Tonight’s post is about the privilege of being alive.
They say you die twice, once when you breathe your last breath and the second time when the last person that knows your name dies.
I don’t want to be remembered when I am dead. I want to live now. Death is so final. One minute you are here going about your daily tasks, buying Burger King, shouting at the dogs, answering your phone and the next moment you are gone. It’s like a big hand in the sky just reached out and plucked you up.
Then your relatives are left with all your crockery that you loved so much and the slips of your secret farm spending. Your husband is mad at you because you bought tar poles for a fence on the credit card but he can’t shout at you because you are with the hand in the sky…
I have been thinking about death a lot. Our family has shrunk in the past few weeks. We are missing a piece of our family puzzle and each one of us is grieving in our own way.
Today I nearly joined our Pops in the afterlife.
After the last break-in at the plot I had the fence amped to a voltage that even scared ADT, the security response company. Nobody goes within arms -reach of the ‘lighted one’. The recent rain has left the plot in a state of ‘come plant with me’. I just want to dig into the rich brown soil and grow grass and vegetables and stuff. So I break Tilly out. Tilly ( Tiller of Husqvarna origin) is the machine that nearly broke my marriage last year. I simply had to have her and my husband dug his heels in and said: NO.
Those that know me will know that NO makes me mad. Mad as a witch on a broomstick with engine failure in a mealie field. Just unpleasant. After a lot of ‘ conferencing’ I got my rotovator ( as the disciples call it). Christopher watched with amusement and aggravation as I ploughed that plot into the ground ( 
Today was her day of awakening. We broke her out of the garage and I immediately put her to work in the donkey paddock. She is kinda rough but she has a wonderful stopping mechanism, all you have to do is let go of the lever and she immediately comes to a halt. All went well until I put the run reverse on. She bucked and pranced, pushing me back and back and more back. The fence near my derrière was becoming a real reality and I started to panic, forgetting about leaving the bloody lever. At the last minute a little voice in my middle brain somewhere whispered:” Just let go Yvette” and for once I listened. Not a moment to soon as the fence was a mm from me. I swear I could feel it zinging . After my ordeal I had to go find myself. I thought of breaking out a bottle of Cousins but my sense of ‘ what would my grooms think?’ stopped me.
Tonight I reflected on my close encounter as I sat carving the carrots and apples for the chickens ( their nightly treat). My dogs are surrounding me watching my every move. They are all vegetarians come carrot time. They steal from the feathered friends if I don’t give them and it all breaks out into a unruly brawl as the chickens defend their claim to the carrots.
But the plot is just beautiful. The earth is soft and welcoming. There are bats flying around already and the green grass is fighting to make an appearance. The animals are fat and happy… except for the geese. They are never happy. I sit and listen to the grooms chatting in their song-song voices. The vegetable garden is flourishing. I am in my happy place. Moments like these are enough.
Tonight it’s good to be alive.
Oct 2020
They say the school teachers kids are the naughtiest and the preacher’s kids swear the most … Well, I can attest to the fact that the animal welfarist has the most uncontrollable animals.
I came home to a lot of mental abuse. My dogs decided that they would reward my absence by leaving oodles of runny poop on my Aladdin carpets all over the house. Between the 5 of them I couldn’t find the culprit but did I pick up enough shit. Each room had a signature poo . It was ok until I picked up the pièce de résistance, the one that wouldn’t budge and then I stuck my finger in it… the rest was a rebellion of note. I led the charge for the charcoal bottle and my trusted sidekick dispensed the medication. For those that couldn’t swallow the capsule there was a special alternative – break it open and pour it down the hatch. Gizmo ran around with a black tongue for ages. That put an end to the shitting on the Persian carpets…
The geese have taken their game up a notch. They can now add murder to their illustrious careers. Yup, you read it here first… murder. They killed two of my little chicks in cold blood. Lennie says he had to wrestle the bodies from them as they are also closet cannibals. Rest In Peace little feathered friends. I suppose they were hens as well as we have a shortage of those on the farm. I will never know.
The ugly Aunty Waldo is sitting on a nest, defending it as if it is holding a golden egg, but actually not. Insanity runs deep in this family as there is no bloody egg there ( I have sent a scouting party to go see) and the verdict is no egg. So what now?! Sigh. The days of our lives and all that. Suppose time will tell.
Gizmo aka Stinky has somehow found a hole in the farm fence. Yesterday morning I was watering my grass ( the paddock that I planted with Tilly) at approx. 8 am when I saw a young man walking down the road. He must have been going to church as I saw he was clutching a bible in his hands. Suddenly, out of nowhere I saw a little white dog marching in the road behind him, little legs working to keep up. Hmmm I thought, as I was still holding the hose pipe, hmmm, that must be somebody’s dog. Then the realization hit me and it all went south from there. Hose pipe flying, me screaming running to the fence, ( yes, I am dramatic) all the other dogs now in charge mode ( impressive sight the 6 of them but they didn’t know what to charge) and the young man ( not knowing Stinky was behind him) took one look et the fuckery and ran!
He clutched that bible and sprinted and Stinky followed suit with mommy going bonkers on this side of the fence followed by a plethora of crazy dogs. I could just see the white of his eyes as he made for the safety of wherever …
Stinky finally gave up the chase, turned on his haunches and marched straight back to the hole in the fence. I had to sit down to find myself.
Now there is a stricter control on the movement of small bodies on the farm. I wonder if that guy got to church early yesterday. He did sprint an awful long way..
Question is will be coming our way again next Sunday?
May 2021
I am not a goose whisperer. In fact, I can be classed as a goose shouterer.
The farm is not a place for children if you want to raise them without frequent, excessive profanity filling the air, bloodcurdling screams accompanying the swearing and terrible threats being uttered. Good thing my kids are big now.
The attacks come in waves. There will be days of nothing and then you kinda like forget they are there. I think this is all part of the Gestapo geese’s plan. They lull you into a false sense of security and then they attack.
I have adopted many different stances on how to combat the attacks launched by the snigger brigade. Because, snigger they do. They chase you halfway around the plot, their beaks hissing and the rows of teeth glistening wanting to break your skin. Then they huddle and gloat making these triumphant sniggering sounds. I don’t know what’s more infuriating. The screaming or the sniggering.
It’s just wrong on all levels.
Don’t even think they are loyal to their own. Oh no. The one female goose has problems with her legs since the white horse stood on her. Now her own child , Mr Airplane wing, has taken up residence ( incestuously so) with his aunt. So Aunty can’t do anything wrong but he turns on his mother and royally f&$ks her up. His dad just stands and watches. So I get involved to save mom from these brutal attacks and then they ALL turn on me. Great.
The thing that broke this camel’s back was that the ducks from next door ( with all 8 babies) would come for a swim in the pool bath I have for my feathered fiends.
Mr Airplane wing took it upon himself to kill 2 babies. He must have been feeling particularly murderous because he also killed my speckled hen.
On the same day I was walking to the paddocks , minding my own business, followed by 8 dogs when we were attacked. In the chaos of wings, dogs, feathers, screaming, yelping and hissing Mr Airplane wing was having the time of his life. The grooms were wrapped around the garden furniture laughing their asses off and that’s when I made the call. It’s rehome them to somebody that has been begging me for them and where I can keep an eye on them from a distance or send them to Jesus. Between you and me I even heard a voice from heaven say:” Please rehome them…”
Mr Airplane wing and the disgusting Aunty found a new home with one of my plot kids.
I can’t anymore.
It’s gonna cost me food for the rest of their lives but so be it. I do it gladly.
The kid ( who is well trained in goose husbandry) was ecstatic. Apparently geese with an Airplane wing are very sought after. They don’t know about his inclinations to have more than family relations with family relations. I say nothing.
He had hardly had them home when I got the first message:” He bit me.”
Hmmmmmm. Say no more.Now I just have the original mom & dad left. They can’t breed because some stallion stood on them years back when we moved in and everybody was mad with each other.
I thought I had restored the status quo. Apparently not. Ed got bitten yesterday and so did I. That’s while I was feeding them chopped carrots and cabbage they thought it prudent to give me a taste of their appreciation. Lots of screaming, yelling, howling and loads of profanity slung around. The feathered fuckers never give up.
The plot thickens and will be continued…snigger, snigger. I have the last laugh.
