the eagle has landed - er no - the jackdaw has flown

The other day, on a beautiful sunny morning, Jack the one eyed jackdaw at last flew to freedom.

In spite of the information I had received that he would not survive - he was as wild as the wind and once he'd got fit and healthy he could not possibly have spent his life in captivity. He had the sky in that one eye and when I opened the door for him he soared up into the blue and away across the fields. It was a thrilling sight though he took a piece of my heart with him.

He'll stay with me though. I have started to write a new story about - well - a one eyed jackdaw. He never spoke in all the time I had him and I wonder if back in Nature he'll find a voice to tell the others where he'd been for the past two months. He might even recommend CHEESE which I imagine is difficult to find if you're a bird living in the wild.I hope someone else teaches him the joy of bathing though. Unlike all the other birds I've rescued he never once went into the water bowl.

Pixie's Interesting Blog Post Fact is...........
Bald eagles aren't actually bald.

Of course whether or not one should let Nature take its course is a hugely debatable matter. Should you leave a struggling creature to its fate or help it out? There are masses of fantastic videos on You Tube of people untangling swans necks and rescuing ducklings from drains and baby foxes who have lost their mothers. I'd certainly be unable to leave a creature if I felt I could help it out. Jack would certainly be dead if someone hadn't rescued him and kindly given him to me to care for. But he must now take his chances. Isn't there a saying that it is better to live a day as a tiger than a year as a sheep? Beezle's not sure anyone said that but as he and Montaigne would say "To lament that one shall not be alive a hundred years hence, is the same folly as to be sorry we were not alive a hundred years ago."

Beezle, who has the thinest whippet skin, is now sporting a smart brown fleecy coat as he gets so cold. (No picture supplied but might be used in blackmail at another time.) He loves it though I miscalculated the measurements and its a wee bit short in the length. What I suspect might be a little dog "hoody" comes down his neck and not over the back of his head but he still looks very distinguished and when he first got it he liked to show off and scampered around wagging his tail. Pixie who has plenty of coat of her own was not impressed. We took him for a walk to Durdle Door on one of these fine winter mornings where we met simply masses of other dogs. None of them took the slightest bit of interest in him and we reckoned they all looked at him and thought "old man" - so we took it off and then he got lots of attention. He is of course an old man now and it was quite a walk for him up and down those steps and he slipped a couple of times. The beach pebbles made his feet a bit sore but on the whole it was a good outing and made a change from where we are. For instance there are no squirrels on the beach or deer or rabbits. But there was a heartbreaking sign with a picture of "George" a staffie looking dog with the words "I am George. I used to love this beach. My ashes are scattered here. Please take a ball and enjoy." And under the sign was a box of balls. We wept.

And here is Beezle enjoying his outing without his coat on.

OK I know I've put this up before but it's one of the great poems about the Eagle.

The Eagle

Related Poem Content Details

BY ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON

He clasps the crag with crooked hands; 

Close to the sun in lonely lands, 

Ring'd with the azure world, he stands. 

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls; 

He watches from his mountain walls, 

And like a thunderbolt he falls. 

and a one eyed jackdaw in a pear tree

And on the first day of Christmas came a one eyed jackdaw in a pear tree.

drawn by Chloe Coggin

What a dear little thing the second Jack is but with only one eye he is having to master his balance. Here he is below - yes I know they all look the same but he is very different from the jackdaw I was looking after in the summer and they are all quite different from the young rooks.

 Whereas the others were all able to return to the wild and flew away I am anxious as to his survival out there. The Rook Helpline people said he wouldn't survive - we think he'd already lost his eye because the other birds had pecked it out. He was definitely the runt of the nest as he was small for his age and as light as a ......feather. The other thing is he doesn't utter a sound. No Aarkk aarkk!
The only thing he has in common with the others is that he loves CHEESE.

 and on the third day of Christmas there were two ducks a running.

 Here is Pocket (quarter Bengal) snuggled up in a small box.

 This is where he likes to sit now watching the second Jack with both his eyes.

Meanwhile I am trying to get back into writing after all the Christmas festivities

I have no set working day though there are several things that remain constant. If I’ve actually found my way to the computer and am sitting down to write you can be sure that there will be a cat of some sort on my lap and a couple of dogs at my feet. This is very handy when winter sets in because all blood flow can stop if you sit and write all day.

 Unless there are other things on the agenda, my plan is always to get up, avoid the unidentified innards left by the bedroom door, go downstairs, make a strong black coffee and turn on the computer to write. I am always excited to do this. Sometimes I will re-read what I’ve written the day before and even the day before that if I’m mulling some ideas around.

 This working day plan has to accommodate the two cats that need to be fed, the two dogs that need out, and the eight running ducks that overnight in the wendy house to be freed. The wendy house still has the gingham curtains at the windows and a small blackboard on the wall. One day I’m hoping to find the theory to everything written on the board but I guess unless I start leaving some chalk around this will be unlikely.

Beezle has interrupted my account of my working day . I despair. But as he and Albert Camus would say "There is no love of life without despair of life."


I will continue.

 So the computer’s on and once I’ve checked and answered any e mails,

looked to see what my daughters are doing on Facebook and poured out

that second cup of coffee- my fingers fly over the keys. Some writers

know exactly where they are going. They may already have the

beginning, the middle and the end. They have drawn a story arc and have

made brilliant notes on their characters down to what’s in their pocket

and what scares them. What scares me is that I don’t usually have any of

this.

The story often unravels itself in front of me as I write and leads me

along paths I had not previously imagined. Like Robert Frost, I can take

the one less travelled. But there will be no road not taken. I love the

journey and the surprises that can come. In one of my books I found

myself introducing a new character and I had absolutely no idea why I

had done this. It wasn’t till half way through the book when I was trying

to figure out a way for my protagonist to escape from a prison cell that I

realised why I had written this person in. And Dear Reader, escape she

did!

 So now Pixie is keen to impart her Very Interesting Fact.

"Jackdaws are the smallest member of the crow family and I am the biggest member of the dog family."

 I have always been used to interruptions. I used to write long hand in notebooks whilst waiting to pick up my daughters from a dancing or a swimming class, grabbing minutes here and there. So I’m used to having to stop mid flow. Now I almost wilfully make my own interruptions. Sometimes I find myself checking out all those dogs that need rescuing in Crete or watching yet another You Tube of baby foxes jumping on trampolines.  Sometimes I remember I must go on line and order some stainless steel polish or that book that someone told me about. Or write a blog post.

The Small Box

The small box gets its first teeth
And its small length
Its small width and small emptiness
And all that it has got

The small box is growing bigger
And now the cupboard is in it
that it was in before

And it grows bigger and bigger and bigger
And now has in it the room
And the house and the town and the land
And the world it was in before

The small box remembers its childhood
And by over great longing
It becomes a small box again

Now in the small box
Is the whole world quite tiny
You can easily put it in a pocket
Easily steal it easily lose it

Take care of the small box


Vasco Popa.

tales and tails from down under

 Apologies to anyone who might be thinking "where's November's blog post?" "Has she gone into hibernation?" "We want Pixie's interesting fact!" The reason is we have been travelling in Australia and NewZealand.
Pixie's interesting fact by the way is that King Penguins can contract their pupils into a square.
We didn't see any King Penguins but we did see the tiniest penguins in the world and two sperm whales. (or the same one twice - they hold their breath for around 50 mins under the sea and I guess it was about fifty minutes before we saw the second one.

 What awe inspiring creatures they are and how gut wrenching to think that they have and can still -be illegally killed to make soap.
 "And when the last great whale died, no sigh was heard upon the land but in the beaving of the tide, with every throb, oceans cried, and cursed the ways of modern man."

When we were in NZ Nature certainly had her revenge. We were in an earthquake 7.8 on the Richter Scale. It tipped us out of our beds and the little beach hut we were in shook and shook. We were right by the sea and people were scared that there would be a tsunami. Thank goodness for technology though. We were able to have constant updates through the media about the tsunami threat and didn't have to drive off into the mountains which - where we were - would have been a bit of a trek.

Meanwhile back home, without being woken by an earthquake,  hedgehogs were already hibernating. This one was just coming in through the gate when I left incredibly early for the trip over a month ago.

Beezle was in charge whilst we were away and ran a tight ship. He reported back on the USA election results and as he and Isaac Newton would say "Men build too many walls and not enough bridges."
Modern man eh? Beezle has assured me he is not a modern dog.

 The frosts have felled all the dahlias but these pics are a gentle reminder that they'll be around again next year with any luck. A box full of bare rooted roses had also arrived in our absence and with the aid of a pickaxe to break the icy surface, are now bunched together in the soil.
On the book front - The Dog, Ray has been nominated for the Carnegie Award (along with a hundred others - but just saying) and is this month's Kid's Pick in People Magazine in the USA. (circ. 3.4million!) Hurrah. Beezle in charge of fan mail..

I have posted this poem I wrote before but it seems so appropriate given the whale.

Ambition

As I float in the Caribbean Trash Vortex

caught in the reams of carnage,

thirty carrier bags, two stretches of hosepipe

five flowerpots, a flip flop -

in all fifty nine different

pieces of plastic - lodged in my gut

I dream of breaching out to sea

whacking my vast tail on the surface tension

of the blue ocean

leaping out of the waves and crashing back

scattering spray on the way

which catches and glistens

in the early morning rays of sunlight

under the wide sky.

Being a host to a myriad of smaller

organisms who as devoted followers

nibble and clean and scurry and hurry by my side.

That would be my ambition

as my airways clog with polystyrene beads

like mermaid's tears

and I can no longer move with

my necklace of plastic detritus

tethering me to the sea bed.

a small ambition for one

so very large.

circuses and carcasses

I've always been a bit of a circus girl. I don't know which bit - heart probably.

I often weave a circus or two into some of my stories and when I was very young I had an imaginary friend who for some odd reason was a female juggler who I called Mrs King Kong Kelly. They are interesting imaginary friends. According to Psychology Today, imaginary friends can be a source of comfort when a child is experiencing difficulties. Difficulties in running away to join the circus probably. In fact if the truth be known I had two imaginary friends. The other one was a very small Scotsman called Jock Mac Hockercock who wore a tartan cap.  Don't ask me where he came from but writing it down now I can see I was interested in rhyming words at an early age. Perhaps having imaginary friends helps in the creation of characters when you become a writer. I wonder how many other writers had imaginary friends?

me and Trude dressing up for Country Living Magazine. Photo Craig Fordham.

Perhaps the circus thing is the dressing up coupled with my love of horses. Here is Harry looking very un-circus like. He's a willing horse but a bit clumsy and he can't count. Not that I know of anyway.

If I had a pound for every time someone said to me about Pixie "you could put a saddle on that.." it wouldn't be worth much in this present political climate. I think the saying probably is " I've been told you could put a saddle on that more times than you've had hot dinners." A curious notion. None of us can count how many hot dinners that would be.

 Pixie's Very Interesting Fact she tells me is that the leotard is named after the first star of the flying trapeze who was called Jules Leotard. She's asked me to put the word Very in front of her Interesting Fact column. I told her she didn't have a column just two lines.

 Here are the ducks! The babies are the same size now and they all run around in a column.

As Beezle and Jesus would say " "Consider the lily for it toileth not."

 There have been quite a lot of carcasses left on the door mat, outside the bedroom door, on the landing, in the bathroom and under the table. Some still unidentifiable. Because of this I am not putting up any Cat pictures.

When I gave up the theatre and settled into a domestic life, the poems I created reflected this. I used to perform them in local art centres and pubs and inspired by the rap artist EMINEM I called myself Em U Em - which stands for MUM. I wrote a series of poems called The Dust Collection. Fluff in the Ideal Home being the first. But I see now I wrote one about the circus which seems apt for this blog post.

The Circus

So it’s three thirty five and I’m at the circus

and one child keeps saying they can’t see

and the other is still crying

because the icecream was all sold out

and we’ve had the clowns and the guy

on the slack rope

and then this beautiful black horse trots in

its neck so arched its nose

touches its chest and it is so shiny

the mirror ball flares off its coat

and practically blinds the fellow

playing the violin and I think of Gordon

and the trip to Paris

where we saw the man being a robot

and how I’m not wearing the greasepaint

or the tutu or riding the beautiful horse

and I’ve practically got my bags packed

to run away and then I look down

and see these two children and remember

it’s school on Wednesday

and we still haven’t bought the new trainers

or the geometry kit with the spare eraser

and I look down and wonder

who’s going to sweep up all that sawdust?

blah blah blog

I have picked a series of random photographs to go on this month's blah blah blog.
Mostly of animals lying around because that's when they are the easiest to photograph

Pixie waiting for the postman


But this picture of Pixie- who looks as if she's waiting for the postman, reminds me of the poem I wrote when I was quite young, hoping I would win a pony. The poetry competition was in a National Newspaper (Daily Mirror I suspect) and the poem had to be entitled The Postman. I've already written about how unethical it was to have a pony as a prize but as I was desperate for one I put pen to paper. This is what a remember I wrote:

I stand and watch through the window pane
 the scurrying leaves and the pattering rain.
I'm waiting for the postman - oh where can he be?
It's not for the parcels I'm hoping to see
but because he's my Daddy coming home for his tea."

Hardly Keat's season of mists and mellow fruitfulness. I obviously didn't win the horse. But I don't know where I got the idea from. My Dad was a brain surgeon.

Nancy flopping around by a newly planted climbing rose. Completely unaware that a badger cull is going to take place.

Pocket (quarter Bengal) exhausted as thrice the brinded cat hath mew'd.

I wonder what Shakespeare would have written and whether or not he'd have won the pony.

double, double toil and trouble
letters come and postmen bubble
fillet of a fenny snake,
in the post bag boil and bake
eye of newt and toe of frog
postman bitten by a dog ......

It is the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness - this is the view from our road. I think the rounded bales  look like an art installation. Sadly none of this was thrashed by bare torsoed men a la Poldark.

The two naughty garden ducks. They have the whole run of the back garden. Meanwhile in the poly tunnel area motherduck and her two ducklings are all doing well and growing fast.

Probably Beezle's last picnic in the garden for this year. As he and Wittgenstein would say, "Wherof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent."

I love dahlias! They keep flowering through to the frosts so the house can always be filled with flowers.
Pixie's interesting fact is that when hippos are upset their sweat turns red.
Sounds a bit eye of newt to me.

Meanwhile Dear Reader - Stop the Badger Cull!!

The Coombe

by Edward Thomas


The Coombe was ever dark, ancient and dark.
Its mouth is stopped with bramble, thorn and briar;
And no one scrambles over the sliding chalk
By beech and yew and perishing juniper
Down the half precipices of its sides, with roots
And rabbit holes for steps. The sun of Winter,
The moon of Summer, and all the singing birds
Except the missel-thrush that loves juniper,
Are quite shut out. But far more ancient and dark
The Combe looks since they killed the badger there,
Dug him out and gave him to the hounds.
That most ancient Briton of English beasts.

mrs walter's babies and other bird stories

I am happy to announce that 28 days on the dot Mrs Walter's eggs hatched.

 Indian runner ducks are notoriously bad mothers but I think she did really well. Sadly the first two that hatched wandered away from her protective wings in the night and I found them dead in the morning only a few inches from the nest. They had died of the cold. One or two didn't manage to get out of the egg but hurrah! She has two and one of them sports the funny little Ascot hat that she has.

The Indian runner duck people advised me to take the two ducklings away from her and raise them myself but I said "I'm a mother! I couldn't possibly take her babies away." So I moved her and them and the nest (and at the time the two other eggs that didn't hatch) and put them in a big rabbit run. I don't know why I have a rabbit run - we haven't kept rabbits - but there- things turn up if you look for them. She is proving the people wrong and is an excellent mother and they are very funny to watch.

 The lovely Jack has finished his holiday. I do miss him but glad I don't have to keep changing my top. (Read his diary.) Below is an extract from it.

 Jack's diary

It’s rather scary because apart from a lot of books there are other animals here too. Two cats are peering in through the bars and giving me the eye. I am giving them the eye back and hop onto a higher perch. There is also a small horse here and another dog. The small horse has a long tail which wags so it’s clearly a dog too.

When She is writing at the desk they’re ALL in here with us.  One of the two cats on her lap, the other in a chair and the dogs under the table on which I’m perched. Sometimes the stripy cat hangs around my cage hoping I’m not going to eat all the food She gives me. If I don’t want it I store it in the bowl. I demand to be fed by hand which She does but actually I’m quite capable of feeding myself which I do when She’s not looking.

I’m trying out new foods.

Apart from the dog food my favourites are

blueberries.

cheese.

sprouting beans.

seeded bread

and banana! I love bananas! I think I could live on bananas.

She’s given me a little ball which I like to kick around my cage. Sometimes I move it with my beak, sometimes with my feet. It’s fun. I think this might be called football.

I think I’ve settled in quite well. I get a bath everyday in the small horses water bowl. I like this – I can strut around and shake my feathers and I can get my whole head under the water. The great thing is I can see myself in the mirror if I stand on the top perch. I know it’s me and not another jackdaw because I am a very intelligent bird.

BUT sometimes She’ll come in wearing a RED TOP!!!!! aaaargh! This makes me go crazy. I don’t think She should be wearing it- it doesn’t suit her. She came in wearing a coat yesterday which was just as bad. It took me ages to calm down. Now I notice if She’s got that red top on She’ll take it off and put her normal top on before She comes in to my room - which makes me happy.

I’ve found the way to her heart.

When I see her I make a little chirrping noise, lift one wing up and waggle my tail.

I’m just flirting with her but She always smiles when I do it and coos back at me.

I think we are friends.

Peas!!! I love peas! I think I could live on peas. And what’s more I can eat them myself out of the bowl and don’t need to be fed them by hand. Actually I’ll admit it – I am eating by myself though I do still like to have someone put it straight into my mouth.

I’ve found a new trick. I am silent, watching her write and every time She turns to look my way I’ll make some sort of greeting. Now – if I rattle one of the food trays She turns to look at me – so just for fun I keep rattling the tray! It’s very funny.

Here is Pocket contemplating if to come back as a horse in his next life. Certainly not a pheasant.
I have no feelings for pheasants, there are hundreds of them round here for the wretched shooting season and I've always thought them rather stupid birds. But today I was driving back along the track and I saw that the gamekeeper had dropped twelve of them off along the drove. The shooting season is about to start and these are young pheasant that he has been raising and he's obviously leaving them all over the place. I felt such sadness for them. They didn't know where they were or what they were doing. They all huddled together and just ran along in front of the car. None of them attempted to fly and it was a sad sight. They call this sport. It won't be too long before the gamekeeper will be given permission to shoot the buzzards down like they are over the grouse shooting moors.
I have put this Thomas Hardy poem up before but it sums it up. Here it is again Dear Reader - to save you the trouble of trying to find it.

The Puzzled Game Birds.

They are not those who used to feed us
when we were young - they cannot be -
These shapes that now bereave and bleed us?
They are not those who used to feed us,
For did we then cry, they would heed us.
- If hearts can house such treachery,
They are not those who used to feed us
When we were young - they cannot be!


But as Beezle and  Einstein would say, "Only two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity."

 Pixie's interesting fact (see above for ref pic.) is that

A house fly hums in the key of F.

When people ask me what dogs I have and I say Beezle -  I always feel like that annoying bumper sticker people used to put on their beaten up cars - My Other Car is a Porsche.
and my other dog is a wolfhound.


As there is no picture of Beezle on this post here is a poem I wrote - inspired by him.

   Giving

 Dog – what shall I give you?

A new heart?

You’ve used your old one till it must burst

so full of love and missings

Dog – what will I give you?

At least one new leg?

Shattered and splintered and stitched

it’s carried you over the stubble

the flint and the chalk as if

you stepped only on gold.

Dog – what can I give you?

New eyes? Now clouded they’ve

seen things too swift for people like me

to even give a name to

Dog – what could I give you?

A new tail?

Yours has wagged and pointed and spun

for all those dog years.

I’ll give you a new tail to steer

you into the next time.