Even though I had promised myself never to take on anything so big that I couldn’t wrestle it to the ground on my own. The length and quantity of the grass all over the property has made me go back on my own word.
In the last few days I have taken on further agistment duties with one already mention Goat from Griffith and now two horses. One most beautiful but sulky 6 year old Clydesdale mare prone to throwing little tantrums and one affectionate 20 year old stallion. The mare is so big I think the sun has set every time she walks past the kitchen window.
Although it’s a highly dangerous move I like naming animals appropriate to their personality or their use. As a result I felt that naming the three feral sheep Numbers 5,6 and 7 might make one think that they were candidates for a Nazi Gas Chamber so I have chosen to rename them Roast, Casserole and Kebab.
I always have the good intentions of maintaining a stress free environment for all us creatures here in Happy Valley. I want ‘Good Karma‘ every day. I have even banned them from watching commercial TV in case they run across Sam Kekovitch promoting BBQ Lamb for Australia Day.
Recently however, totally unintentionally I caused Maxine to throw up, Mary to dry retch, Butch and Betty to audibly gag, and Billy to begin butting his head against the nearest tree. I had done something really simple too. I just removed my clothes to ‘skinny dip’ in the dam.
The word skinny dip, in my case, bares no relationship to my good self. I’m more the shape of a large Mozzarella cheese that one sees hanging around traditional Deli’s. It is not an exact resemblance however for cheese holds it’s shape whilst my body tends to move about relative to gravity. If you’ve seen an elephant laying on its side you will know exactly what I mean.
Whilst swimming, or should I say wallowing in my dam, the Fish Kamikaze on the shoreline while the Frogs Hari-Kari onto the sharpest reeds. It’s a constant problem replenishing that stock.
Now when I go down to the dam I have to negotiate my way past the ‘Pit Of Death’ which started with Bossy the sheep and is now almost full to the brim with a menagerie of suicidal fauna.
In future before divesting myself of my Y-fronts and plunging into the icy depths of dam sludge (A sort of gun-metal grey, is this the same stuff beauty parlours use?) I will give a long sustained toot on the Rams Horn to warn all and sundry too avert their eyes. At least I know that I’ll be swimming in water completely devoid of any life form sometimes including yours truly.
It wasn’t that long ago when we actually had some heavy rain and lots of wind. On one of those rare days whilst travelling up the driveway to the house that I happened to notice a few sticks protruding from the long grass a few yards away. It’s not an unusual sight after a storm considering the amount of wattle trees on the property. I thought little of it and just went on into the house.
Although I’m an extremely curious person, some say odd, sticks are not particularly high on my list of optional study.
Some time later, as the sun sank down beyond Skipton and the flock drew themselves towards dinner, I did the usual head count. One short, try again, yes one short. Unable to line them up for a roll-call I just mentally ticked off who was getting ready for dinner. I try to avoid using the word ‘dressing’ for fear of upsetting them.
One short! Maxine! How many sticks? – 4.
What colour? – Black. How many legs does Maxine have? – 4. What colour are they? – Black. Putting 2+2 together I came up with the same answer. I heard myself tell the assembled tribe ‘Don’t panic! Don’t panic!’
When I arrived at the sticks, there she was on her back legs straight up in the air as stiff as a stiff, but even worse, in a very unladylike manner she had soiled herself. The tears welled up when I remembered that when one dies everything tends to let go.
She’s moved on? Despite my writing non de plume I thought ‘she’s in heaven’s paddock or lining the Ugh Boots of Jesus?’
GODFREY ZONE
In the last few days I have taken on further agistment duties with one already mention Goat from Griffith and now two horses. One most beautiful but sulky 6 year old Clydesdale mare prone to throwing little tantrums and one affectionate 20 year old stallion. The mare is so big I think the sun has set every time she walks past the kitchen window.
Although it’s a highly dangerous move I like naming animals appropriate to their personality or their use. As a result I felt that naming the three feral sheep Numbers 5,6 and 7 might make one think that they were candidates for a Nazi Gas Chamber so I have chosen to rename them Roast, Casserole and Kebab.
I always have the good intentions of maintaining a stress free environment for all us creatures here in Happy Valley. I want ‘Good Karma‘ every day. I have even banned them from watching commercial TV in case they run across Sam Kekovitch promoting BBQ Lamb for Australia Day.
Recently however, totally unintentionally I caused Maxine to throw up, Mary to dry retch, Butch and Betty to audibly gag, and Billy to begin butting his head against the nearest tree. I had done something really simple too. I just removed my clothes to ‘skinny dip’ in the dam.
The word skinny dip, in my case, bares no relationship to my good self. I’m more the shape of a large Mozzarella cheese that one sees hanging around traditional Deli’s. It is not an exact resemblance however for cheese holds it’s shape whilst my body tends to move about relative to gravity. If you’ve seen an elephant laying on its side you will know exactly what I mean.
Whilst swimming, or should I say wallowing in my dam, the Fish Kamikaze on the shoreline while the Frogs Hari-Kari onto the sharpest reeds. It’s a constant problem replenishing that stock.
Now when I go down to the dam I have to negotiate my way past the ‘Pit Of Death’ which started with Bossy the sheep and is now almost full to the brim with a menagerie of suicidal fauna.
In future before divesting myself of my Y-fronts and plunging into the icy depths of dam sludge (A sort of gun-metal grey, is this the same stuff beauty parlours use?) I will give a long sustained toot on the Rams Horn to warn all and sundry too avert their eyes. At least I know that I’ll be swimming in water completely devoid of any life form sometimes including yours truly.
It wasn’t that long ago when we actually had some heavy rain and lots of wind. On one of those rare days whilst travelling up the driveway to the house that I happened to notice a few sticks protruding from the long grass a few yards away. It’s not an unusual sight after a storm considering the amount of wattle trees on the property. I thought little of it and just went on into the house.
Although I’m an extremely curious person, some say odd, sticks are not particularly high on my list of optional study.
Some time later, as the sun sank down beyond Skipton and the flock drew themselves towards dinner, I did the usual head count. One short, try again, yes one short. Unable to line them up for a roll-call I just mentally ticked off who was getting ready for dinner. I try to avoid using the word ‘dressing’ for fear of upsetting them.
One short! Maxine! How many sticks? – 4.
What colour? – Black. How many legs does Maxine have? – 4. What colour are they? – Black. Putting 2+2 together I came up with the same answer. I heard myself tell the assembled tribe ‘Don’t panic! Don’t panic!’
When I arrived at the sticks, there she was on her back legs straight up in the air as stiff as a stiff, but even worse, in a very unladylike manner she had soiled herself. The tears welled up when I remembered that when one dies everything tends to let go.
She’s moved on? Despite my writing non de plume I thought ‘she’s in heaven’s paddock or lining the Ugh Boots of Jesus?’
GODFREY ZONE
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