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Thursday, 31 May 2018

beezle's dog blog

Photo of Beezle by Craig Fordham for Country Living Mag.
 This blog post is dedicated to Beezle who has died aged nearly 16. The inspiration for The Dog, Ray, he defeated death so many times during his life. He was kicked in the head by a horse, broke his front leg in numerous places and was sewn up too many times to count after running far too fast over flints after things that ran even faster.  But eventually he stopped eating and grew as light as a nest.
 A gentle, loyal,brave,curious, loving and noble friend he was loved by so many. Even the plumber who was mending something in the house the day he died and had known him for most of his life shed a tear when he said goodbye to him


He enjoyed sharing the limelight on publishing occasions and always put on an obliging show. He liked meetings his fans. Here he is at the launch of our book


When I first started writing this blog Beezle made his first contribution and it seems apt that I put it here.   He thought that blogs were more than likely just rather boring personal facts and opinions of the writer. I imagine he is right.                                                        

                                                            Dog Blog


All you out there
I’d like to share
The hair and now
 Of this dog.
This, -  my dog blog.
My feelings, asleep, in front of the log
Burner
about a catalogue of films by
Herzog
(Werner)
my memo of bones and their various tastes
How I would save
 the ozone
How many squirrels and stuff
 I’ve chased.
A detailed account of my very best runs
My view on the economy.
Pensions, hedge funds…
My opinion of soap stars and bio-diversity
Why I slept through my owner’s
Wedding anniversary.
Why long walks can make me weary
My thoughts on the 9/11 conspiracy theory
My very interesting dialogue
With next door’s dog
How I bit the guitarist
Who used to play
 with the Trogs.

I hear that cats are now the new dogs.
So I’ll probably change it to
Dog’s mog blog.


Any feed backs?
To www world wide woof



We buried him in the horse's field next to his beloved friend Jai the first wolfhound who died 8 years and two days before him. We made a nice grave and placed flowers on the top which later, when our backs were turned, Harry the horse ate.


After the last blog post Widget flew to freedom and the next day I discovered this little chap in the long grass. Unlike Widget he cannot and still cannot feed himself and makes very loud noises and stands with his scarlet red mouth open demanding his food. He is a very sweet writing companion and sits on the back of my chair whilst I work. He is called Capote after Truman Capote who had a pet raven.
 Then last week I had a message from a vet that he had found a young crow in the middle of the road. When I went to look at him he was a rook that they had named Croaky.(obviously thinking it was a crow) We thought they'd be good company for each other as rooks are very social birds - also he could feed himself. I had hoped that he would teach Cap to do it himself but whilst he helps himself to the food in the bowl Cap just stands by it and opens his scarlet red mouth and goes "Feed me!" When I had him in the house he woke me every morning at 4.15 with the dawn chorus crowing "I'm awake!!" He probably woke my neighbours too.

Here they are just making friends in the shade tunnel. They really do chat to each other, making funny little squawking noises and sit side by side on the branch like a couple of old Victorian matriarchs in their black mourning clothes. Cap is in the foreground.
 I'm still volunteering at the Wiltshire Wild Life Hospital. A lot of the hedgehogs have been released back in the wild now and people who had found them in their gardens come back and claim them. Those that people bring in have their names written on the box and it does look as if Fiona or John or Felicity could be the hedgehogs. "Good morning Fiona" I say as I pick one up and put it in the holding box. I think the other volunteers wonder and probably exchange glances. Some of them when you come to clean them out are tidy creatures. The hedgehogs - not the volunteers. Though I'm not saying the volunteers aren't tidy.Others when you open the box look as if they're living in a hotel room that the Rolling Stones have recently vacated - spilt ashtrays, half eaten food everywhere, things ripped up, bedding strewn all over the place, food bowls tipped upside down.....



Pixie is feeling a little lost without Beezle but has still offered up an interesting fact.
An Indian Moon moth only lives for a week.
so Beezle did very well living for nearly 832 weeks.

 The last of the tree peony flowers

 As Sensei (Zen) Beezle and Nietzsche would say And those that were seen dancing were thought of as insane by those who could not hear the music.


Mercies

by Don Paterson

She might have had months left of her dog-years,
but to be who? She'd grown light as a nest
and spent the whole day under her long ears
listening to the bad radio in her breast.
On the steel bench, knowing what was taking shape
she tried and tried to stand, as if to sign
that she was still of use, and should escape
our selection. So I turned her face to mine,
and seeing only love there - which, for all
the wolf in her, she knew as well as we did-
she lay back down and let the needle enter.
And love was surely what her eyes conceded
as her stare grew hard, and one bright aerial
quit making its report back to the centre,

Wednesday, 9 May 2018

entirely spider

Here is Pocket (quarter Bengal) basking in the warm weather that has put us all in various comatose states enjoying that much needed Vit.D. I love the little green leaf, the same colour and shape as his eyes that has fallen by his side on the decking.

The young rooks are fledging, with some pushed out of their nests too soon by boisterous siblings that flex their wings and take up too much room. These youngsters end up on the ground, too young to fly and prey to the red kites and foxes that patrol the area and rather sadly abandoned by their parents. I found him (or her) hiding in the long grass and she was very complicit and didn't mind being picked up, sitting peacefully on my arm as I sorted out accommodation for her. I wasn't going to give her a name because somehow giving her a name would make us more attached but she's ended up being referred to as Widget.

To start with I hand fed her but now she's learnt to feed herself and she's very funny to watch if she is trying out new foods, jumping up and down on the spot if it's something she hasn't seen before like rice. Cheese is always a good favourite with corvids it seems. She's now in the shade poly learning to fly which she is accomplishing very well. When her baby fluffy feathers go I'll leave the door open for her to fly back to her family.

Meanwhile the runners in the garden can all feed themselves and barely being able to fly more than a few inches off the ground, content themselves with running and swimming in the paddling pool.  Some of the pigeon's nest that has been made up the chimney fell down the other day into the hearth and to my delight it was full of white horse hair from Harry the horse.

It's been picnic weather and here is Pixienic joining us in the Nature reserve for a slap up picnic, some of which she enjoyed herself when our backs were turned.

I have been reading Mary Oliver's essays Upstream and came across one on a spider she observed in her house. She is such a beautiful writer and her description of the spider laying her egg sacs, fussing, patting and circling them, sometimes lying with her face near them - then their subsequent hatching as the shy. male spider watches from the edge of the slightly chaotic web, is so engaging that I have changed my attitude to spiders. This is quite a feat to change a lifetime fear - through literature.
When I had finished reading it I passed a huge Huntsman spider clinging onto the wall by the cupboard under the stairs. I would normally have shuddered, wondered how to get rid of it and scuttle myself up the stairs to get away from it. Instead I looked at it closely and marvelled at it and no longer felt afraid.

As Beezle and Anais Nin would say " It is a sign of great insecurity to be hostile to the unfamiliar."


Pixie's interesting fact is that wolf spiders can run at speeds of up to 2 ft per second.
aaah - I'm not sure I'm completely over my fear.


Below is a poem I wrote when the children were young and I realised I mustn't pass on my fear of spiders. I think I didn't succeed very well.



Entirely Spider


It broods in the folds
of the nightdress-
huge, as if it wears an overcoat
-as dark as dreams.
I shudder and sleep in the other room
There is nothing sadder than
being single and having
to deal with a large bug.

Later, when life becomes
too short to dust
and I have found other fears
I keep good company with one.
Through the borrowed view
of the bedpost
I watch her dance attendance
repair and tidy her beautiful web
nibbling at her trussed hors d’oeuvre
saving herself for the Big One
her Mr Right whom she devours
after a night of spinning passion
her just dessert.

Curled like a cat
she fills the corner
her egg sac casting a vast shadow
across the ceiling
she ceases to scurry
instead she watches and waits
her web slack with time
and misuse.

Now, as winter approaches she is ready
for her long descent.
She clings to her clever thread
my daughters screaming as she wearily
passes them
I cajole and re-assure
I place her in the palm to prove a point
and now, close up

She seems much smaller than I thought.

Thursday, 12 April 2018

the peace of wild things


Here is Beezle and Pocket (quarter Bengal)  having a peaceful moment. Pocket is the only wild thing in this picture and likes to surround himself with other wild things - rabbits, mice, birds which he distributes on the door mat and around the house. Ear of mouse, tail of rabbit, eye of shrew - sounds like something from Macbeth. A Macbeth doormat might be a lot better than the one saying "Oh no not you again." when you open the door.


 Pixie having a wild moment in the field where the horses are - where the great heron feeds.She was dancing when this photograph was taken (thank you Chloe)

and singing in this one.



Meanwhile here is a real wild thing - one of the 300 hedgehogs at the wild life hospital. I am sure any day now they will be released into the hedges and grasslands. I am putting up my hand for a few. Although our running ducks eat the slugs and snails I'm sure there are enough to go round and the badgers (who eat hedgehogs) are over a field away.

Here are the running ducks in the garden - this photograph taken by one of our guests (thank you David Jenkins.) They look as if they are holding a conference and it's only now I look closely that I see they shouldn't be in this part of the garden at all. They have clearly broken in. It transpires that this is why I found two of them marching down the track outside earlier in the week. They discovered an escape route from the forbidden garden. I had to round them up and they dutifully ran back though the gate as running ducks would.


 Harry is moulting his coat furiously and it's great to see the rooks flying off with  beakfulls of white hairs to line their nests. Those nests must be pretty lush. They don't tax their lives with the forethought of grief that's for sure.





 As Beezle and William Blake would say " Great things are done when men and mountain meet. this is not done by jostling in the street."


Pixie's very interesting fact for this month's blog post is  No matter how much you push the envelope, it'll still be stationery.  I told her that wasn't a fact - not even an interesting one - it was a lexophile. She said you mean to write with a broken pencil is pointless ?
What is pointless is going onto Face Book and finding that you have joined numerous groups. The Lurcher Appreciation Society. The We love Lurchers, the We love Hairy Lurchers, Foxy Fans United,
Problem Parrots (why - I don't even have a parrot?) When I found myself watching a video on how to make a cardboard washing machine I thought this has to stop. Still - I will put this post up on Face Book - after all it does feature a hairy lurcher.





I absolutely love this poem by the farmer poet Wendell Berry. In fact I love his writings.

The Peace of Wild Things


When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Sunday, 11 March 2018

downward facing dog


Our lovely Beezle is recovering from a very down period in his long life.



Brave, beautiful, loyal and the inspiration for The Dog, Ray (award winning!) he has survived a badly broken leg with one bone shattered and the other a compound fracture, being kicked in the head by a horse and numerous visits to the vet to be sewn up with cut paws from racing across the flinty fields. Two weeks ago we thought he'd suffered a stroke. He fell over, had no balance, was sick, refused to eat or drink and had rapid eye movement. The vet was summoned. After fifteen and a half years it seemed he was ready to move on. But our vet was not convinced. "Vestibular syndrome!" he announced. "He'll be over it in two weeks." And how right he was. After days and days of hand feeding food and water with a syringe he wobbled up out of his bed and resumed his previous life. He has a slight tilt to his head which gives him a quizzical look and it's unlikely he'll chase hares again but happy to accompany us on a walk. Hurrah!

As Beezle and Seneca would say " learn to live wide rather than long."


Pixie is delighted too of course. On the first day of his stroke that was not a stroke she and Pocket (quarter Bengal) crowded around him and stayed close by. Pocket sitting practically on his head. They've all gone back to their usual sleeping quarters which in Pocket's case is all over the house. his favourite place being on the book whilst I'm trying to read.


I asked Pixie for her very interesting fact. She looked at me with sleepy eyes and said You cannot snore and dream at the same time. Apparently that's a fact.



These are the garden ducks running towards Spring.

I am still working on my Fox story and couldn't resist this wonderful photo of a rescue fox taken by Marilyn who runs the Wiltshire Wildlife Hospital where I volunteer one day a week (see previous post)
In the garden - sweet pea plants are now planted in the poly tunnel and I hope the poly tunnel ducks don't break in and eat them which is what they've done for the last three years.


And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass.


Ezra Pound

Tuesday, 30 January 2018

hedgehogs, horses and hammocks

Every Monday morning I am in hedgehog heaven.


I have volunteered at The Wiltshire Wild Life Hospital at Newton Tony near Salisbury to be surrounded by 300 hedgehogs one morning a week.  A nurse's uniform is not required but gloves are a necessity. Each adorable hedgehog has his or her own box which every day needs to be cleaned out with fresh paper, a towel, a bowl of gourmet food and a dish of water. 

Some of them are very compliant and keen to get at their new food bowl. Others understandably just roll up in a  ball and fan their prickles out.  If you're adept however you can get your hand in, just before they roll up tight, to enable you to lift them out without two many prickles piercing your gloves and then your skin.  People kindly send in stacks of newspapers as each hedgehog has probably two whole newspapers in his/her box. I try to be selective with the the top page- no pictures of Trump or anything too lurid. The TV Guide is frankly just mean. I think the crossword is probably the best. Today one of them escaped and by the time I had left, which box he'd escaped from hadn't been discovered. I suggested he was named Steve. 
( Mc Queen.The Great Escape.)


I have taken these two pics(the one just above and the one just below) from their website. Marilyn and Mike run the hospital and do a fantastic job. Sometimes Marilyn having to work till 4 in the morning if not enough volunteers turn up. As well as the badger there is a sweet fox (too difficult to photograph) and numerous birds, squirrels, a couple of swans and at the time of writing a wobbly jackdaw. When the fox cubs come in in the Spring I must be careful not to offer to take one home and bottle feed it. All the animals are returned to the wild where possible and a too tame fox cub would not survive. As it is I have to check my pockets before I leave to make sure an adorable hedgehog hasn't climbed in.

Pocket thinks I should be spending my Monday mornings with him and giving him gourmet food but Beezle is more philosophical. As he and Herman Hesse would say "Busyness drains life of its little and enormous joys." He wouldn't mind the nurse's uniform though.

Pixie's prickly very interesting fact is that the collective noun for hedgehogs is an array.


The horses are only on the blog because I haven't written about them for a while. I am still not writing about them but here is a picture of Harry.


and Trude.



And the hammock is just a gentle reminder that Spring and Summer are only round the corner. At the moment we are knee deep in mud - it's like the Somme - and being on a hill we are also in line for the prevailing winds and lashing rain and the thought of swinging in that hammock in the blazing sun is pleasing. Though I am reminded that since I got the hammock I have actually never laid in it let alone swung in it. And now I'm one of an array of  volunteers I'm even less likely to.



The Hedgehog
by
Paul Muldoon



The snail moves like a 
Hovercraft, held up by a 
Rubber cushion of itself, 
Sharing its secret 

With the hedgehog. The hedgehog 
Shares its secret with no one. 
We say, Hedgehog, come out 
Of yourself and we will love you. 

We mean no harm. We want 
Only to listen to what 
You have to say. We want 
Your answers to our questions. 

The hedgehog gives nothing 
Away, keeping itself to itself. 
We wonder what a hedgehog 
Has to hide, why it so distrusts. 

We forget the god 
Under this crown of thorns. 
We forget that never again 

Will a god trust in the world.