death and the maiden

It is with great sadness that I report the death of the rook Cornelia. She was learning to fly and she drowned in a tub of water. I am heartbroken and although guilt will not bring her back I chastise myself for not thinking that she might fly upwards onto the rim of the tub and fall in. She had become such an amiable companion and in the day if I was writing she would sit on my shoulder at the computer, often with a cat also on my lap and certainly the dogs lying around at my feet. I have buried her under the trees where the rest of the rooks are and where once her nest had been. Someone told me that she had been sent to teach me something but I can't for the life of me think what except how attached we can become to an animal.

 I have always loved corvids - so much so that I did a solo show a long time back where I became one. Below is a picture. Later I used to wear the mask when the children had halloween parties. It was very effective.

 Life and death eh? As Beezle and Mark Twain would say "I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience for it."

the philosopher Beezle.

 This weekend I was lucky enough to be invited to the Hay- on- wye Literary festival where I was an "event" with two other wonderful writer's of stories Gillian Cross and Emma Carroll. It was good fun and every performer gets presented with a single stemmed white rose. See below.(also half a crate of wine - no picture.}

Rather than a picture of the half crate of wine here is a picture of Pixie who - because of the camera angle- looks as if she's just eaten a small horse or indeed the half crate of wine.
She can't see what all the fuss about life and death is all about.

Meanwhile - outside the alliums are in full bloom. I love these alliums - Purple Sensation - because they seed and each year you get more and more and when they've finished flowering they have seed heads which seem to last forever which you can spray gold at christmas if you so desire and put them in a wreath.(wreath? oh no - blub.}

Life is for the Living.
Death is for the dead.
Let life be like music.
And death a note unsaid.


Langston Hughes.

corvus r us

 Ok so it's animal rescue here on this blog. After the fox cub guess what turned up on my doorstep(metaphorically speaking) - this baby rook(corvus).I suppose it's because it's that time of year when animals are having their young and the young get into trouble. I kept an eye on her all day under the rookery as she crept lower and lower on the branches until she was only a foot off the ground. I knew she wouldn't be able to get back - Branchlings as they are called - are not fed by their parents once they've descended so low. I rang the Rook Helpline - yes only in this country would there be such a thing - and they assured me that unless I took her in she would be eaten in the night - cat, fox (not mine) or RAT!!

 So in she came where she sits very happily on my laptop stand preening and cleaning herself, twisting her head to take in her surroundings as I sit by her and write or do some paperwork. Occasionally she'll stand up and flash her wings around causing all the receipts and bits of paper to fly across the table, then she settles down like an elderly Victorian dowager widow, dressed in her black garbs. She has beautiful shiney almost deep purple feathers, still with baby down on her chest and because she has no neck when she's sitting down it makes her look grumpy. I have called her Cornelia (because rooks caw} - Connie for short.

 Every two hours or so I feed her cat food or minced meat which she adores. She opens her beak, revealing a bright red interior. I'm supposed to make a cawing noise like a rook and pop the food in her gaping mouth. And dear reader - I do.
Rooks have an ability to see lots of colours - possibly more than us so I'm wondering if I ought to wear black to look like one of them. How many rooks do you see in a Save the whale T shirt?
She spends the day inside with me as they are very sociable creatures or in the shade polytunnel which is huge and safe and I hope will allow her to perfect her flying skills.



As Beezle and Bob Dylan would say "No one is free, even the birds are chained to the sky."

 For previous readers of this blog – I am happy to report that Weasel the fox is now (I hope) running free back in the county he came from. I miss him enormously, but you can’t keep such an endearing and beautiful creature like a fox in captivity and I was pleased that I could let him free before he became domesticated and unable to fend for himself. Let's hope I can do the same for Connie.

It’s so easy to slip into a fantasy of rescuing a wild animal and becoming its bestie and in the night when Weasel barked continually I had to ask myself what I was doing rushing downstairs and putting on Radio 3 for some classical music  because I thought he would like it.

Foxes, although from the same canid family as the domestic dog are not cut out to be a human companion. They are born with strong inbuilt instincts to be afraid of man and however tame you might make one, they will always suffer stress when around other people.

I clearly hadn’t thought it through properly when I gaily offered to rescue Weasel. I mean, I live on a farm – what was I going to do – take it for walks on a lead? You just can’t do that. They aren’t born to live in a house and you wouldn’t want to pen it up outside.

 Anyway – I enjoyed the short time we had together – I like to think I saved its life and hope it is fending for itself. It may fleetingly remember its time with us  if it ever hears a Mozart concerto or a Schubert piano sonata thanks to Radio 3.  I know it will be hunted – although fox hunting is purportedly banned they do still hunt foxes. As long as the hunting horn doesn’t change its tune from blowing “Gone away”, to the opening notes of the 1812 overture – it may stand a chance.

I pray for its life.

 These animals however seem to like to be domesticated

and here is Pocket (quarter Bengal) exhausted at having to do my spell check.

Black Rook in Rainy Weather

by Sylvia Plath

On the stiff twig up there Hunches a wet black rook Arranging and rearranging its feathers in the rain. I do not expect a miracle Or an accident To set the sight on fire In my eye, not seek Any more in the desultory weather some design, But let spotted leaves fall as they fall, Without ceremony, or portent. Although, I admit, I desire, Occasionally, some backtalk From the mute sky, I can't honestly complain: A certain minor light may still Leap incandescent Out of the kitchen table or chair As if a celestial burning took Possession of the most obtuse objects now and then --- Thus hallowing an interval Otherwise inconsequent By bestowing largesse, honor, One might say love. At any rate, I now walk Wary (for it could happen Even in this dull, ruinous landscape); sceptical, Yet politic; ignorant Of whatever angel may choose to flare Suddenly at my elbow. I only know that a rook Ordering its black feathers can so shine As to seize my senses, haul My eyelids up, and grant A brief respite from fear Of total neutrality. With luck, Trekking stubborn through this season Of fatigue, I shall Patch together a content Of sorts. Miracles occur, If you care to call those spasmodic Tricks of radiance miracles. The wait's begun again, The long wait for the angel. For that rare, random descent.

fox in a box

This week I have had to face a dilemma. Do I or do I not rescue this fox cub? Given my feelings about the wild and freedom it seems wrong to take care of a fox cub in a domestic situation but this one had the grim reaper at his side and I just felt I couldn't let that happen if there was a way to save him. I think his siblings and mother were already dead but here the facts are a bit hazy. He was handed over by a gamekeeper.

 Fox Diary day 1.

He seemed much bigger than I’d expected, 5 weeks old approximately and although he has not been sexed I think because of his size he may well be a dogfox. Anyway, for now he is a kit, which is the name given to fox cubs. He was unceremoniously tipped into a huge dog carrying cage the size of a condominium which only just got into the back of my car. When I got home and the coast was clear I struggled up the path with it and put it on the table in the dogs room so that he would be my height and I could sit by the cage and talk to him.

 Weasel (temp name) will only allow me to within a foot of him before he shrinks back and bares his teeth. I am learning the art of patience. All day I've been periodically sitting infront of the cage with the door open, putting my hand in and talking nonsense. I think he suspects I may be mad, certainly not to be trusted though. He has hidden the little egg I gave him in the straw which is what the website on foxes says they like to do. He may or may not eat it. I will leave the radio on all night so he gets used to human noise.

Matt came round and suggested I stroked the fox gently with a stick so he gets used to being touched. I’ll try it tomorrow. Good progress though for a creature that must be traumatized. He even nodded off at one stage when I was talking to him. He must have thought the conversation very boring indeed. Later on in the evening when I came down he’d moved up to the front of the cage and stayed there for a while until Pocket jumped on my lap and he retreated to the back again. Then Pocket jumped on top of the cage and sat there chewing the stick I’d put up there to use tomorrow. All the animals were very interested and Nancy wanted to get in the cage and Pixie was lying underneath it.

 Only Beezle has feigned disinterest. He is probably sulking because Weasel sounds very like his own name.

  Day2.

Weasel is asleep. This is not surprising as he his a nocturnal creature – but it’s either  a good sign because it means he feels more relaxed or he is snoozing because he’s getting fed up with the stick. I suppose I should be leaping out of bed at around three in the morning to check on his activities.I chose a soft pussy willow and have been stroking his head and back with it. He doesn’t seem to mind and I think he secretly rather likes having his ears touched. He makes them go flat when the stick touches them. But if my hand holding the stick goes nearer than about eight inches he snarls and bares his teeth, leaping to his feet and going into attack mode. He still hasn’t eaten the egg and likes to tip his bowl over and hide the food under it so it’s difficult to tell how much he’s actually eating. I think he’d like to eat my hand.

As Beezle and Antoine de Saint-Exupery would say "Men have forgotten this truth. But you must not forget it. You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed.

The fox.

The shepherd on his journey heard when nigh
His dog among the bushes barking high;
The ploughman ran and gave a hearty shout,
He found a weary fox and beat him out.
The ploughman laughed and would have ploughed him in
But the old shepherd took him for the skin.
He lay upon the furrow stretched for dead,
The old dog lay and licked the wounds that bled,
The ploughman beat him till his ribs would crack,
And then the shepherd slung him at his back;
And when he rested, to his dog's surprise,
The old fox started from his dead disguise;
And while the dog lay panting in the sedge
He up and snapt and bolted through the hedge.

He scampered to the bushes far away;
The shepherd called the ploughman to the fray;
The ploughman wished he had a gun to shoot.
The old dog barked and followed the pursuit.
The shepherd threw his hook and tottered past;
The ploughman ran but none could go so fast;
The woodman threw his faggot from the way
And ceased to chop and wondered at the fray.
But when he saw the dog and heard the cry
He threw his hatchet--but the fox was bye.
The shepherd broke his hook and lost the skin;
He found a badger hole and bolted in.
They tried to dig, but, safe from danger's way,
He lived to chase the hounds another day. 

John Clare

bears and fakirs

"What would the world be, one bereft 

of wet and wildness? Let them be left, 

O let them be left, wildness and wet;

long live the weeds and the wildness yet."

Gerard Manley Hopkins.

 In my continuous research into circus's and trained animals (ref The boy with the tiger's Heart and any other book I write which features this) a friend lent me an amazing book published in 1890 called Acrobats and Mountebanks. A mountebank is a person who tricks and cheats other people - a fakir or even a magician. It has these beautiful drawings in. I would love to credit the person but I don't have the book anymore and can't see who did them. Anyway, my apologies to anyone who is related as I guess, though my maths isn't tip top, that he/she has died by now or is very very old and would not be into reading my blog.

I doubt with health and safety as it is you'd get away with hypnotising someone in the big cat's enclosure

 Anyway - enough of line drawings - here are some pics of Harry and Trude who are hypnotised by the amount of hay they are tucking into. The weather has warmed up a bit since this picture was taken and I've now taken their coats off as their own coats were coming out by the handful. Am considering making smaller versions of them from all the hair.Would that make me a mountebank?

I've been watching the rooks in the two trees outside the house. A couple of weeks ago there was the semblance of a nest - now there are nineteen nests - all beautifully constructed and 38 rooks (there my maths isn't that bad} are sitting on the branches and in the nests. I've only calculated that - none of them sit still long enough for me to count but it is a wonderful sight and they seem well organised in their high rise homes. I shall look out for babies that fall out of their nests - I've always had a secret longing to rescue a corvus - they are such intelligent birds but with two cats living in the house it may not be wise. Last year I found a young rook hopping on the ground and picked it up wondering if it needed rescuing. It seemed capable of trying to fly - perhaps had not quite mastered it - so I let it go but found it dead the next day. I think a cat had got it after all.

As Beezle and T.S Eliot would say "For us there is only the trying. The rest is not our business."

Well I threatened to gravel the front garden and I have! It became such a quagmire of mud. Now I'm waiting for the weeds to sprout up in it. I plan to plant in the gravel to soften it. It is surprising how many plants like being in gravel and don't seem at all bothered there is not too much soil around. Watch this space for summer improvements. Long live the weeds and the wildness yet.


And as Beezle and Terry Pratchett (RIP) would say
"So much universe, and so little time."

1 elephant (usual tricks)

In researching the circus and performing animals for The Boy with the Tiger's Heart I came across this advertisement for an unrivalled opportunity. If I'd been alive in 1888 and had the cash I think I would have taken it up. The reference to the elephant (usual tricks) and the fact that it rides a velocipede -  also that the purchaser can be taught how to make them perform in a fortnight - is breath taking. Although it must have been an amazing sight in those days for people who had never seen these animals lets hope we continue the ban on performing animals in this country and try and stop it all over the world where it does still continue.

Unrivalled Opportunity

FOR SALE

(on account of family arrangements) a LARGE THEATRE OF PERFORMING MONKEYS AND LEARNED DOGS. WITH A MINIATURE CIRCUS consisting of  a PERFECTLY NEW TENT, CHAIRS AND BENCHES FOR 800 PEOPLE, PROVIDED WITH Carpets of good quality, the interior well lined with very good carpets, the ceiling of  good canvas, the scenery oil-painted and richly decorated; for the outside there is a very pretty frontage with a show gallery, ornamented with pictures. The whole has only been in use for one year, and has been well taken care of; in short; it is all new. 5 VANS. 1 caravan, 1 van for monkeys, also contains a kitchen,1 van for elephants, horses, goats. Sheep, dogs and other animals – 1 ELEPHANT (usual tricks)rides on a velocipede, is worth 15,000francs, 6 WELL TRAINED DWARF PONIES,4 SHEEP (a performance never yet shown), 15 MONKEYS and 12 DOGS, equally well trained – All these animals are trained and guaranteed, and the purchaser can be taught how to make them perform in a fortnight.  The whole will be sold for 40,000 francs.

The talk to 250 school children in Wales about the book went down well I think - mainly because of the paper tearing trick I suspect. If I'd had a small elephant riding a velocipede with me I daresay it would have been a sensation. I talked- amongst other things - about the inspiration for writing the book including my hatred of Health and safety and all those ridiculous signs and warnings.

 Here is Pixie. There's a sign on the other side of the gate saying No Dogs Beyond This Point too. She is very obedient.

 And here she is back in the country of her forebears. I took her (and Beezle) to Ireland. She caused a lot of heads to turn. Apparently you don't see many of them out there. Perhaps because there are no wolves.

the last of the hyacinths - funnily enough these are called Pink Elephant- fill the house with their heady perfume.

Beezle enjoyed his trip to Ireland too - he spent a lot of time in the meditation centre. As he and Kalu Rinpoche would say - "We will never again have the chance to be born with a body like this one."

The Circus Animals' Desertion  I sought a theme and sought for it in vain, I sought it daily for six weeks or so. Maybe at last, being but a broken man, I must be satisfied with my heart, although Winter and summer till old age began My circus animals were all on show, Those stilted boys, that burnished chariot, Lion and woman and the Lord knows what. W.B.Yeats