Posted by: Scribble | 07/07/2008

Teen Times

I spy the ‘Teen’ before he spies me and wonder what mood he might be in after school.  It is a Monday afterall and he is a Teen, so you can’t be too careful.  I watch him sureptitiously as he strides self conciously along the pavement towards me, looking out for our car.  He sees me I notice and so I give a little discreet wave, he pretends he didn’t see. He used to be such a dear little boy.  As he gets closer he raises his eyebrows a tiny fraction to let me know he knows I am there.  It wouldn’t do to wave delightedly and beam me a wide smile.  On reaching the car, I see him take a quick glance around and finding no one he cares about anywhere near, he opens the door, slings his bag in the back and jumps into the front seat.  He turns towards me, looks me in the eye and gives me a wonderful smile.  I breathe a tiny sigh. Today we are ok.

Posted by: Scribble | 07/07/2008

‘All the better to Eat you with’

Lit’lun’s Dad – Eaten.

Shock and horror, we have a visit from Mr Fox.  We are down from nine and a half, to six and a half chickens.

There was much noise and crowing a couple of evenings ago and I went to investigate outside.  I could tell from the tone of the noise that the chickens were very anxious and upset.  I tried to see where they were but they had hidden under a large bush by the house and took no notice when I tried to coax them out.  I thought no more about it until bed time (for the chickens), when there didn’t seem to be quite the right number.  Knowing that one of the Cockrills has been ostracised and sometimes sleeps in the greenhouse, I shut the door without further investigation.

The next day, driving into our lane with the Teen, on the way back from school, we notice one of the Cockrills in the road – minus his tail feathers. Oh dear.  Later, when they all assemble for muster and bed, the awful truth is revealed.  There are now only six and a half left.  The half is of course ‘Lit’lun’ the only surviving baby from the recent hatchlings.  (She still hasn’t got a name as I am still fearful that either the RR (wretched Rooks) will get her, or possibly the fox).  Mr Fox seems more likely now. 

Later, when I had recovered from this shock, I went out to do some detective work.  I walked onto the lane and along the edge of the giant field and saw that the Fox had lain in the long grass on the edge of the field and waited to ambush the unsuspecting brood as they took their customery morning walk out of the garden.  Patches in the tall grass showed clearly where he had squashed it down, lieing in wait for the poor unsuspecting birds.  I ventured into the churchyard that lies behind our house and found a heap of feathers, all that was left of one of them.

I was disappointed that, as is usual, the Fox took the birds that I most wanted.  He didn’t take the loud mouth that shouts his head off at every opportunity, sending all the others off into a flap and cacophany of ‘skwarks’.  No, he took two white ones and a dark one.  One of the white ones is Lit’lun’s Dad who has looked after the little one so well after her mother abandoned her, in fact all the lads have been fantastic in this way, despite me feeling I had too many boys and not enough girls. (More about Lit’lun and his ‘Dads’ here.)

So, we blocked up the gate so that they don’t go out of the garden, but of course they found another way out.  Touch wood, Mr Fox has not come back since and the chickens are very much on their guard – for now at least.

Posted by: Scribble | 05/07/2008

Mouse Tales

Since TOH’s long illness I’ve had to turn my hand to a lot of things I never expected to have to do.  I’ve become both father and mother to the teens, finance manager, cook, washer upper, cleaner, dog walker (which I would normally do, but just not perhaps all the time, without any help ever).  I’ve had to keep an eye on things like car maintenance and become chatty to the mechanics in the local garage in an effort not be ripped off.  I’ve dicussed prices and works with various tradesmen, kitchen floor fitters, carpet fitters, electricians and plumbers. I have to deal with our grumpy neighbour, when frankly, if I see her bustling up the lane, I am tempted to run and hide.  And I’ve had to do my best to keep the garden maintenance if not up to date, then at least not completely overgrown.  Which leads me to my latest handiwork and the rest of this little story – fence repairs.

Skinny (really fatty) the Whippet, had finally found a way out of what I thought was Fort Knox.  The grumpy neighbour had compained a few months back that Skinny was going into her field.  Not that she minded, (code for she minded very much, actually), she wasn’t doing any harm, she said, but better to fence her in none the same, so the fencing was done.  Thing is, I knew there was a weak spot, by the little gate at the back of the garden that leads across a ditch into the churchyard but being summer it was hidden behind  huge swathes of weeds and cow parsley.  Well it was, until, in a rare moment, TOH, was feeling well enough to sit on the mower and mowed all the weeds down.  Um.

So there I was, in my Mrs Garden Maintenace incarnation, tying to block up the gap that Skinny had gone through.  Amazing what a fatty Whippet can slip through when she is determined.  A while later, quite a while, in fact, (it took a lot of humping of old dead, heavy tree branches and lots of wire to finally plug the hole), I finished the job.  But as I stood back to survey my handiwork, I noticed on the ground just inside the gate, a perfectly round hole.  Doing a bit of detective work and noticing some tiny droppings nearby, I was bent over this hole, straining to see into it, when all of a sudden a little nose, some very bright button eyes and some long whiskers, came into view.  I was so surprised at this.  I stared at him, he stared at me and I wondered  who would be fist to blink –  (I was) and the teeny mouse scampered down the hole again.  I was in two minds whether to call the younger teen, to come and see it but knew that if I did so, A) he probably wouldn’t want to come out and look, and B) the mouse might not peep out again, once he was there, since that usually happens when you particularly want someone else to see something.  So, still bent over, knees stiffening, I kept my eyes on the black hole.  I waited and waited some more and thought I saw it down in the depths somewhere, but then I thought it was my eyes deceiving me as I hadn’t blinked for some time.  After a while I thought I better blink since otherwise, just as I did blink, it might come up and rush back down again before I’d opened my eyes again.  That would be typical also.  But bless his little soul, he came up several more times.  I went to get some of the chicken grain and some cake to tempt him further and sprinkled some around the edge of his hidey-hole, sure enough up he came and this time a tiny paw appeared as he put it up over the edge, ready to pull himself out.  But nerves got the better of him and he disappeared again.

Feeling that I’d had more than my fair share of this special and delightful sight, and frankly, my knees were about to buckle and I knew I was beginning to see things again, I popped a few crumbs down the hole for good measure and left him alone.  Pondering the extraordinary luck of seeing him at all, I decided that he probably came up to see what on earth was going on around his den what with all the noise and activity and fence mending, in what is usually a very peaceful place.  Just need to make sure that the cat doesn’t discover him.

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