to give it her best cockadoodledoo, (strange from a chicken but she's actually not bad at it). I know from this that little Drew can kick up a volume, but really.......who knew chickens could shriek their way through the sound barrier???

When we were done I encouraged to come out of the house. She got to the door way, slowley looked around and the shrieking began! All my attempts to get her to shut up failed. Harmony ran into a corner and there she stayed looking from Drew to me and back. The volume was enough to bring one of the neighbours across the road out to see what on earth was happening.

Drew by now had stomped down the new gangplank to her doorway and was inspecting every edge of the enclosure, checking where her rock was, having a quick peck in various bowls to check the whereabouts of her food, grit and water, staring into the dirt bath bowl and sharpening her beak on each of the logs that are around for them to climb up and perch on.

I always feel a little uncomfortable when either of the chickens pointedly sharpen their beaks at me!

Having shrieked continuously whilst carrying out her inspection, she finally stomped back up the gangplank, still shrieking until she dissapeared indoors and, at last, it went quiet.

Only then did Harmony shake her feathers and come out of her corner to stand by me and give me a long look that seemed to ask "What was all that about then Big Chicken?"

I guess the moral to this episode has to be, never change anything without asking Drew first.

Stopping drafts my Hubby's way.

My husband's favorite saying is "I'll promise not to try to fix my car if the mechanic promises not to do therapy." (After all, this is the man who couldn't get the car to start so called the AA who suggested that petrol might be helpful). Despite this I thought that even he could block out a draft coming from near the base of the kitchen sink unit.

 He set to work and pronounced the job completed and I admit I could no longer feel a floor level cold draft. The following day I was filling the washing machine and spotted an item of clothing I had missed. I reached to pick it up and found myself pulling a pair of hubby's jogging bottems out from under the sink unit! On closer inspection I could also see what looked like one of his jumpers and another unidentified item of his clothing.

He admitted that stuffing these under the sink unit was his answer to the draft. As I sat down laughing he protested "but it worked!"

And so it did... until he washed the pots and I noticed a speading patch of water from under the unit.

Yup, he's cured the draft in his own inventive way, but now we have a flood every time the sink is emptied because, I assume, he has knocked something loose. Trouble is, he can't figure out what.

Fortunately he is a good Therapist.

Sound advice

Never put the egg you've found in your pocket whilst you clean out the chicken house and enclosure.

Chickens can't swim

Anyone who lives with ex-battery hens will know how super inquisative, tame and entertaining they are. Mine is called Harmony. Amongst her other attributes she has an Attachment Disorder, she thinks I'm her "Big Chicken". She follows me wherever I go. In fact she follows me very very closely. She hasn't learnt to back off, despite being stood on a number of times. If I appear whilst she is out and about in the garden instead of inside her run with my bantam Drew, she races towards me and boy can she get a speed up! She is always there to "help" when I am cleaning out the chicken house and the run. I fill the trug with the old bedding, she kicks it out again. She gets depressed if she doesn't see me and stops laying. She starts again as soon as I spend time with her. She recognises the sound of the car, answers to her name and knows which window to stare through if I am indoors. More spookily, we have a communication system which we both use to attract each other's attention - welcome to my world!

Harmony is also the living (fortunately) proof that chickens and ponds don't always mix well.......

Harmony loves hanging around by my small wildlife pond, especially if I am there keeping it tidy. Even when I am indoors, she generally makes her way to the pond to potter around. This year is Harmony's first winter with us. On the day she discovered the pond frozen. I glanced out of the window to see her gaily skating all over it, occasionally having a good peck at the pond plant leaves that poked up through the solid ice. Plants she had never been able to access previously. She was having loads of fun.

Sometimes we can all see into the future. I actually said to my hubby "when that ice finally starts to melt again, there'll be trouble".

It happened a few days later when the day was milder, the sun was out and the ice on one side of the pond had melted. Unfortunately Harmony hopped onto the still icy side. It was possibly not such a good move on my part to dive out of the kitchen door to try to shoo her back to the bank, because she set off skating toward me...and ran out of ice.

She squawked, flapped and began to sink like the proverbial stone. Luckily she was within reach and I hauled her out. Actually she didn't seem to mind at all being brought indoors and wrapped in a fluffly towel to be dried off. She simply stuck her head under my chin and started making happy little cooing noises. She was much more upset at being put out again once she was warm and dry and she kept knocking at the kitchen door to come back in. My hubby was at work during this little drama. I sent him a short text. It simply said "Chickens can't swim".

RSPB garden bird watch headache

I feed the wild birds  every day and often at the same time. Because of this I've got to know my regulars and in some cases how many use our feeders. Handy when it comes to not counting visitors twice over. But I'm blessed with a large flock of sparrows who all suffer ADHD. Myself and my hubby have tried before to figure how many there are in the flock, we've managed to get the number anywhere between 12 and 17. Trouble is, being so hyperactive, they won't sit still and be counted. Because for the sake of the great garden bird watch it matters how many we see today, I've just devoted a large chunk of my hour ignoring all the other birds and doing a very passable exorcist head spinning impression counting and re-counting the bloody sparrows. It's not helped that we have now got three teeny field mice who've set up home near one of the feeders and keep popping out to grab bits of food between the bird crowds. Five times have I mistakenly included one or more mice in my sparrow count. I have now decided to settle on the number "many"!
I thought taking part would be fun, instead I need an Anadin.

My pets (including the Hubby) & the Great Frogspawn Rescue.

I'm a specialist children's nurse and when I working with parents/carers or delivering training to other professsionals I generally get asked "Have you got children?"

I always say "Yes" and tell people that I have two kids, one boy, one girl. I also tell them that they are both very hairy, have four legs and a tail that wags.

(Only very rarely have people then asked how I can work with children when I don't have any of my own? I generally point out that I am also a qualified general nurse, but I don't have to personally have any particular illness in order to be able to care for those that have. I also wouldn't need to own a bus in order to be qualified to drive one).

So, my own family currently consists of two dogs (both very different to each other but completely in love), one cat (since her brother was shot by some local moron), two chickens with a plan to increase to three and one husband: possibly the only man on the planet who can put up with me!

I also take care of a garden full of wild birds of a huge variety and a pond which has suffered a population explosion amongst the newts. Not necessarily a good thing, 'cos now I have to figure out a way to keep the frogspawn and then the tadpoles safe this year.

My tiny wildlife pond was created in August 2008, by January 2009 I spotted my first dollop of frogspawn. At first I was excited and made my hubby get out of his nice warm Saturday morning bed to come look. Then came panic....

It's only January! What if there's a sudden freezing cold period? My fogspawn would turn into a lump of ice and all the eggs would die. A rescue plan was needed.

My baffled husband was despatched to the loft to bring down a small all in one fish tank that for some reason was still up there. Off outside I went with my pink kid's fishing net and into the tank plopped the frogspawn. In answer to my husband's curious, "So now you've done that, where do you plan to keep it?" the coffee maker was re-located to accommodate the tank's appearance on a kitchen work surface.

I need to explain something here - only my hubby thinks the kitchen is for cooking in, silly boy!

"It's just until the weather warms up a bit, it's too early in the year for frogspawn to survive" said I wisely.

The following morning though the spawn just didn't look right. I guess in must have been the warmth of the kitchen that conned it, but the whole bloody thing had hatched!

My husband is really good at those kinds of looks that say "You've done it again haven't you?" Of course I went from the oh no moment to laughter to ahh look at the babies and on to trying to count them and then wondering if I could name them all.

Anyway, I was right, a period of big freeze came. The tadpoles lived with us until the end of February then were returned healthy and happy to the pond where, at a later date, I came across the problem of how I could help as many little froglets to migrate as safely as possible: especially when my hubby thought mowing the lawn regularly was important!

Wondering why I've decided to "blog".

1. I hate facebook.
2. People who are involved in my life keep saying "You should write a book."
3. All my animals are crazy but I'm hoping I'm not the only one.
4. I loose diaries.
5. Struggling, but I'm sure I'll think of a number five soon.

By the way, can anyone tell me if there's a damn spellcheck on this thing???????????