Nearly 60, You Know!

Liz is currently enjoying knitting with some pure wool. 

Regular readers will remember fondly with us, the late Diane Walsh (formerly Riches), a very good friend from our Faversham days. Diane used to regularly amuse us with stories of her friends and relatives from 'up North' - Stockton on Tees - from where she hailed. One of these was an elderly friend of her Mother. This lady, 'Ellie' was forever proudly telling all and sundry how old she was and how she managed with it.

2 Brown (Irish) Hares check us out from a safe distance after
we'd met them in a narrow lane. 

Her regular was "I'm nearly 84, you know!" which lasted from just after her 83rd Birthday and as quick as you like became "I'm nearly 85, you know!" within days of her year clicking over to the next year. Then she'd assure you that she "doesn't get out any more..... oh, except for Bingo...oh and when (Diane's Mum) takes her shopping.... and the Post Office to collect her pension... oh and the occasional car outing... etc etc" Bless her. She is still with us as far as we know, and must be way over 90 by now (Nearly 91, you know?).

All the logs in the front garden split and the machine lowered
into travelling position. I towed it round to the yard with the car.

I am cruising in towards my 59th Birthday in a few days and wondering if the day afterwards, I might get away with an "I'm nearly 60, you know....and I don't get out any more". I suspect that those who know me will tell me that this is because I love this place so much you have to pry me free with a crow-bar and, anyway, neither of us feel at all like we are either "nearly 60" or much much younger (depends on which of us you are talking about, he said carefully). Liz can't quite believe she is married to a bloke who is nearly 60, and I certainly don't feel that old, or see someone that old in the mirror. I find I have no reference point. I don't know anyone who was particularly 60 while I was watching.

Squawk, our 9-10 year old Cuckoo Marans, still laying those
dark brown spotted eggs.

Ah well. These things happen anyway and need celebrating, so as I write this I am a bit stuffed up with food and rather awash with the good Guinness. Not to a dangerous degree, I hasten to add. It was also very recently K-Dub's Birthday, so we adjourned to his local pub close to the Sligo house for a few (Liz drove us there and collected us later, nipping off to spend an evening knitting at Carolyn and putting the world to rights in the meantime). Then today a nice family tradition - the Birthday boy/girl gets to choose the menu and/or the restaurant and here I am happy to be a "cheap date".

Gorgeous George, the Gander

I do not need fancy restaurants or expensively 'foodie' fare - my idea of Heaven just now is the "bacon and cabbage" option at The Golden Eagle (Hester's) in Castlerea and 2 pints of Guinness. We had a nice salad starter and Liz had a pot of tea afterwards, but that was it. Nothing finer. I am stuffed with the food and a tiny bit squiffy from the beer. I will need no proper supper, but there is a lovely rhubarb cake sitting on the sideboard there and I have ice cream in the freezer. There is also some good cheese knocking about somewhere, so while Liz is off at knitting club I will not be starving.

The dog micro-chip certs are quite posh, serious affairs
on heavy paper. Impressed.

What else is a-foot? Our dog micro-chip certs came back from the database people at Fido.IE (Yes, I know!) and were impressive heavy-weight paper. I was expecting some aul' print out slip torn off at the perforations. I am not sure why you'd need such a posh certificate - I can't imagine anyone framing it for the office wall, for example. Impressive, none the less.

Baba and Marta (Myfanwy's lambs) enjoy the climbing pile

I have finally ploughed my way through the stack of tree slices  using the borrowed log splitter. I rescued a few rounds and built a mini pyramid in the East Field for the lambs and kid to play on, having seen how much they enjoy the grassy knoll further down the field. The youngsters have quickly adopted this and we can see them enjoying leaping on and off, playing 'King of the Castle' from the Kitchen window. I have seen mum-goat Nanny Óg up on it too with her baby. The baby goat tends to sprong up there on all four feet, boinging about like Tigger.

Guinea cock 'Apollo'. What a handsome fella!

The weather has taken a turn for the worse, reverting to freezing rain and bitter raw winds just when we were getting used to March's (false) spring. This has stalled the bumble bee surveying for the moment, killed all thoughts of opening our honey-bee hive to check for brood and stopped all outdoor gardening. Everything around field entrances is, once more, a soggy mess into which I am firing quantities of the shredded wood to try to mop up the sloppy wet. Back indoors, then, to light a fire and think about writing this blog. Have to look after myself and keep myself warm and dry. I'm nearly 59 you know!

Bespoke Livestockman's Dressing Gown?

Deefer at 9

Happy Birthday to my 'Number 1 Daughter', Deefer Dawg after whom this blog is named, 9 years old on Thursday 17th. She had a day of extra fusses and all three dogs got raw pork bones which pass for doggie Birthday Cake in this family. Happy Birthday too, to her litter mates, bro' Archie and sis' Ellie-Bezz who are both back in Kent and still in contact via their owners on Facebook. I don't know if Arch and Ellie get bones but if not, then they are missing out.

Our 'alpha' rooster, The Lieutenant with a Buff hen

Our bones were of course those from recent pig butchery of our Berkshires. I cut the shoulder prime-joints through close to the spine and ribcage so that all possible meat stays wrapped round the shoulder blade and we cook them bone-in. The few front-most ribs and associated vertebrae are our dog bones. I can remember watching the meat factory lads cutting up the pork for a friend of ours a few years back and using a hydraulic puller to rip the shoulder blade out of the joint.

The new flock line-up in the East Field

You'll be pleased to know that the new ram (Rambo) has settled in well with our ewes and our existing young ram-lamb, Dylan. Within hours he was 'with' them, very much part of the flock and very much taking his duties responsibly in terms of 'marshall and protect'. When I walk the dogs around outside their fence, the ewes will usuallly look up and get a bit nervous, though they are well used to the dogs by now, but Rambo grunts and moves to defend the ewes, placing his body squarely between the dogs and his women and even coming to the fence to glare at the dogs.

The turkeys have now taught the chickens to steal catfood
through the kitchen window.

Of course, he is really quite tame and as soft as grease, so he also wanders over to any passing human to get his head stroked and his chin petted. As to his real job, we have seen him schmoozing the girls up, sniffing their vulvae and so on, but so far we have seen no actual mounting. I have read that the presence of the ram will bring the girls into season but I don't recall how long this might take. I will have to do some research. Also, worryingly, Myfanwy is still very occasionally allowing Dylan to suckle,and I think that this will stop her coming on heat. Ah well, we have the lend of Rambo for as long as it takes so we are still hopeful of a good result.

All taken! 4 hens in 4 nestboxes. 

On that one, I find I have been too clever, using the word 'tup' and 'tupping' for all this maleness. It is the word the UK sheep farmers use, so it is in our sheep 'bible' Tim Tyne's "The Sheep Book for Smallholders" but in these parts no-one uses it and I completely bamboozled our lamb-butcher and slaughterman (They asked what word I was saying and how did I spell it!) by talking about this year's tup. They say, simply, that you "let the ram in" or "let the ram out (into the ewes' field)".

Dry salt cure for this leg complete. Now it gets air-dried

While we are on pork and butchery, our dry salt-cured complete leg of pork is now through the salting process. It gets covered in salt for 21 days, with daily draining of the brine water which is sucked out of the meat by osmosis and repairs to the salt crust 'patted' onto it all over. This salts the outside very well and dries the outside to a nice safe preserved dark-red state. The salt and spices are then washed off and the leg patted dry before being enclosed in a muslin bag and hung up to dry in a good cool drafty place for between 4 and 18 months.

Full leg in its muslin bag.

The muslin keeps the flies and dust off the meat while the salt diffuses throughout the meat and the inner/outer saltiness evens up, plus various other chemical changes happen to mature the meat. You hope that you have left no bits uncured to go off. If the meat starts to smell you cannot recover it and just have to throw it away, though you are allowed to scrub surface moulds off the outside with vinegar during the curing time. We are hoping for a 'parma ham' type effect but we might be a while showing you any results. 18 months? What is that all about? Patience is the thing.

Music sessions at the local pub are still going strong.
Here 8 musicians make a goodly noise

The need for a muslin bag led Liz to break out the sewing machine and write out a list of projects on which to try her skills even though sewing 'school' is currently broken up for a 4 week holiday due to all the others involved being tied up on other jobs. The muslin bag turned out to be no simple wrap-around shroud - it had posh seams and a draw-string tie at the top. The string was even plaited for extra strength and the whole leg is now hanging on this from a screw in the loft-hatch.

Skilled hands work another seam.

Better still, Liz decided to try to make me an entire replacement copy of my Summer-weight dressing gown, originally a rather posh 'designer' (Calvin Klein) one, a gift from Liz decades ago. It is my habit to 'sprint' round on my first livestock round in the dressing gown (plus crocs or wellies if necessary and, of course coat and hat if it is raining) and I have over the years snagged the old one a couple of times on fences or doors and worn it thin so that it was looking a bit disreputable. I can then 'lep' back into bed for a sneaky lie-in till it is a sensible time to bring Liz her cup of tea.

Who needs Calvin Klein?

To the rescue, then, a redundant dark blue kingsize bedsheet, 8 feet by 8 feet of flat, blank "canvas" onto which Liz could chalk the shapes of the panels of the old one and the parts of sleeves, belt, pockets, collar. I just had to do 'model' occasionally, standing on chairs or next to Liz who was on a chair with pins between her lips and tape measure in hand; we had a number of fittings for this tailoring. The "bespoke" and "livestockman's" words in my title? It was during one of these fittings that Liz asked about pockets and I admitted that the pockets were only ever used for carrying two carrots, those for rabbits Ginny and Goldie who I reach further round the 'rounds' and that I only ever use the left hip pocket and the left breast pocket. The two hip pockets Liz had already made up quickly got re-pinned to these locations on the gown and Bingo! A unique one-off garment but one which Liz is delighted to find that she could easily turn out again if needed. I am very pleased with it and the Calvin Klein original is currently in the blue wheelie bin, just rags now. Up-cycling at its best.

Tsipouro! Yammas!

Mum returned from Greece with a small amount of a drink which was new to Dad, it being the local fire-water, "Tsipouro". Absolutely clear in colour this is 'pomace brandy', pomace being "the solid remains of grapes, after pressing for juice. It contains the skins, pulp, seeds, and stems of the fruit". It is around 47% proof, so not quite as lethal as good old Irish over-proof Poitín (Potcheen) and, it will not surprise you to know, was first produced by some Greek Orthodox Monks (weren't all these dodgy spirits?) up a mountain. According to Wikipedia ( http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tsipouro  ) " Depending on the time of year, tsipouro is used either as refreshment or as a hot beverage, and depending on the time of day, it replaces the drinking of coffee or wine. Tsipouro and tsikoudia, as with all alcoholic beverages in Greece, always seem to coincide with various social gatherings, as their consumption had a festive and symposium-like quality.

It is usually served in shot glasses, very cold, often with meze, walnuts, almonds, raisins, feta cheese, olives, or accompanying halva or other desserts in restaurants.

In 2006, Greece filed a request to recognise tsipouro as a PDO (Protected Designation of Origin) product.

We say 'Yammas' (Cheers) to that!

Much to everyone's amazement, I reach my 6th Birthday (on Monday 17th), and so, too, do my sister, Ellie, back in Faversham, and my Brother Archie, back in Maidstone. The word is that I have matured into a very sensible, capable, well balanced dog and a good 'Auntie' to the kindergarten. Cynics say that this is because I was always wishing I was a favourite only dog and I am happier that way so that I just had to contrive to remove Megan, Haggis and Coco from any position superior to, or threatening, mine and I'd be home and dry. All I have to do now is make sure Blue, Rolo, Towser, Poppy, assorted rabbits and poultry and any other arrivals stay subservient and I should remain well adjusted to the end of my natural puff. Yammas to that, too.

Mike-the-Cows's herd have now pretty much eaten off all the grass on Vendor Anna's land and on our bits so, yesterday, were moved off to give the grass a chance to recover and for them to get some grub on less grazed turf. Dad loves that the local farming mags talk about something called the 'rate of thrive' which is basically the rate at which cows put on weight in kg per day. These are beef animals so success is all about the weight of the carcase at slaughter. The farmer either buys them in at a known weight or breeds them himself, but then has to spend x amount of money on grazing or on concentrates per day, hoping that at the end the weight will have gone up sufficiently that they have made more in carcase value (weight) than he has spent getting them to that weight. I gather it can be a bit knife-edge at the moment with a poor Summer having given them poor grass growth and a lot of them having to eat into stored silage which was meant to see them through winter. Also, says Mike, with cows being worth anything from €700 up to and over €3000, you've only got to lose one to sickness or an accident and you may have no margin left this year at all. Mike seems to be doing OK, though he'd never admit that!

Yammas!

Deefer

Newport Newport Newport

Ah, we don't reccomend you to watch You Tube many times on this blog, but this superb spoof on "New York" is a must

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aNfbX6uvA6s

Nice walk today. As we're leaving the house we meet my sister Ellie out with her Mum ('Trish) so we latch on to them for an off-the-lead loop of Rec and Cemetery. She can't believe that Mr H is 13 already!

Deefski

Immaculate

This blog comin' at you today from a new computer, running Vista, so I don't know if it looks any different to you from there.

Mum has the day off work, being a bit tail-end of cold ish, but by the evening she feels up to a visit to Diamond. She'd been wary of going in and sneezing all over the poor girl, just about enough to finish her off ! Also on the mend is Megan, who tonight manages a stroll to the Rec and a good old walk around (more of an amble really) while I chase the tennis ball. We meet and talk to Finzy (big black lurcher of the long wizened beard), and to old favourites Smudge and Barney.

We also meet the always-immaculate sister Ellie, just back from the groomers and looking gorgeous. Dad tries to swap me out, but Ellie's Mum is having nothing of it. She also tells us that Ellie is going through "one of her phases" of waking "us" up at 02:30 to be let out for a wee. "Phases?", says Dad. "Deefer's done that to me every night since she was born, practically!" But it turns out that Ellie, once out, snuffles and bimbles for 1-2 hours and they can't get her back in.

I can't see Dad putting up with that for too long - at least mine are a quick out, charge down the garden, have a pee and bribed back indoors with a treat. Dad says he barely wakes up, and certainly doesn't feel like he's lost any sleep over it. 2 hours? What does she do out there?

Deefer

Two Ticks

With Dad apparently trans-fixed by "Kate Humble Watch" (and he says it's the Red Kites and Goshawks!) there's been lots of focus round here on wild life. We have our own flying-schools of course, of baby sparrows and starlings, great tits and robins, but then Dad sees above the M2 on his way home the unmistake-able outline of a red kite.

Common now above the M4 and M40, West of London ("normal" but still very impressive) they have not yet officially made it down here to Kent. This one was flapping lazily westward (London Bound). They are a great success story in conversation. When Dad was small they were a great rarity, with only a few pairs breeding in central Wales, but now, 30-40 years later they are spreading fast across western England. It can be only a matter of time before they are as common over the North Downs, as they are over the Chilterns and Mendips.

I have my own wildlife, when 2 ticks attach themselves to the top of my head, exactly symetrically placed, just in front of my ears. So symetrical are they that Dad thinks first, as he tousles my hair, that they are some kind of whisker-base hair follicle. But, No, and they have to go. I bravely succumb to a Mum's tweezers based gentle but firm extraction (She insists that Dad douse the tweezers in boiling water afterwards, for some reason!). I do not even squeak.

Tonight, walking back from the allotments we meet up with Ellie in her front garden and have a nice sisterly chat. It's ages since we met. She already looks gorgeous (inevitably) and not satisfied with that she's off to the groomer tomorrow.

Have a great weekend.

Deefer

Clicking

Thought you might like to see how the boys are getting on with the Cambria restoration. This shot is taken from the port bow looking astern, so you can see that "we" are now into the curving frames that start to form the bow, but also you can see the shaped frames which start to bring the stern shape in towards the transom.

Those rear-most frames are almost "S" shaped where they join either side to the stern "deadwood" (bottom central timber running "north-south", painted red here, top centre of pic). and then curve out to give the width. This is the barge almost a year into the 3-year build project. It started, really in November 2007.

Meanwhile, you know how sometimes you just "click" with someone. Well tonight that happened to me and a 19 month old white Jack-Russell bitch called Tammy. Dad, Meg and Haggis were forgotten as we two dived into vigorous play together, running, running, running, wrestling and tumbling. Sometimes the H would join in to try to trip me up, but I was really just focussed on Tammy.

Later, when sis Ellie came up across the Rec, we said a quick "Hello", but then I carried on playing with Tammy, and Haggis chased Ellie around. Often we were right under the humans' feet (isn't that always the way?), but then sometimes we'd carve off in great circles, off round the rugby posts, or trees, or the park benches. So it went on for about 30 minutes, chacing and racing till we all had to have a lie down and collapsed, panting on the damp grass. Fantastic!

Tammy and her Mum are from Graveney, a nearby village (although originally, the Mum is a Northerner, from Bradford). We hope we see them again. It is great to find someone to play with as an equal, not someone who's either going to kill me, or wimp out!

Exhausted

Deefer

Millie, Mollie, Mandy

We've mentioned before that Ellie is pretty much a self cleaning dog. Even after falling in the lake at Leybourne on Sunday, and then getting grimed up with dust on the rest of the walk she was, as predicted, almost immaculate again by the time she got back to the car. Unlike those of us doomed to go through life a kind of grubby squirrel-poo beigey colour, my Sis seems to have that kind of fur that sheds dirt as she dries.

Her Mum says that put her down wet and muddy with a clean dry towel, and by dint of rummaging around for half an hour, you will come away with a clean white dry dog, and a grubby wet muddy towel.

But tonight she is exceeding even her high standards! She's been groomed properly by a local outfit called Dapper Dogs. (Sorry, can't give you a link - this is a very well used name and there are dozens of Dapper dogs websites all round the world, none of which probably have anything to do with these guys). She is immaculate white, trimmed and spruced and looks like a million dollars. She's like your too-perfect big sis when you were still an ungainly adolescent, who got all the boyfriends chasing after her. She could be a Show Dog - Crufts people watch out!

Actually it's a good day all round for westies on the Rec. Not only do we meet Ellie on our way down, but on the Rec we meet Barney out with his Mum ( "I'm sure one of your dogs is called Deefer, but I can never remember which one, so I just think of them as "Millie, Mollie, Mandy"" - When Mum hears of this, she decides Haggis better be "Molly", because he could be "Molyneux") and we also meet up with Magic ("Madge" rather confusingly).

And you gotta love Megan, who saunters around like Dowager-Duchess of Kent out for a promenade (I'm very old you know, and I have to take it easy), until (taraaa) she meets a glossy black young-man labrador when she suddenly comes over all flirty, bouncing on her front feet, flashing her eyelashes and coming over all playful, kittenish and coy. Outrageous Flirt!

Deefski

Molly the Rottweiler

There we were, tired out from a good old session of chasing the yellow frisbee tonight and just on our way home, when we came upon my sister, Ellie, whose Mum is just back from Mexico. Exciting enough, but they'd just met up with "Mum's" daughter-in-law and grandson, who were out with 6 month old Rottie, Molly.

What a soppy dog! Only half grown and all soft and gangly, unco-ordinated and clumsy, like all young dogs are when their limbs are growing faster than their sense of how big they are. This called for an all in chase about and "give-as-good-as-you-get" bundle. Dad was delighted. Sometimes, he says, when we sisters get together, Ellie tends to do the submissive and lets me get away with beating the living daylights out of her, and sometimes (he also alleges) I have been bounced at by an unco-ordinated pup and have run off squealing like a stuck pig, doing my "drama queen" bit. It's gonna KILL me!!!!

Not this time. Balance seems to have been suddenly restored (maybe I've been practising on Rags). Ellie, Molly and I (plus Haggis while his tired old-boy strength holds out) run and chase and bark and wrestle as equals, no-one getting the better of any other, and no-one allowing anyone the peace to lie down and rest, racing in big figure-of-eight patterns, barging occasionally into human legs (mainly Molly there!), and carrying on when joined by Dad's allotment chum Stephanie, and her black collie cross Monty, and brown non-descript terrier Charlie. That just seemed to give us a new lease of life.

Tired? We've all collapsed back here after our supper, and we are rather hoping Dad will settle down with the TV and not move all evening.

Deefski

R and R, workin' 9 to 5

A day for being spoiled, and allowed to rest and recouperate from my op. Thanks to my "assistant" for giving me the day off. I have not yet started licking my scar or my stitches, so I have been able to put off the day when I have to wear the lamp shade.

Everyone is making a fuss of me and sympathising. Mum is concerned at leaving me behind, so she takes me into the office, where I am greeted by all the colleagues. A small bed is made up for me and a water bowl, and I am attached to the furniture by my lead. I am very quiet and completely charming (natch), and no bother to anyone.

I receive a get-well card from my real Mum (Mollie), Dad (Hector) and bro' Archie. I am told that the longest they managed to make real-Mum keep her lampshade on was about 10 seconds. First-Mum also phones to check on my progress, and everyone at Dad's work is asking. Didn't know I was so famous.

Lastly, sis' Ellie is passing, all glamm'd up for her walk with her red diamond coller - real diamonds! :-)) (she's always all glamm'd up!) as we return, so she comes in to say hello, but no-one's allowed to race me around and play. Anyway, Ellie is definitely feeling like she's on OUR TURF, and rolls on her back while we all sniff her. I get a bit concerned at so much activity near my sore underside, and have a bit of a grouch at her. Sorry, Ellie. We'll make it up to you when we next see you. I'm not myself at the moment.

Back on the road to recovery

Deefer

Good guys and villains

We dogs are on a mission today to confuse the humans, inspired by Rags's rescinded "asbo" and angelic behaviour hospital visiting.

First-Dad had been having problems with my Bro (Archie) and real-Dad (Hector) getting a bit difficult with each other - part of the reason why Archie has now been "done". As part of this, First-Dad had been seeking advice from a lady who does dog-training, partly because first-Mum was looking to make sure those boys didn't start to think they were the bosses.

Well, the trainer lady was last Friday and you'll not believe how angelic those boys decided to be. Maybe it was the "op", maybe the dogs were tired from a walk and a visit to the grooming parlour, maybe First-Mum's new get-tough approach has convinced them, but whatever the reason, training lady was both delighted and baffled, wondering why she'd been called out in the first place.....

Meanwhile, at the other end of the family, sis' Ellie is now causing concern for her Mum, Trish, by kicking off at a young Westie we've seen a couple of times, called, I think, Fleur, first shouting from the end of her lead, then growling and snarling. Most unlike her - Ellie's always as good as gold.... I'll let you know how that develops - maybe Trish will need to borrow that trainer-lady!

We know that about Ellie because we all met at the Rec at the end of our walks, along with a lovely soft, fluffy 4 month collie pup called "Molly" - you know that age when collies are still all rounded, and short-faced, without the sharp-pointed snout. Haggis, Ellie and I had a good romp about, chasing in circles.

I get the worst of this, because normally I chase Haggis and give him grief, but when Ellie's about, and I chase Ellie, H takes his chance to ambush me and unbalance my back end. I end up with two attackers on my case - one at each end. Ellie never tries to batter Haggis, nor Haggis to batter Ellie. It's like they're ganging up on me, referee!

Deefer.... from a dodgy family...

Ellie and Eric Clapton

One more nice pic of Ellie from that run around on the Rec a yesterday. Very smart she looks too.

Today's walk was another round the boat yard and back through town. Although Dad had already asked the dog-tag man in town to produce mine to replace the ones I lost (I don't know how - a girl has to race through bramble patches occasionally in pursuit of bunnies, and these things are not designed to be body-hugging and thorn proof.....) Dad wanted to retrace our steps of yesterday just in case it was lying there in the grass.

No such luck, so now I am resplendent in shiny new ones hanging from my collar

Us walked, Dad vanishes up to the allotments to get on with some digging and then, later, Mum vanishes shopping with Diamond. But when Dad comes back, we can all collapse across the sofa. This move, which used to be called, jokingly in our house, an "old git's lie down", is now called an "Eric Clapton". This because Dad got Eric's autobiography for Christmas and, although the first 7/8 of it were, as you'd expect, testament to gigs played, drink and drugs taken, financial excess and so on, by the end Eric is sober 20 years, happily remarried with 2 young daughters, and can't wait to get back from gig-tours for a lie down on his comfy sofa at home for an afternoon nap. Rock and Roll!

Go Eric - you've always been a hero of Dad's, and now your name gets used fondly around the house anew

Deefer

Everything's Relative

A day for mixing it with the rels, if only via our sense of smell. Dad was working today, but First-Dad not. However, FD had come into work in the car to do a small job, and still had my Real-Mum, Real-Dad and Bro in the car (Mollie, Hector and Archie), so Dad came home smelling very much of them, where he'd made a fuss of them all through the car window.

Do you mind if we now dispense with all this "first Dad" stuff? From now on I will call First Dad "Steve" and First-Mum "Jean", for no better reason than those are their names (!).

But then on our good walk round the boat yard and back through town, we came upon my Sister Ellie, out with her Mum ('Trish'). Dad had his camera as we'd been out to photo the sailing barge Cambria, so here are some pics of Ellie to enjoy.

Ellie is easy to identify in all these as she is bright white (always!) and long haired, still not having had a Spring cut. She also has a rather smart be-jewelled red collar, but I don'r think my Parisian Emelio Pucci one is that far short, do you?

Pic 1) Me, grubby, tail up, left, Ellie Right

Pic 2) Ellie alone, sniffing ground

Pic 3) Meggie left, Ellie centre, Trish's leg right.....

...at least, that's how I think they'll appear.

Have a great weekend

Deefer

Mackerel Sky

Dad gets off work nice and early today, so we have time for a nice walk along Reculver. It's been raining but now it's dry and a stiff South Westerly is starting to break up the lower level of grey clouds. Through gaps you can see the most gorgeous mackerel sky - all luminous peachy pinks and pale blues, lit from beneath by the low sun setting out of sight behind the lower clouds over Bishopstone.

We walk along with a King Charles Spaniel called Alfie (no relation to barge-dog Alfie) and a mongrelly brown lady called Ellie (no relation to my Sis'). A bit of Ridgeback in her, we think, going by the darker stripe of hair along her spine, but she's more of a collie sized girl, and as fast, we'd say.

The wind being in the SW is coming off the shore, off the oyster farm making us all streamlined when we are gazing inland. Dad smiles to note that when I jump up on the inland wall I keep my back feet on the proper walkway. Is that the wind, or am I remembering my dive over the precipice last time?

Up on the walkway / seawall, we keep coming across broken dead sea shells, we guess dropped by gulls who are breaking them open to get at the whelks and other molluscs, and leaving occasional smears of dead whelk on the concrete. We ladies have already rolled nicely in some decomposing bladder-wrack on the shingle, but now we can have a good neck-rub on these smears of smelly sea snail.

It's only we two ladies, Megan and I. We get right down, necks on the ground and bums in the air, then roll over and writhe about against the (invisible) smears to a band playing. Often we are like a formation team, synchronised diving and rolling. Haggis does not indulge - perhaps rotting whelk is not a manly scent for a dog. He stands bemused. He loves a roll on the Rec grass or in frost, but never has done this scenting thing with corpses, fox poo and other fragrances.

Mmmm... Essence de Dead Whelk!
Have a great weekend
Deefer

Oh Ellie!

The grapevine has it that my Sis, Ellie is in "twouble" again. Her Mum has grassed her up to Uncle Jim, found guilty of chewing up her glasses. Ellie's Mum says she has 2 pairs - her "spare" pair and her "best" pair. We'll leave you all to guess which pair Ellie has written off......

Dad has a Team Lunch today and skanks off work a bit early, so is home to walk us round the boat yards loop in daylight. We pass the project Sailing Barge "Cambria" in her dry-dock "lighter" and see the guys just finishing off assembling her "polytunnel" of bright white lorry tarpaulins. Dad hails one of the shipwright guys. "She'll start to dry out now", he says, "So we can start doing some proper work on her.

We also pass the barge Greta, as sailed on by Mum and Dad (twice now) under her own transparent plastic polytunnel. We say Hello to skipper Steve and barge-dog Alfie

Meanwhile at home, all is oprepping up for Christmas. Ever more cards are amassing on mantle shelf and window sills, and present wrapping has commenced. There is some stuff being kept out of sight of dogs, which is promising.

Deefs

Terrier Heaven

Heaven! We were just setting off on our walk tonight, headed for the allotments when, coming down the side of the house, we were hailed by Ellie, (my sis) and her Mum, and all four of us immediately decided to head for the Rec where we sisters could have a long overdue run-around together. It's been ages.

We are still similar in size, even though Ellie's a bit shaggier, so she looks a bit bigger. No sooner were we off the leads than we were tearing round in small circles bowling each other over, with Haggis piling in occasionally to unbalance anyone who was still standing up.

We were joined by a lady who knew Ellie's Mum, and her young Jack Russell, Bindy. Next arrived another lady out with a black collie cross, Ben, and then the young jack Russell Mac, who we met the other day. Last came another JR, Patch and a young spaniel, Molly. 4 westies, 3 JR's and 3 other dogs all variously running about, chasing each other, or mooching round the humans. It was great fun - best gas for ages!

Bindy had appeared with a soft, hollow-centred luminous green frizbee, and we soon started chasing that, with Dad lobbing it huge distances, so that we young ones all got really tired

It was dark by the time we were done, and we met Mum walking back across the Rec towards the house.

Terrier Heaven!

Guy Fawkes night coming up, so fireworks to shout at. Not sure I'll have the energy!

Deefer

Ellie's Adventure

Ellie, we hear, has been up to escape antics worthy of my good self. While, as far as her Mum knew, she was tormenting a neighbour's cat through the tall 6 foot fences and 8 foot walls around the back garden (safe but noisy!), she had other ideas. Mum realised it had all got very quiet and then started to get that "it's VERY quiet,... wonder what she's up to" feeling that Mums (and Aunties and Uncles!) know so well.

Checking the back garden, Ellie's Mum was amazed to find an absence of Ellie. She can't have jumped the wall or fence, thought Mum, so she must be in the house. Thorough search of the house ensued.

Suddenly, on an increasingly desperate whim, she thought to open the front door and look up and down the road, only to find a man walking down the street with Ellie in her arms. "Is this dog yours?". It turned out that he and his wife had spotted Ellie dicing with the traffic, (this is tea-time Tuesday, so there was a good lot of traffic!). Wife giving chase only caused Ellie to scamper back and forth across the road - luckily the cars by now had sussed the problem and stopped. Husband eventually collared the dog, and was now wandering around looking for a panic-stricken owner.

Relief all round. A more thorough serch of the garden revealed a small space, no more than 3 inches wide between a fence panel and one of the posts. Sneaky! Runs in the family, obviously. (see my post called "Red Mist" a few weeks back)

Allotments bonfire tonight!

Deefer

Megan on the Mend

We hope we're not imagining it, but Meggie appears to be on the mend. Her toe looks a lot less "angry" and the regular warm salty foot baths seem to be keeping the wound open, so that her vigorous licking is easing things. All the best Megs, get well soon.

Meanwhile, we hear that my Sis, Ellie is now "done". She was off to the vets about 2 weeks ago and is now fully recovered. We see her often through the net curtains when we all walk by, but generally when her humans are out - so she bounces about on the window sill and woofs silently through the double glazing, but we can't do anything about it. We all look in unable to understand why nobody lets her out to say hello. Soon maybe, we'll meet again on the Rec for a proper chat and a romp, catch up on the gossip. Dad met her Mum yesterday and she asked after Meggie. "The Scottish Patient"?

Meanwhile, everyone has gone back to work, so we've had the Angel Betty and Jim to talk to and look after us.

Deefs

This Starling is Reversing

You know how good these starlings are at mimickry. We have one around our house that "sings" the electronic bleeping "doodle-oop... doodle-oop" rising and falling notes of HGV reversing warnings. Mum and Dad expect any minute to hear a voice recorder saying "This Starling is Reversing"

We saw Ellie tonight - wow! She's finally had her haircut and what a transformation! She is brilliant white immaculate, with the close cropped back and flanks, very close cut neck and the longer hair on the head and the "feathers" along her belly and legs. She is beautiful. She looks just like a show dog! Dad must take a photo to show you. I don't think I'll ever be that gorgeous, even if Dad practises for years with those clippers.

Have a great weekend
Deefs

Ellie's On

Coo - big news from Kent this morning (other than the "earth quake" of course) from Ellie's Mum is that Ellie has started her first season. I can't be far behind, and the humans are taking an unhealthy new interest in my "bits". They tell me nothing is happening yet. The only boys I'm interested in are, anyway, Haggis and Asbo, (and Felix the cat!) all of whom the humans describe archly as "harmless". It's all a mystery.


The earthquake, measuring, I am told, 4.3 on the Richter scale and centred on Folkestone, passed us by. We were all out walking with Dad and T at quarter past 8 and felt or heard nothing. Mind you, with the huge diggers currently playing out back, and frequently clanging their buckets down, it could pass un-noticed. Nope, the first we knew was when lots of people started phoning Mum and Dad to check we were OK. Que? Why shouldn't we be?


Nice outing today - off down to Hastings to see Matt's Mum (Pud lady) and Dad, plus brother Tom. It's always a good trip, and Pud Lady's garden is a wild exciting jungle of old trees and shrubs - a truly huge (70' ?) willow, an ancient quince with a 3 inch thick Jouiniana clematis trunk spiralling round it, and old gnarly fig, a huge crab apple that Dad and his brothers could climb 40 years ago when they were young. Piles of old wood and logs and heaped up compost heaps make excellent rat/mouse hunting territory, there are squirrels to chase and the odd cat wanders through.

Westie wonderland
Go Ellie!

Deefs