Animals

Not perfect, but getting there.

by Veronica on August 3, 2010

in Animals, Life

Seven died the other day. She followed our neighbour’s car onto the road and was hit by a car coming the other way. A stupid accident, a stupid mistake. Unlike Susie, this one wasn’t preventable, as Seven was an escape artist extraordinaire.

But this post isn’t about Seven. Not today.

Since Susie died, I’ve been spending a lot of time trawling the dogs home website, constantly looking at the dogs needing a home and wishing that Nathan agreed with me. All those sad faces, needing homes, dammit, I’ve got a good home and I want a new dog. I miss Susie a lot actually, and now Seven too, as much as I try not to think about it.

Eventually, I put my foot down and made Nathan take me and the kids to the dogs home – knowing that most of the time, the dogs are adopted before they get put on the website.

Of course, I fell in love with the 6 week old puppies because they’re just! so! cute! but they were all spoken for (fantastic).

We walked around all the kennels, my heart breaking for the dogs who didn’t have owners.

‘Look at that one. Pity we didn’t have more land, he needs a job to do,’ I said to Nathan as a 4 month old Kelpie x Blue heeler ran around his kennel, chasing his tail and bouncing excitedly at the sight of new people.

‘Oh! Look at her ears!’

‘Poor girl, you’re 9 and in the dogs home? Where did your previous owner go?’

And then, we found her.

Amy looked at her, nodded her head and said ‘This is our dog. We will take her home.’

She wiggled in the bottom of her kennel, every inch of her body pressed up against the wire, straining to be patted. She didn’t jump, or bark or whine, she just leaned into the wire and looked at us with giant pleading eyes.

‘She’s beautiful’ said Nathan. I agreed readily. A startling white patch over most of her face left me with the impression that one of her eyes should have been blue, not brown.

‘How old is she?’

I read her card. Six months, or thereabouts.

‘Still young enough to learn lots.’

‘Yep.’

‘How long has she been here for?’

‘Ummmmm, since the 30th June it says.’

‘Ah right, she’s only new then.’

‘Yeah.’

While we talked, we were busy pressing our fingers through the wire, stroking her head and ears. She pressed closer to us.

‘You like her?’

‘Yes.’

We wandered back to the front of the dogs home, looking at the puppies again.

‘Your decision’ says Nat.

‘Okay. We’ll ask about the pups first, because it’s very likely they’ve all got homes.’

5 minutes later, yes, the pups all had homes. So we asked about the lovely natured Border Collie, whom we both adored.

Now, before I say anything more, a 6 week old puppy is always going to be my preference, simply because they’ve not had time to learn any bad habits – it’s just how I think. But the look in the collie’s eyes, I was pretty sure she was our dog.

No. No prospective adopters for her yet, no holds, nothing.

So we started the ball rolling.

Almost 2 weeks later, a yard check (I emailed through photos), a conversation with the lovely girl on the phone and a deposit paid, she came down with a stomach virus and the desexing that was meant to happen didn’t.

So we waited a little longer, for her to get better, for us to get more ready. Of course, Isaac then broke his arm and if things are going to hell, you DEFINITELY need a puppy around the place to take your mind off things.

But, when we brought her home, she was just perfect.

And this time, this dog, she’s going to be a mostly inside dog. I’ve lost enough dogs to this highway – I can do without losing anymore, thankyouverymuch.

Ah Seven, we’ll miss you. We were meant to be bringing you home a friend, not losing you beforehand.

This is the new pup. Amy has named her Maisy, after some backwards and forwardsing, but it seems to suit her. She is a dream with the children at this point, not jumping, or bowling them over. Isaac is still unimpressed every time she swipes him with her tongue, but he’ll cope.

The best bit? She seems so freaking grateful to be here with us and not at the dogs home anymore. Rescue dogs are amazing.

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White Faced Heron

by Veronica on July 25, 2010

in Animals

I found a white faced heron hunting in the back corner of my paddock the other day – we have a swampy area that the ducks haven’t yet discovered. It’s filled with wrigglers, bugs and all kinds of delicious things for a heron. Obviously.

White faced heron

Heron looking for something tasty to eat

White faced heron

White faced heron looking around

White faced heron sitting on part of the fence

White faced heron flying

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This morning when I woke up and discovered that my skin was still looking godawful and I looked terrible, I thought that maybe I’d just hide in a bed somewhere warm for the day. Of course, life with kids never works out quite that way and while I did manage 30 minutes in bed before lunch with a book, I had Isaac snuggled under my chin and Amy curled up in the small of my back, eating an orange and dripping juice everywhere.

I think part of my roller coaster of manic energy/total exhaustion has been due to my new tablets. The cymbalta have been fantastic for my anxiety since I got over the hurdle of the first week – in which I spent the days feeling stoned out of my mind, not sleeping and hurting all over – however, they do have some drawbacks.

My appetite has been killed dead. Now that wouldn’t be so bad, if I didn’t get sick so fast. Without eating, my body forgets all the things it’s meant to be doing, like healing and not producing giant bruises and spectacular pimples. Cups of tea, sadly, while I could keep them down, weren’t doing anything for my health, because it’s all I was ingesting. I’m making a giant effort to at least drink milk and eat lots of fruit and while I’m still taking anti-nausea pills like they’re going out of fashion, I’ve not retched today and I have managed to eat. Not a lot, but I ate.

The cymbalta also make me incredibly restless. I was hoping they’d make me a little drowsy, so I could take them before bed, but a few nights of not sleeping convinced me that that’s not how they were going to work. I’m having trouble sitting still to do anything, finding myself wandering away mid sentence in a book, or drifting towards the fire a few lines into a blog post. The children think this is great and follow me around the house, hoping that I’ll dole out chocolate instead of setting out to make a proper lunch. I’ve not done it yet, but they’re forever hopeful.

On the upside, like I mentioned above, they’ve been fantastic for my panic attacks and so so good for the neuropathic pain episodes and despite the first week of insomnia, I am sleeping well enough at night, once I can finally switch off. Surely 6 good heavy hours of sleep is better than 8 broken hours. Right?

In other news, Isaac is teething, with 3 molars making their way through at the moment. While he’s not waking at night – he’s a better sleeper than Amy, still! (who is waking at night, regularly) – he is completely miserable during the day, clinging and whining a lot. It’s draining on me, as I’m falling apart a little and he wants to to snuggle on my chest, while I stand up and rock him. Sitting down = unacceptable. He will allow me to sit on the fit ball, but my proprioception is so terrible that I am certain it’s only sheer luck we haven’t fallen off it yet. At this point, with him clingy and completely napless, I would KILL for a rocking chair. It’s on my wish list of things I’ll never have. Like a dishwasher, a maid and spare time.

He was happy today to see my mother and even happier to wander around outside with us for a while, although he had a tantrum of epic proportions when we came back inside because I couldn’t stand any longer. He can do a brilliant tantrum, with the face down screaming and kicking. I’m sure it will be amusing until the first time he does it in public.

Amy was also thrilled to be wandering around outside with her grandmother and her mother, even happier when Mum found two duck eggs, laid early this morning. (They definitely weren’t there yesterday evening when I did the rounds) At this point, we’ve got 5 ducks and a drake, 6 chooks and a rooster and we’re getting two hens eggs a day. I’m going to steal some of the ducks eggs, just long enough to get us into spring, so that I won’t be worrying about the ducks (and hens) raising babies in the bitter cold. When they start to sit, I’ll keep you updated.

I’m hanging on Spring and the warmer weather, dying to get things growing properly in my garden and to be eating something (other than eggs) that I’ve had a hand in producing. Not to mention how much better my EDS feels when I’m not frozen solid and I’m able to sit in the sunshine, without the wind stripping the flesh from my bones. Come on warmth.

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Everyone needs sentinels.

by Veronica on June 15, 2010

in Animals, Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, Life

Nope. Sorry, can’t come through here.

Seems I’ve suddenly got guard ducks. Maybe they’re reacting to a rooster being introduced to the mix?

Who knows.

Or maybe they’re guarding against these guys who have moved in next door.

It’s a Cattle Egret. A beautiful bird.

Sadly, I was outside with only my 50mm lens and not my zoom lens, so getting a closeup was harder than you’d think.

***

In other news, scientists have discovered why women think they are fat.

I’d love to know how I would score in one of their tests, seeing as how my brain thinks my body is actually half a step to the left of where it is, leaving me regularly walking into doors or walls or tripping for no reason.

Seems I’m not the only one with fucked up proprioception.

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Frozen

by Veronica on June 9, 2010

in Animals

It takes a brave woman to purposely put her hands in iced over water.

At least that is what I told myself when yesterday, I found myself using a watering can to carry water to the ducks pen.

The hose had frozen solid, a fact I discovered as I knelt in the frosty grass and leaned through the fence to turn on the tap – only to have the hose burst off, covering me in a fine spray of icy water. We won’t talk about how I tried (and failed) to reattach the hose to the tap, leaning through the fence at a right angle to the ground, supported by a strand of wire under my belly and unable to raise my head due to the live electric wires running a few inches above my head.

So there I was, stuck half on my property and half on the farm, cows watching me intently as I tried to wrestle an ice filled hose into submission.

After the first 3 fingers on my right hand had gone numb, I gave it up as a bad joke and carefully extracted myself from my perilous position.

I am proud to say I didn’t electrocute myself even a little. Which is good, because the position I was in, it would have been doubtful that I would have been able to stop electrocuting myself once started and I’m not sure that would have been any fun.

The hose dripped a little at my feet and so I kicked it. Stupid frozen thing. It retaliated by merely crunching, like a hose full of ice is apt to do.

And so I gave up and went to get the watering can instead.

There is a bathtub at the back of our garden fence, full of water. Likely a few more weeks will see it full of frog spawn, but at this point, I use it for animal water when the hoses are too frozen to work properly.

I found the watering can and headed to the bathtub, only to find it full of ice. Thick ice.

I smashed the ice with the watering can (ha! take that winter!) and then discovered that the ice was too thick to get the watering can in still, despite the smashing.

That is when I told myself, it takes a brave woman to purposely put her hands in iced water. And then I put my hands into the water and picked up the largest chunk of ice and removed it.

By this stage, all of my fingers were numb and I still had water containers to fill.

The watering can was full of ice too, an inch solid block in the bottom of it, but no matter. It was going to get filled dammit, because my warm house was calling me and I was cold.

The ducks peeped at me as I emptied their muddy iceblock that was their clean water the night before and filled up their containers. Done! I was done!

Only I wasn’t, because I hadn’t fed them yet and they were looking at me reproachfully.

I practically skipped back to the house to grab wheat, figuring faster was better.

I was brave when I put my hand into the frozen water.

I was even braver when I plunged my already numb hands into frozen wheat as I scattered it around so no one got bullied as they ate.

For the record, wheat is bitterly cold when it’s been outside all night and you should probably not put your hands in it.

I raced back to the house and fumbled my way inside, only to plunge my hands into lukewarm water.

Ow ow ow ow ow.

Defrosting hurts.

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