Dear Hoppy,
My precious girl. I am sad that you could not fit on the float. If you were able to fit onto the float how well would you have travelled? Your gammy backleg has been busted for a long time and a long bumpy trip may not have done it any good.
I can only imagine what your fate would be and if so I hope you go peacefully. If you are lucky enough to continue with your life I hope it is a pleasant one. Regardless, I will miss you, you're upbeat outlook and determination that made my heart bleed for you. I am so sorry that we weren't able to bring you with us in the new chapter of our lives.
Peace be with you my little friend,
Love Tigger
Wednesday, 30 May 2012
Wednesday, 23 May 2012
Wild Dog Worries
Many stations suffer the problem of wild dogs. It's common place to have control programs in order to keep their numbers down. What wild dogs can do to calves and weak cattle is sad and sickening. To this day I still don't think I've ever come across a beast, calf or not, that has been pulled down by wild dogs for the sole purpose of gaining a meal. Their actions seem more like a sport. I've hand raised a poddy calf that after being attacked by wild dogs, had his tail drop off from the rot they had caused. When he was found he had no ears and was in a bad way. They'd pulled him down just to leave him for dead.
Over this Wet season though I've noticed a great increase in wild dog numbers. Whilst checking a bore Damian and I came across 3 of them at the trough. We wished we had a gun with us since it was not the first time Damian had seen them there.
Wild dog tracks were left behind in the dirt up and down the driveway for months. It's been proven that they have a thing for roads, fencelines and cattle pads. Things that they can easily follow.
One day not long ago when I was returning from town I came across four wild dogs laying under the shade of a tree on the driveway through Dilinya. They scattered as I approached them but every single one of them kept an eye on me as I passed through their camp spot. I've even had one very healthy male run out across the driveway on the way to the neighbours right in front of me and look at me as though he sees me every day.
Lately I've been doing a bit of work for the neighbour doing some fencing and for the first four days I was working completely on my own. I'd head out to the same fence I was rebuilding every morning. Nothing unusual. Except for the one day that I saw wild dog tracks around my previous days boot prints in the dust. No more than 10 minutes later I heard the chilling howl of the owner of those foot prints. It called out in its haunting way for a good few minutes till it moved on. Further up the fence I could smell fresh dog faeces. It well and truly knew of me and my presence and after it left behind goosebumps on my arms and a stench in my nostrils I most certainly knew of its presence.
But it doesn't end there. These creatures get brave. On my first week on Providence there was the carcase of a shot wild dog at the bottom of the house paddock. Only a week later another skulked around the same area before a bullet scared it off. Though this isn't the closest they've come. As Damian and I sat chatting on the front verandah the other evening one came right up to the back yard fence. Lacey trotted over to the edge of the decking with her heckles up while Damian demanded I go get his gun. By the time I got back from fetching it, the wild dog had sprinted off towards the cooler paddock and was no doubt watching us from the camouflage of the buffell grass. The following morning, while it was still dark, I made breakfast to the sound of the wild dog and his companions. They would have been no more than 100 metres from the house. Skulking in the bullwaddy perhaps.
It seems that so many people in our area have noticed an increase in wild dog numbers. It scares me to think that if I've seen so many of them out there over the last few months then how many are there really out there? It's obvious to me that red tape restrictions are allowing the population to grow despite many stations individual efforts. I wonder how bad it has to get before control methods are improved and increased. I certainly hope it doesn't get to the point of people giving up cattle solely because of calf mortality rates like alot of people did with sheep in South-West Queensland, I know that for sure.
Over this Wet season though I've noticed a great increase in wild dog numbers. Whilst checking a bore Damian and I came across 3 of them at the trough. We wished we had a gun with us since it was not the first time Damian had seen them there.
Wild dog tracks were left behind in the dirt up and down the driveway for months. It's been proven that they have a thing for roads, fencelines and cattle pads. Things that they can easily follow.
One day not long ago when I was returning from town I came across four wild dogs laying under the shade of a tree on the driveway through Dilinya. They scattered as I approached them but every single one of them kept an eye on me as I passed through their camp spot. I've even had one very healthy male run out across the driveway on the way to the neighbours right in front of me and look at me as though he sees me every day.
Lately I've been doing a bit of work for the neighbour doing some fencing and for the first four days I was working completely on my own. I'd head out to the same fence I was rebuilding every morning. Nothing unusual. Except for the one day that I saw wild dog tracks around my previous days boot prints in the dust. No more than 10 minutes later I heard the chilling howl of the owner of those foot prints. It called out in its haunting way for a good few minutes till it moved on. Further up the fence I could smell fresh dog faeces. It well and truly knew of me and my presence and after it left behind goosebumps on my arms and a stench in my nostrils I most certainly knew of its presence.
But it doesn't end there. These creatures get brave. On my first week on Providence there was the carcase of a shot wild dog at the bottom of the house paddock. Only a week later another skulked around the same area before a bullet scared it off. Though this isn't the closest they've come. As Damian and I sat chatting on the front verandah the other evening one came right up to the back yard fence. Lacey trotted over to the edge of the decking with her heckles up while Damian demanded I go get his gun. By the time I got back from fetching it, the wild dog had sprinted off towards the cooler paddock and was no doubt watching us from the camouflage of the buffell grass. The following morning, while it was still dark, I made breakfast to the sound of the wild dog and his companions. They would have been no more than 100 metres from the house. Skulking in the bullwaddy perhaps.
It seems that so many people in our area have noticed an increase in wild dog numbers. It scares me to think that if I've seen so many of them out there over the last few months then how many are there really out there? It's obvious to me that red tape restrictions are allowing the population to grow despite many stations individual efforts. I wonder how bad it has to get before control methods are improved and increased. I certainly hope it doesn't get to the point of people giving up cattle solely because of calf mortality rates like alot of people did with sheep in South-West Queensland, I know that for sure.
Sunday, 8 April 2012
The Witching Hour
As a kid I never took much notice of the moon. It was in the sky at night and when I drew it in a picture it was always crescent shaped. When it could be seen during the day it caused great schoolyard debate amongst my class mates because being niave children the moon was meant for night and the sun for the day. It never occurred to me how much light a full moon could provide either till one night I woke up screaming because there was an "unexplainable" glow on my wall. I became tangled in my sheets and fell in an attempt to get away from the mysterious light. Mum rushed to my room upon hearing my screams but by the time she got to me I had realised what a mistake I had made.
By the time I was 16 the moon was something I began paying reasonable attention too. It would affect my sleeping patterns. On a full moon I couldn't sleep and so I could be then found pulling on my boots and walking off towards the paddock. I had my horse, Shandy, and eight Murray Grey cross Holstien heifers on agistment. I used to visit them on my full moon walks. Shandy was willing for a pat and the cattle never spooked. They were oddly serene with the moon bright in the night sky. We had a major road that passed the bottom of the property and I would play an odd game that I created with the passing traffic. I would walk along the fenceline and when the cars high beams shone on me I would drop in the grass. I don't think I was ever noticed because there were no reports of "ghosts" in the weekly local paper. But I certainly did hope to spook the late night road users to some degree into thinking that they were seeing things.
With the date of Easter being the first Sunday after the full moon, I was naturally wide awake last night. I lay in bed annoying Damian... as you do when you can't sleep. For the last few nights I've had no issue with walking, minus a torch, over to the shed to turn off the generator. The moon doing a good job of lighting the way. Normally I would take a vehicle to shine the headlights into the shed. Walking over in the dark causes me to scare myself silly with the thoughts of what could be lurking in the shadows. On my way back I watch the three resident bats play and swoop and chase each other around the roof of the house. And all this celestial activity got me thinking that once upon a time I would have been burned at the stake for even paying the slightest attention to the moon or being out and about in its light.
Back in the day when the witch-hunts were in full swing it was estimated that 40,000 to 100,000 women were executed by varying means for being found to be a witch. All it took was for something misfortunate to happen (the fail of a crop, the death or illness of an individual or farm animal) and it was always easier to blame a "witchy woman" than find a reasonable explaination. Or it was even as simple as a woman being disliked amongst her fellow village folk.
Witches are said to meet at midnight or "Witching Hour" (between midnight and 3am) when all the most evil of creatures emerge in the night. The only creatures about on this night were the wallabies, the curlews with their creepy calls and the bats, an animal which over time has been branded with a stigma and strongly associated with vampires and witches.
But it is also speculated that the moon and women are linked by cyclic events if you catch my drift. In her book "Witches, sirens and soothsayers" Susannah Marriott suggests that because of this cyclic rhythm that women and the moon share, all women have the potential to be a witch.
The closest thing I ever came to witchcraft and being a "witch" was when the movie "The Craft" came out in 1996 which had a cult following amongst teenage girls (light as a feather, stiff as a board, blah, blah, blah) and the ownership of a pentagram throw-sheet that was gifted to me when Damian and I got engaged.
In this day and age I'm glad we don't live in the dark ages. I still do feel that women are the down-trodden gender but I am glad I can look at the moon without persecution and accusations. Because of course, what would my midnight jaunts be if I could not look up at the full moon?
![[Fantin-Latour - The Queen Of The Night]](https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/blogger_img_proxy/AEn0k_vXheJQwLoOvx6plqrd2EC72dNs4KdYDLE8J1pRKW3RRA2cHSd5UXoE4iCrfIbCrEUNnV1Ot79l7Tc5I0xJ0RoHDRxzinpkcOFMW0x75kPYlWdhS1m4bCC3TD1oTreEYaJOf_LscJjFOGuSUFNpk0hOCISqxgxTd64=s0-d)
"Queen of the Night" by Henri Fantin-Latour
http://en.wikipedia.org
Witches, sirens and soothsayers; Susannah Marriott; Spruce, 2008.
By the time I was 16 the moon was something I began paying reasonable attention too. It would affect my sleeping patterns. On a full moon I couldn't sleep and so I could be then found pulling on my boots and walking off towards the paddock. I had my horse, Shandy, and eight Murray Grey cross Holstien heifers on agistment. I used to visit them on my full moon walks. Shandy was willing for a pat and the cattle never spooked. They were oddly serene with the moon bright in the night sky. We had a major road that passed the bottom of the property and I would play an odd game that I created with the passing traffic. I would walk along the fenceline and when the cars high beams shone on me I would drop in the grass. I don't think I was ever noticed because there were no reports of "ghosts" in the weekly local paper. But I certainly did hope to spook the late night road users to some degree into thinking that they were seeing things.
With the date of Easter being the first Sunday after the full moon, I was naturally wide awake last night. I lay in bed annoying Damian... as you do when you can't sleep. For the last few nights I've had no issue with walking, minus a torch, over to the shed to turn off the generator. The moon doing a good job of lighting the way. Normally I would take a vehicle to shine the headlights into the shed. Walking over in the dark causes me to scare myself silly with the thoughts of what could be lurking in the shadows. On my way back I watch the three resident bats play and swoop and chase each other around the roof of the house. And all this celestial activity got me thinking that once upon a time I would have been burned at the stake for even paying the slightest attention to the moon or being out and about in its light.
Back in the day when the witch-hunts were in full swing it was estimated that 40,000 to 100,000 women were executed by varying means for being found to be a witch. All it took was for something misfortunate to happen (the fail of a crop, the death or illness of an individual or farm animal) and it was always easier to blame a "witchy woman" than find a reasonable explaination. Or it was even as simple as a woman being disliked amongst her fellow village folk.
Witches are said to meet at midnight or "Witching Hour" (between midnight and 3am) when all the most evil of creatures emerge in the night. The only creatures about on this night were the wallabies, the curlews with their creepy calls and the bats, an animal which over time has been branded with a stigma and strongly associated with vampires and witches.
But it is also speculated that the moon and women are linked by cyclic events if you catch my drift. In her book "Witches, sirens and soothsayers" Susannah Marriott suggests that because of this cyclic rhythm that women and the moon share, all women have the potential to be a witch.
The closest thing I ever came to witchcraft and being a "witch" was when the movie "The Craft" came out in 1996 which had a cult following amongst teenage girls (light as a feather, stiff as a board, blah, blah, blah) and the ownership of a pentagram throw-sheet that was gifted to me when Damian and I got engaged.
In this day and age I'm glad we don't live in the dark ages. I still do feel that women are the down-trodden gender but I am glad I can look at the moon without persecution and accusations. Because of course, what would my midnight jaunts be if I could not look up at the full moon?
"Queen of the Night" by Henri Fantin-Latour
http://en.wikipedia.org
Witches, sirens and soothsayers; Susannah Marriott; Spruce, 2008.
Sunday, 1 April 2012
Finish On A Good Note
Amongst horse people there is a saying of "Always finish your horse on a good note" whether it be the end of a ride or the end of some kind of ground work. Never finish what you are doing till the horse has done what you have asked it to do therefore rewarding the horse with the end of work for its achievements. But I believe that could even count on a human week. I had a bit of a rough start on this last week and it's a week I would rather leave behind me but it has ended on a good note.
I'm not much of a horsewoman, I don't like riding new horses even though it is part of my job. But I have been known to ride the occassional horse that no one can tell me anything about... Or they've got their facts wrong.
The first horse of mystery was Wonder. He was a big, brown gelding at Legune Station. Despite everything being an absolute "wonder" to him (he was very wary of every rock, log, oddity and motorbike and no thanks to Damian on that last one) he turned out to have a big heart and worked hard.
The next two horses were on Elsey Station. The first being a little chestnut pony that wandered into our camp one night with his mate, a big, chestnut horse. I was informed that it had been bought for the children on a nearby Aboriginal community but it had gone missing three years previous and that since I was small, I could be the one that rode it. Being a kids pony it was a right, little s***. It tried to go any direction that it wanted to go, tried to take me out under every tree within 20 yards of it and the only way to get it going and keep it going was repetitive kicks because keeping my heels in meant I was in for a heap of hissy fit pony bucks. He wouldn't settle down and do any reasonable work if he wasn't in sight of his big chestnut mate so I ended up following Waylond around on the mob all afternoon just so my poncey pony would behave to some degree. Waylond only tolerated a few bucks at the beginning of his ride on the chestnut horse and then that was it for the rest of the day.
The second horse was also another event of "You're small, you can ride it". A little palomino mare was chosen for me. She had hurt her leg while being broken in so hadn't been ridden much at all. Max helped saddle her and helped me get on. She didn't do anything, didn't care that I was on her back. All good it seemed. So we loaded all our horses onto the truck and headed off to muster. When we unloaded I got back on her and everyone started heading south on their horses. I didn't. She took a few steps here and a few steps there then not much at all of any other kind of movement. I began to panic when I lost sight of everyone. Eventually I convinced old Jay to swap with me but even he had no win on her when he got to the mob with only a bridle in hand... no horse. Shame me! I later bailed up the person who I was told had broken in that pony. He had only done basic ground work with her before she hurt herself. So as it turns out she wasn't broken in at all!
The next horse was at Willeroo. People from the year previous couldn't tell me anything about the horse, it hadn't been ridden. The book just said his name was Circus. The person who had been issued with him that year had a bit of a rough first ride on him in the yard and because of it only rode their 4 horses that had behaved on their first ride for the year. I had my first ride on him out in the paddock. Trying to get on him was like trying to mount the barrel of a washing machine on spin cycle. Eventually I got up there. He was energised, excited and ready to go. I definately did not share his outlook on the day. To begin the days work I somehow ended up in the lead of the cattle with him crow-hopping continuously and throwing his head around. Eventually I weasled my way around to the wing of the mob where by the end of the day he was tired with all his fresh energy gone. The next time I rode him there was only half the initial rubbish and by the third ride I had discovered he was actually a lazy horse that had a trick of stopping, spreading his back legs but not peeing. His way of making you think he needs to pee but really just trying to get out of work.
So after all this riding of unknown and unworked horses and being well out of my comfort zone, an ex-friends words stung when she said I was too gutless to ride the horse that had been left behind by the previous caretaker. I'd like to add though that that was not the reason for the end of our friendship.
The previous caretaker loved his horses. He worked his horses and campdrafted them successfully. He came to Providence with eight and left with seven. He left behind Abby with the option for us to buy. But whilst he and I talked about horses he always brought up the topic of one mare he had in particular that used to rear up and fall back on itself everytime the girth got done up. He and his wife think that something went wrong inside the horses' head after suffering a snake bite. So me being me I added one and one together and got ninety. For many months I did not want to ride Abby for fear she may be the horse that was crazy. But upon my return to Providence I decided that perhaps I ought to give Old Mate and his horse the benefit of the doubt.
After deciding that Saturday would be the day that I ran the horses in and we would check their feet and treat them for flies it would also be the day that I finally got the guts up to ride Abby. I made sure Damian was there as if anything went wrong it would be noticed straight away not hours later after lying in the sun all that time. I also asked him to make sure I was doing everything the right way. After cutting corners on Charger for 6 years I knew I'd be doing something wrong somewhere. And of course I was. He wanted me to shoulder the saddle onto the horses back but I discovered quickly that I had no muscles to get the saddle any higher than that. Damian stepped in and got the saddle on but left the rest up to me. She seemed unaffected when I did up the girth. A good sign except my heart was beginning to pick up some pace as this also meant that the moment of truth for me was gaining nearer. I walked her around and put the bridle on and did up the girth a little bit more then stood in the middle of the yard for next five minutes trying to convince Damian to be the one to have first ride. As per usual he refused but offered his words of "Just when you get on make sure you're not leaning forward, lean back". And so after rapping down on the stirrup a couple of times I put my foot in the stirrup, grabbed hold of the pommel and swung on. She didn't even take a step to balance herself out. I'm not even sure she blinked. So relieved I gave her a pat and got a little happy. We rode around at a walk and a trot for about 15 minutes before Damian told me to stop since she was sweating like a pig in a sauna. Too hot in the day for any kind of heavy work for an unfit horse... and an unfit Tigger for that matter.
After dismounting, unsaddling, washing her down and giving her a feed I felt good in myself that I finally got the guts up to ride her. To know myself that she wasn't the horror horse that I was worried she would be. To know that I would now definately like to save up dosh to buy her and have her as my own.
Did I have the Fear in me? Hell yes. But it was conquered. I put my mind to something and as usual achieved it. Gutless? A little. But I did just ride that horse didn't I? So yes, I believe I did end my week on a good note!
I'm not much of a horsewoman, I don't like riding new horses even though it is part of my job. But I have been known to ride the occassional horse that no one can tell me anything about... Or they've got their facts wrong.
The first horse of mystery was Wonder. He was a big, brown gelding at Legune Station. Despite everything being an absolute "wonder" to him (he was very wary of every rock, log, oddity and motorbike and no thanks to Damian on that last one) he turned out to have a big heart and worked hard.
The next two horses were on Elsey Station. The first being a little chestnut pony that wandered into our camp one night with his mate, a big, chestnut horse. I was informed that it had been bought for the children on a nearby Aboriginal community but it had gone missing three years previous and that since I was small, I could be the one that rode it. Being a kids pony it was a right, little s***. It tried to go any direction that it wanted to go, tried to take me out under every tree within 20 yards of it and the only way to get it going and keep it going was repetitive kicks because keeping my heels in meant I was in for a heap of hissy fit pony bucks. He wouldn't settle down and do any reasonable work if he wasn't in sight of his big chestnut mate so I ended up following Waylond around on the mob all afternoon just so my poncey pony would behave to some degree. Waylond only tolerated a few bucks at the beginning of his ride on the chestnut horse and then that was it for the rest of the day.
The second horse was also another event of "You're small, you can ride it". A little palomino mare was chosen for me. She had hurt her leg while being broken in so hadn't been ridden much at all. Max helped saddle her and helped me get on. She didn't do anything, didn't care that I was on her back. All good it seemed. So we loaded all our horses onto the truck and headed off to muster. When we unloaded I got back on her and everyone started heading south on their horses. I didn't. She took a few steps here and a few steps there then not much at all of any other kind of movement. I began to panic when I lost sight of everyone. Eventually I convinced old Jay to swap with me but even he had no win on her when he got to the mob with only a bridle in hand... no horse. Shame me! I later bailed up the person who I was told had broken in that pony. He had only done basic ground work with her before she hurt herself. So as it turns out she wasn't broken in at all!
The next horse was at Willeroo. People from the year previous couldn't tell me anything about the horse, it hadn't been ridden. The book just said his name was Circus. The person who had been issued with him that year had a bit of a rough first ride on him in the yard and because of it only rode their 4 horses that had behaved on their first ride for the year. I had my first ride on him out in the paddock. Trying to get on him was like trying to mount the barrel of a washing machine on spin cycle. Eventually I got up there. He was energised, excited and ready to go. I definately did not share his outlook on the day. To begin the days work I somehow ended up in the lead of the cattle with him crow-hopping continuously and throwing his head around. Eventually I weasled my way around to the wing of the mob where by the end of the day he was tired with all his fresh energy gone. The next time I rode him there was only half the initial rubbish and by the third ride I had discovered he was actually a lazy horse that had a trick of stopping, spreading his back legs but not peeing. His way of making you think he needs to pee but really just trying to get out of work.
So after all this riding of unknown and unworked horses and being well out of my comfort zone, an ex-friends words stung when she said I was too gutless to ride the horse that had been left behind by the previous caretaker. I'd like to add though that that was not the reason for the end of our friendship.
The previous caretaker loved his horses. He worked his horses and campdrafted them successfully. He came to Providence with eight and left with seven. He left behind Abby with the option for us to buy. But whilst he and I talked about horses he always brought up the topic of one mare he had in particular that used to rear up and fall back on itself everytime the girth got done up. He and his wife think that something went wrong inside the horses' head after suffering a snake bite. So me being me I added one and one together and got ninety. For many months I did not want to ride Abby for fear she may be the horse that was crazy. But upon my return to Providence I decided that perhaps I ought to give Old Mate and his horse the benefit of the doubt.
After deciding that Saturday would be the day that I ran the horses in and we would check their feet and treat them for flies it would also be the day that I finally got the guts up to ride Abby. I made sure Damian was there as if anything went wrong it would be noticed straight away not hours later after lying in the sun all that time. I also asked him to make sure I was doing everything the right way. After cutting corners on Charger for 6 years I knew I'd be doing something wrong somewhere. And of course I was. He wanted me to shoulder the saddle onto the horses back but I discovered quickly that I had no muscles to get the saddle any higher than that. Damian stepped in and got the saddle on but left the rest up to me. She seemed unaffected when I did up the girth. A good sign except my heart was beginning to pick up some pace as this also meant that the moment of truth for me was gaining nearer. I walked her around and put the bridle on and did up the girth a little bit more then stood in the middle of the yard for next five minutes trying to convince Damian to be the one to have first ride. As per usual he refused but offered his words of "Just when you get on make sure you're not leaning forward, lean back". And so after rapping down on the stirrup a couple of times I put my foot in the stirrup, grabbed hold of the pommel and swung on. She didn't even take a step to balance herself out. I'm not even sure she blinked. So relieved I gave her a pat and got a little happy. We rode around at a walk and a trot for about 15 minutes before Damian told me to stop since she was sweating like a pig in a sauna. Too hot in the day for any kind of heavy work for an unfit horse... and an unfit Tigger for that matter.
After dismounting, unsaddling, washing her down and giving her a feed I felt good in myself that I finally got the guts up to ride her. To know myself that she wasn't the horror horse that I was worried she would be. To know that I would now definately like to save up dosh to buy her and have her as my own.
Did I have the Fear in me? Hell yes. But it was conquered. I put my mind to something and as usual achieved it. Gutless? A little. But I did just ride that horse didn't I? So yes, I believe I did end my week on a good note!
Monday, 19 March 2012
Bugged!
The Wet Season = Bug Infestations. They come in hoardes at night attracted to the light. They find their way into the house, wiggling their tiny bodies through the squares of the fly screens. They swarm the television, the computer screen, my glow-in-the-dark legs. Take a step outside and you're covered in the bugs that don't have the ability to get into the house. Mozzies, midgies. It rains and after it stops the crickets arc up. Chirping all bloody night.
The various stink beetles. The black ones and the lavender bugs. They squirt their horrible smell when you brush them away. Some people react to their squirty with an itchy rash. They love dark places like under piles of dirty clothes.
The flying ants. They get into the house and annoy the crap out of you. They're even more attracted to light than other bugs and will congregate over the stand-by light on the television or the LED screen on the DVD player. In the morning when all the other bugs have gone or died the flying ants leave their mark. Their frigging wings! Everywhere! Little wings! As you try and sweep them up they flutter over the broom back to where you have just swept. Heaven help those that do not own a vacuum cleaner.
Normal ants. Meat ants, ginger ants, sugar ants. Their nest might be over 200m away but they're still happy to march that distance to obtain that morsel of food that someone dropped on the floor and didn't bother to clean up. You give a finished rib-bone to the dog and she's so busy trying to hide it that she doesn't notice the meat ants already on their way ready to strip it bare and leave no meat at all behind for her.
I let the spiders live in my house. They control the insects to some degree. I let the frogs and geckos live in my house too. They're both so cute and they eat the insects. I don't like it so much when they shit on my soap in the shower though.
Sometimes the bugs can't get in the house and that's great. But then they clamber over the windows and glass doors and for some reason that's where they tend to die. After a little while they begin to decompose. It becomes a scrubbing job to get them off.
I have a mumu dress that I wear just to watch television on some nights. My protection from the bugs. The cattle on the other hand aren't so lucky. Some might get an insecticide ear tag that helps keep away the buffalo flies. Some might get a backline which not only helps for buffalo flies but also cattle ticks and gastro-intestinal worms. Sadly some just have to rough it. Put up with the buffalo flies which can sometimes cause lack of hair or even scabs.
It happens to horses too. Some equine more susceptible than others. Watch them in their paddock. Swish, swish, swish their tails and shake their necks. I bring them in and give them an all over wipe of fly treatment for horses. It brings relief but only for 6 weeks. Other products available only last a few hours or until the horse becomes wet next. Doesn't take long in this weather between the rain and the sweat.
I don't mind the moths. Nor the butterflies. The grass hoppers and stick insects are okay too. Just not the bugs. I do not like being bugged!
The various stink beetles. The black ones and the lavender bugs. They squirt their horrible smell when you brush them away. Some people react to their squirty with an itchy rash. They love dark places like under piles of dirty clothes.
The flying ants. They get into the house and annoy the crap out of you. They're even more attracted to light than other bugs and will congregate over the stand-by light on the television or the LED screen on the DVD player. In the morning when all the other bugs have gone or died the flying ants leave their mark. Their frigging wings! Everywhere! Little wings! As you try and sweep them up they flutter over the broom back to where you have just swept. Heaven help those that do not own a vacuum cleaner.
Normal ants. Meat ants, ginger ants, sugar ants. Their nest might be over 200m away but they're still happy to march that distance to obtain that morsel of food that someone dropped on the floor and didn't bother to clean up. You give a finished rib-bone to the dog and she's so busy trying to hide it that she doesn't notice the meat ants already on their way ready to strip it bare and leave no meat at all behind for her.
I let the spiders live in my house. They control the insects to some degree. I let the frogs and geckos live in my house too. They're both so cute and they eat the insects. I don't like it so much when they shit on my soap in the shower though.
Sometimes the bugs can't get in the house and that's great. But then they clamber over the windows and glass doors and for some reason that's where they tend to die. After a little while they begin to decompose. It becomes a scrubbing job to get them off.
I have a mumu dress that I wear just to watch television on some nights. My protection from the bugs. The cattle on the other hand aren't so lucky. Some might get an insecticide ear tag that helps keep away the buffalo flies. Some might get a backline which not only helps for buffalo flies but also cattle ticks and gastro-intestinal worms. Sadly some just have to rough it. Put up with the buffalo flies which can sometimes cause lack of hair or even scabs.
It happens to horses too. Some equine more susceptible than others. Watch them in their paddock. Swish, swish, swish their tails and shake their necks. I bring them in and give them an all over wipe of fly treatment for horses. It brings relief but only for 6 weeks. Other products available only last a few hours or until the horse becomes wet next. Doesn't take long in this weather between the rain and the sweat.
I don't mind the moths. Nor the butterflies. The grass hoppers and stick insects are okay too. Just not the bugs. I do not like being bugged!
Friday, 16 March 2012
Here Comes The Rain Again
Seems there's no rest for the skies as over the last 23 days there has only been 4 days without precipitation. Cyclone Lua brought the latest falls with an average of an inch a day. In town waiting for something to come through that never did, I gave up waiting and headed home. Damian was worried I wouldn't make it back but me and my bravado knew I would. It had drizzled and rained on/off right across the Top End for three days and Damian described the skies as another England. I didn't care, I was over town and wanted to be home.
The trip in it drizzled from the moment I hit the bitumen and didn't stop. On my way back I got one extremely light drizzle in one area and nothing else. I pulled up at the beginning of our driveway and put the wheels in lock and put the car in four wheel drive and of course, in true "Tigger could take over" style... put my seatbelt back on.
The bombing range was no worries. Even the gilgi wasn't that full to pass through. I could actually see sections of the road unlike the last time that it was up.
Damian met up with me in the station toyota (nice to know that he isn't asleep on the couch while I'm on my way home) at the bombing range/Dilinya boundary.
"She's a bit deep back there", he stated referring to Forrest Creek. As I approached the creek I lowered the gears down to second and eased my way in. Definately higher than I had ever seen it before but I pressed on. Halfway I had to drop down to first as the old boy struggled through a soft, deep spot but he soldiered on and soon we were through. I crept along in second looking back in my rear view as I watched Damian cross. The water went over his bonnet and he struggled through the same spot in the middle as I did. The second creek crossing wasn't as high as the first but coming out the otherside we had to veer around the neighbours vehicle parked there just in case they don't make it back across when they return.
Being stuck in town meant I missed celebrating Lacey's birthday on time. Yes, I'm weird, celebrating my dogs' birthday but hey, each to their own. I put up some decorations I had made for her earlier when I got home and baked her a mince and egg "cake". She thought her little cake was the greatest thing and whoofed it down.
In the morning I got up and for the first time in a long time, Lacey got up early with me. I pulled on my sneakers and we set off for my morning walk. She skipped and sniffed her way up the driveway while I strolled along. The rain we'd been having each day caused some parts of the driveway to be so slippery that I was losing my footings. If it was slippery for me I would hate to imagine a vehicle trying to get down it. On our way back Lacey found a crab which had come out of the ground from the rain. The first one she had ever seen. Fascinated by it she kept sticking her nose in it's face till it got annoyed enough that it raised its claws which is when I thought it best to call her away before she ended up with a nip on her nose.
Over the last 4 days Providence has recorded 97mm of rain. Not near as much as other places but certainly enough to make things interesting while at the same time grinding work to a halt.
The trip in it drizzled from the moment I hit the bitumen and didn't stop. On my way back I got one extremely light drizzle in one area and nothing else. I pulled up at the beginning of our driveway and put the wheels in lock and put the car in four wheel drive and of course, in true "Tigger could take over" style... put my seatbelt back on.
The bombing range was no worries. Even the gilgi wasn't that full to pass through. I could actually see sections of the road unlike the last time that it was up.
Damian met up with me in the station toyota (nice to know that he isn't asleep on the couch while I'm on my way home) at the bombing range/Dilinya boundary.
"She's a bit deep back there", he stated referring to Forrest Creek. As I approached the creek I lowered the gears down to second and eased my way in. Definately higher than I had ever seen it before but I pressed on. Halfway I had to drop down to first as the old boy struggled through a soft, deep spot but he soldiered on and soon we were through. I crept along in second looking back in my rear view as I watched Damian cross. The water went over his bonnet and he struggled through the same spot in the middle as I did. The second creek crossing wasn't as high as the first but coming out the otherside we had to veer around the neighbours vehicle parked there just in case they don't make it back across when they return.
Being stuck in town meant I missed celebrating Lacey's birthday on time. Yes, I'm weird, celebrating my dogs' birthday but hey, each to their own. I put up some decorations I had made for her earlier when I got home and baked her a mince and egg "cake". She thought her little cake was the greatest thing and whoofed it down.
In the morning I got up and for the first time in a long time, Lacey got up early with me. I pulled on my sneakers and we set off for my morning walk. She skipped and sniffed her way up the driveway while I strolled along. The rain we'd been having each day caused some parts of the driveway to be so slippery that I was losing my footings. If it was slippery for me I would hate to imagine a vehicle trying to get down it. On our way back Lacey found a crab which had come out of the ground from the rain. The first one she had ever seen. Fascinated by it she kept sticking her nose in it's face till it got annoyed enough that it raised its claws which is when I thought it best to call her away before she ended up with a nip on her nose.
Over the last 4 days Providence has recorded 97mm of rain. Not near as much as other places but certainly enough to make things interesting while at the same time grinding work to a halt.
Friday, 2 March 2012
It Started With Eleven
When we first moved to Providence mid last year I came here with 11 various different animals which included 5 chooks, 3 dogs, 2 horses and 1 weaner bull. Nine months on and I look back on our time already spent here with heartbreak. As of March 1st of those eleven animals I started out with I only have four left.
I do seem to have this curse that causes me to lose my pets well before their time and for me September has now become the hardest month for me to deal with all the loss.
One by one I lost the chickens from suspicious attacks, an indefinate dog attack, an olive python and suspected poisoning of some kind. As crazy as it might seem, all my chooks had names and personalities. Gloria went first before we had moved here. She went early on via an olive python. Next was Bloomer not long after we arrived and she died as a result of a suspicious attack. Suspicious as in though the dogs generally got along really well with the chooks it was quite a shock to have found Bloomer crouched behind the chook shed minus nearly all of her neck feathers after we returned from walking away weaners one day. She lived for three days post-attack. Henrietta was next, my favourite chook. And it is yet another suspicious attack. Damian thinks that it may have been a feral cat that took her life due to the way she died. The dog that could have been the culprit was mostly tied up at this point. Then Ebony went thanks to a visit from yet another olive python. Lightening Pup, my early Christmas present to Damian, took the life of Henny Penny and as a result Damian took his life as his theory is: It starts with a small animal then builds up to a horse. We cannot have animals that chase horses or cattle. Only managers and owners dogs get to live to see another day if they do. So for over a month Annette was the only chook. She became more outgoing towards us because of it and even didn't mind chilling out with Lacey though Lacey did. Then on March 1st we lost her too. Damian found her dead underneath the house. Signs from a bare patch in the gravel showed where she lay whilst thrashing about. I suspect a spider bite and Damian suspects cane toad poisoning but we'll never know for sure. I loved having chickens. I adored them. But sadly they didn't even reach 2 years old. Annette's last two eggs have been blown and are ready to paint as a memorium to my poultry friends.
Of the 3 dogs I came to Providence with Lacey is the only one I still have. Rastus, my blue heeler, went on the 1st of September 2011 after being bitten by a whip snake. I felt my heart break as I found him thrashing under the house and foaming at the mouth. Damian relieved him of his suffering while I bawled my eyes out with my other two dogs in my arms on the lounge.
Gidget, who is one of Lacey's daughters, was next... only five days later. I wasn't there when she went. I was in town. Damian rang me at 2:30am to break the news to me and I spent the rest of the night crying. With how Damian described her final moments I knew straight away that it was cane toad poisoning. Gidget was a fiercely loyal and affectionate dog. On some levels she out-did Lacey but certainly not on obedience. I had Gidget cremated and I wish I could have done the same for Rastus and my other dogs that I have lost and have caused me to loathe the month of September.
It was only 2 years earlier that I lost my red heeler Knuckles and her son Buddy. He went on the 9th of September after licking a cane toad and Knuckles went on the 13th after digging him up and eating him. The most horrible thing is to witness a dog suffering the effects of poisoning and not being able to do anything about it at the time. Two dogs in too short a time and it's no wonder I hate September.
But I still have Capone, my weaner bull and my horses Charger and Diamond and I believe that Chief is out there in the paddock with them in spirit though we said goodbye to him in October 2010 due to colic. And of course I still have my Little Lady Lacey. She's been there by my side through thick and thin for almost five years. She's by my side right now, ever loyal, my friend when I feel I have none, my sidekick, my handbag dog that outgrew the handbag, my little Princess. So then there were four...
The chooks at about a month old. This was their first night in the chook shed. Mataranka 2010.
Rastus enjoying himself at the dam only 5 days before he died.
Miss Gidget. Loyal and affectionate beyond words.
I do seem to have this curse that causes me to lose my pets well before their time and for me September has now become the hardest month for me to deal with all the loss.
One by one I lost the chickens from suspicious attacks, an indefinate dog attack, an olive python and suspected poisoning of some kind. As crazy as it might seem, all my chooks had names and personalities. Gloria went first before we had moved here. She went early on via an olive python. Next was Bloomer not long after we arrived and she died as a result of a suspicious attack. Suspicious as in though the dogs generally got along really well with the chooks it was quite a shock to have found Bloomer crouched behind the chook shed minus nearly all of her neck feathers after we returned from walking away weaners one day. She lived for three days post-attack. Henrietta was next, my favourite chook. And it is yet another suspicious attack. Damian thinks that it may have been a feral cat that took her life due to the way she died. The dog that could have been the culprit was mostly tied up at this point. Then Ebony went thanks to a visit from yet another olive python. Lightening Pup, my early Christmas present to Damian, took the life of Henny Penny and as a result Damian took his life as his theory is: It starts with a small animal then builds up to a horse. We cannot have animals that chase horses or cattle. Only managers and owners dogs get to live to see another day if they do. So for over a month Annette was the only chook. She became more outgoing towards us because of it and even didn't mind chilling out with Lacey though Lacey did. Then on March 1st we lost her too. Damian found her dead underneath the house. Signs from a bare patch in the gravel showed where she lay whilst thrashing about. I suspect a spider bite and Damian suspects cane toad poisoning but we'll never know for sure. I loved having chickens. I adored them. But sadly they didn't even reach 2 years old. Annette's last two eggs have been blown and are ready to paint as a memorium to my poultry friends.
Of the 3 dogs I came to Providence with Lacey is the only one I still have. Rastus, my blue heeler, went on the 1st of September 2011 after being bitten by a whip snake. I felt my heart break as I found him thrashing under the house and foaming at the mouth. Damian relieved him of his suffering while I bawled my eyes out with my other two dogs in my arms on the lounge.
Gidget, who is one of Lacey's daughters, was next... only five days later. I wasn't there when she went. I was in town. Damian rang me at 2:30am to break the news to me and I spent the rest of the night crying. With how Damian described her final moments I knew straight away that it was cane toad poisoning. Gidget was a fiercely loyal and affectionate dog. On some levels she out-did Lacey but certainly not on obedience. I had Gidget cremated and I wish I could have done the same for Rastus and my other dogs that I have lost and have caused me to loathe the month of September.
It was only 2 years earlier that I lost my red heeler Knuckles and her son Buddy. He went on the 9th of September after licking a cane toad and Knuckles went on the 13th after digging him up and eating him. The most horrible thing is to witness a dog suffering the effects of poisoning and not being able to do anything about it at the time. Two dogs in too short a time and it's no wonder I hate September.
But I still have Capone, my weaner bull and my horses Charger and Diamond and I believe that Chief is out there in the paddock with them in spirit though we said goodbye to him in October 2010 due to colic. And of course I still have my Little Lady Lacey. She's been there by my side through thick and thin for almost five years. She's by my side right now, ever loyal, my friend when I feel I have none, my sidekick, my handbag dog that outgrew the handbag, my little Princess. So then there were four...
The chooks at about a month old. This was their first night in the chook shed. Mataranka 2010.
Rastus enjoying himself at the dam only 5 days before he died.
Miss Gidget. Loyal and affectionate beyond words.
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