Only those Hubbards....

The Hubbard chicks at 1 week get a first chance to feel the
warm Roscommon sun on their backs. It's the hottest day of
the year so far  and they will come to no harm. 

Another week passes and there is still no sign of our AWOL turkey hen, Barbara so, naturally, we are becoming convinced that Brer Fox has had the pleasure. Yes, she MAY still be out there, rearing her chicks in the (now) cattle fields and a miracle may happen and she'll stroll back in with a little 'crocodile' of adolescents. Ah well. It does not matter physically for the moment as we will not be deciding whether or not to replace the turkeys any time soon. Emotionally, of course, we will miss them - they were an intriguing and fascinating couple to have wandering about and liked to home in on us if either of us were out gardening or sitting by the pond.

Misty morning across the bog to our North

No babies either yet for the geese or any of the chickens. For our fix of chicks, then, we only have those Hubbards, 7 days old today. We are always impressed by their speed of growth and development - if you want photo's of that clichéd image of the spherical ball of fluff body with two legs at the bottom and a head at the top, then you really do have to get there in the first 3 days. By day 4 and certainly by day 7 they are already growing taller, with an obvious neck and pin feathers are sprouting to give them definite wings among their side-fluff.

The Captain's table? Our former rooster re-appears coated with
a rough and ready BBQ sauce but even though we slow-cook
him, we'd both admit that he was a tough aul' bird. 

Of course, in commercial terms, they are not fast growing at all. Free range, they take a good 100-120 days to reach good carcass weights. Commercial broiler birds housed indoors and grown on a diet of growth promoters under controlled day-length can be harvested at more like 40 days, still covered in chick-fluff. As I understand it (and I'm no expert), those would not be Hubbards - our Hubbards are bred (designed?) to do well under commercial scale free range or organic conditions. We are actually slowing them down by giving them fully free range conditions, too much exercise and a diet supplemented by worms and grubs scratched from the ground.

Breakfast in the early morning sun. 

Meanwhile in other 'babies', our little gilts continue to charm and delight us. They are almost 4 months old now and suddenly seem to twice as long as the day they arrived. We were delighted recently to be visited by the couple who did my pig-training down in Tipperary 3 years back and with whom we have stayed in touch and would now call firm friends.

I love the light under new beech leaves. This is in the pig run.

They were in the area, by coincidence, to collect a puppy and recognised the name of the village as being one I had mentioned. I was delighted to show them around the place and particularly to show the two pigs to Alfie. He pronounced them fit, well and a credit to us. "I love to see HAPPY pigs" he said as the our pair scampered round our feet deciding whose footwear to chew first.

This lovely foal and mare combo (plus the
other filly behind) have moved in next
door as lawn mowers. 

I should add that it's not all sweet perfection, however and a nasty incident between dogs and pigs soured relations between these species for a while.The 3 westies were enjoying their half hour off-lead exercise and gazing through the fence as the piglets wandered over to sniff the dogs.

This pigmy shrew was only slightly chewed by the cat.
Liz rescued him and I got a quick chance to take his pic
before we released him to the safety of a log stack.

Faster than I could react, a pig had got too close, a dog had thrust his head through the sheep wire and grabbed a chunk of pigs ear. The hullabaloo of squealing and barking had me sprint over adding my own roar to the cacophony. The dog let go the pig and the pigs both ran off to hide in their ark while I reprimanded the dogs. I went in to console the pigs and was relieved to find that the ear was only a bit bitten, not actually torn, though it was bleeding quite impressively. First-aid for piggies, anyone? Luckily, no lasting damage done though I note the pigs stay well clear of the fence now when the dogs are about.

Small white (?) on dandelion. 

The 365 photo project chugs on coming to the end of its 4th month. Last week the 'Tidy Towns' group in the village wanted to take part in the (national) Bio-Diversity week, so the 365 photographers were asked to specialise in wildlife related stuff. I have had some fun trying to give them a good choice of subjects and not just the cute and fluffy - slugs, snails, dead wood and so on have all featured. I am not sure I am 'allowed' to be pleased that Blue the cat caught a timely shrew which Liz rescued and then, while it was still frozen in shock and a-trembling, take its picture before it suddenly came to, realised its good fortune and scampered for cover. Sensible shrew.

The long border at Strokestown, still a bit
'early summer' and green. Pic by Liz. 

In the extra-curricular area, we found out about a plant sale happening in our favourite guest-visit destination, Strokestown House. This was not Strokestown selling stuff from their brilliant walled garden, but merely acting as host to a dozen or so traders. However the traders were excellent and the plants were in gorgeous condition and very reasonably priced and, included in the €5 entry fee to the 'fair', was a chance to walk round the walled garden. Despite showers, that was us sorted for a very enjoyable Sunday morning.

Strokestown House walled garden.

For not too much of a dent in the wallet, we came away with a good haul thanks, mainly, to one of the traders doing a "6 plants for €20" deal. All perennials needed (and longed for for a while - Ireland is not a natural gardeners' country and the Garden Centres are few and far between and not well stocked with unusual stuff) for our big raised bed. Some inspired by the lovely plants growing in big drifts in the walled garden - the blue Centaurea particularly.

Admiring the old equipment in the restored working area.
This a lovely old Allen Scythe

We shipped a couple of tall clump-forming grasses, that blue centaurea, a nepeta (cat mint), a sedum, salvia, Solomon's seal, a hemerocallis (day lily) and a frothy-flowered thalictrum (I think) with granny bonnet leaves (aquilegifolia). With all this haul home we go into designer mode placing them out on the bed in their prospective positions to see if it works.

The gardener - muddy knees to prove it!

We are still enjoying the fact that this is not our overcrowded garden in Faversham. By the time we'd finished there we had no space to plant things we'd buy so they sat in pots for too long, or some other plant was evicted to make room. Here, we have 2.5 acres, so we can still buy 'thugs' that will take over space - mint, the Solomon's seal etc or will happily self-seed. We'll get there.

It's a Long Way (Pig School)

Taxi Driver's Sunrise over our East Field

These taxi runs we've been doing have had me out of bed early enough to see some lovely sunrises coming up across our East Field. My most recent were about getting Charlotte (of the mini horses) away to her Charlestown bus stop for the Sligo bus, off to sit her college exams but Friday's 'Animal Anatomy and Physiology' saw an end to those for the moment. Charlotte is sure she's done OK but good luck, Charlotte, anyway and for the rest of your exams coming up after a 2 week break.

Mum Saddleback shows off four of her children.

Yesterday, though, saw me up early again (OK, not quite so early) for my own education, my Pig Rearing (one day) Course all the way down in Tipperary, almost a 2 hour drive. This proved to be a thoroughly enjoyable and brilliant day in which we all learned a huge amount and, in my case, finally got to get hands-on with live pigs; we'd been feeling a bit like 'book experts' with both pigs and the bees - a wealth of 'book-learning' but zero practical experience!

Mum keeps watch from the doorway.

The course happened at Old Farm, near Portumna in North County Tipperary which is a lovely small holding centred around a beautiful old house and with a goodly rambling collection of outbuildings and 'Pop Larkin' style piles of "stuff" which are all works in progress and projects which will get completed "when there is time". The people were a superb couple, Alfie and Margaret, friendly and welcoming but obviously capable, practical and very knowledgeable, him a stockily built former off-shore commercial diver (North Sea Oil Platforms etc) and later diving instructor all around the world, a natural speaker and presenter with a fascinating style of training which had us all gripped, engaged and amused throughout. Margaret took more of a support role, on this course anyway, and looked after the admin and catering side of things but she is an award winning Blog Writer with a very enjoyable 'voice' (by her own admission sometimes given to rants against officialdom in the food industry). Her 'A Year in Redwood' blog (http://ayearinredwood.com/) has won "Best Blog of an Artisan Producer (Ireland and UK) 2014" and Best Lifestyle Blog 2012. She served up scones and coffee as we arrived and a superb lunch which gave us a choice of pork meatballs in tomato-y sauce or casserole of sausages and chick peas, all their own pork, naturally.

Alfie (with bag) explains the production of real lard

They are both driven advocates of all things organic, welfare, free range, low food-miles, Transition-Town and non GMO and were a big part in establishing a Free Range outdoor pig Quality standard mark (Q-Mark) within the Irish 'Bord Bia' food production quality standards people. Prior to that Bord Bia officials were almost entirely interested in meat for export and pigs by the tens of thousands from "nice clean, healthy" factories, all pink and free from mud, but who never see the daylight or (gasp!) dirt from which they might catch disease. Old Farm had quite a task on their hands trying to get Bord Bia to even come and have a look at their small production set-up, which was interested more in local markets and where pigs went (another gasp!) OUTSIDE and got muddy! Alfie raves against their rules which do not allow him to use brewers grains from the local organic micro-brewery or whey from the local organic cheese maker in his feeds. He despairs that he can sell pork mince but not as meat balls or burgers - for us the lunch had meat balls with (fresh) chopped onion and herbs in and their own eggs to bind them, where commercially he'd have to use sterile, dried onion and herb and some kind of chemical gloop to bind.

Liz's sugar free bread recipe.

The pigs were an obviously happy, healthy collection which he keeps as full families. One enormous Saddleback sow was showing off 4 remaining youngsters in one pen, and we rousted another whole gang out of their siesta during our walk-about - a massive cross-bred boar, 2 huge sows, one pregnant and the other with 8 4-month old piglets 'at foot'. Further round still were a group of market-ready boys and girls who we could scratch, tickle and get to know a bit better; the piglets with sow and the big old boar we had to just admire over the fence. I was amused to find that the 8 piglets were not some kind of blurry mix of all the breeds of pig in their make up, but were all different and all close to one or another of them, so you had recognise-able black and white "nearly Saddlebacks", Gloucester Old Spots, Duroc and so on.

I could see immediately what is meant by pigs being like rotovators, rooting up the ground and clearing any brambles and weeds. The pig pens were finally reasonably dry after a very wet winter and were now a grass-less, dark brown/black crumbly tilth which you could have raked smooth and planted veg straight into. There was not a weed or leaf anywhere. Old Farm keep quite a few pigs and have them all year round, so they rest fields regularly and even have doors both ends of their pig arks so that they can split fields with electric fencing and the pigs get access to the ark from either half.

All in all an excellent, enjoyable day and a superb course. Thank you Alfie and Margaret and the menagerie at Old Farm, and also to my co-students who were all a great bunch, all beginners like us. Good luck with your own pigs; I think we were all going to go ahead with pigs; even those who were a bit undecided to start with and were on the course to see if they still thought it was a good plan. My only 'negative outcome' (as they say) was that Old Farm are firm advocates of electric fencing throughout, and Alfie was a bit doubtful (though politely and nicely so) whether my style of fencing would do the job, but we'll see. If Mapp and Lucia manage a breakout and we find them picking up their own windfall apples, we can always add electric fence strands at a later date.

Parting Gift

Who can remember the story of the Commando Raid through a rainy Dublin, where Mr Silverwood went on a secret assignation to covertly capture an unloved westie pup of unknown name and bring it home to their house? Well, that pup became known as Maxwell as "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" was the song Mr Silverwood was singing as he came in the front door with the pup in a bundle. Well. that pup has lived in interesting times since then, having been at one stage returned to the 'unloving' owner who thought they might like him back but then thought twice.

From there was moved to Steak Lady where it didn't work out because SL's own male pup (a Yorkie) was also growing up big and strong and full of male hormones and the two were starting to fight. Maxwell (by then reverted to the name Charlie as per unloving owner) being rather bigger was starting to bully the Yorkie (sorry, none of us can recall name of same - perhaps Mr S will enlighten us?), so Charlie is now back at Silverwoods and is once again known as Maxwell. We all hope this is now permanent or the poor little mite won't know whether he's coming or going. Anyway, with Boris-Pup returning to his real home tonight as 2CV Llew comes back from his week in France, we'll all miss* him and it'll be good to know that the Silverwoods have a young westie pup for us to beat up as we did with Boris, whenever we chance to meet..... Project Erroll; Bring it On!

* We will all miss Boris except perhaps for Mum whose slipper is depicted here from 10 minutes ago on the landing after Boris got bored waiting for Dad to come back out of the shower. My other picture is, of course, Barge-Dog Kess smiling as she looks over the rather tall port bow rail of SB Cambria. Also the neighbours now we have all just been out for a good shout at long haired Goldie, Alfie who was visiting next door. The Nerve!

Look after yourself

Deefs

Take Three

Three strong contestants for the role of 'Cute Barge Dog' here. You may recognise Alfie, a yorkie who is part of the furniture on the SB Greta and visible on any visit to the Greta website. Alfie has been around ages and was there to welcome Megan and Haggis aboard when they chartered her for a day's sailing.

Alfie's new young companion is Ludo, tricolour short haired JR, here challenging the cameraman from the deck of Greta, which was moored alongside SB Cambria. Finally another old chum, Kess, faithful chum of one of Dad's fellow volunteers on Cambria, Mark.

Meanwhile, in Project Erroll land, it's all gone a bit quiet. Our most recent viewer was perhaps the most hopeful-sounding, a single middle aged lady with no small child-shaped encumbrances, who seemed delighted with the garden and was talking about bringing her grown-up son back to see the place a 2nd time. Despite themselves, Mum and Dad allowed a glimmer of hope to start to glow, but it was not to be - word came back that she'd decided it was too small.

I love the pictures in the brochure taken by the professional lensman with a very wide angle lens (certainly wider than Dad's widest lens, which is 18mm focal length) as they show the rooms as if they were massive, but I guess when people then see the spaces in real life they might be forgiven for being disappointed. For "We could hold a party for 50 in there!" read "We might manage a small soirée for 6 or 8 guests". Ah well, it's early days yet - we've only been on the market a few weeks.

22 days to go, and counting

Deefs

Now they're both at it!

Now they're both at it, Mum and Dad both leaving us abandoned indoors while they go off and enjoy a day's sailing on board the barge SB Greta, based in Whitstable. Haggis has been out, in the days of Megan and before my time, both of them getting on famously with black and tan barge-dog Alfie, but the theory is I'm a bit too skittish and would launch myself over the side. I was also a bit nervous when allowed to walk the decks of SB Cambria a couple of weeks back, and she was aground and in her dry dock (also aground!).

In fact, thinks Dad now after the event, it might not be so bad, as Alfie has chilled a lot with age and would suit Haggis as a companion - the two could metaphorically smoke their pipes and chat about sailorman days of yore like 2 old salts, and I could be shown the ropes by fresh new, spirited, shout-at-all-other-boats Jack Russell, "Ludo". She's pretty good at chasing towards the rail at the edge of the deck and stopping just in time. I'd soon pick it up. Back when H+M went though, they were invited out of the blue by skipper-owner, Steve, and Dad doesn't like to press him, so unless we get another unprompted invite, we are doomed to wait on shore while the humans sail away.

The other pic here, by the way, is Cambria's dry dock from the "wet" side - the starb'd quarter as seen from Greta in the creek.

Shucks

Deefer

Rotovatin'

Dad has the afternoon off in order to be here for the Gas Man, who's coming to service the "aul' boiler" (no comment). Gas man comes and goes, very efficiently by about 3pm, so Dad hikes up to the allotment to do the Rotovating. It's hard physical work, because that old beast is a big powerful thing, and Dad spends all the time fighting it's wayward tendency to take off across the plot.

All the time, he and his allotment mates are ruefully watching a massive John Deere with a 40-50 foot gang of 4 discs and rollers doing to acres in seconds out on the (new) fields, what it is taking Dad hours to do per square yard. The tractor guy is followed by hundreds of gulls swooping and crying after the turned up worms. Dad is supporting one robin. Yes, the job of turning the "nature reserve" out back into an oil seed rape monoculture is proceding a-pace.

We aren't allowed up - there is this theory that dogs and rotovators don't mix. I was only trying to bite the wheels Dad! In the end we get our walk across the Rec where we meet 8 month old Cav, "Alfie" and try to have a run around. I'm up for it, and Alfie keeps trying, but as soon as it's me chasing him, and I look like catching up he stops and cowers, tail between legs, which puts a bit of a dampener on the game and I get bored and wander off, where upon he chases me again. Odd dog. Needs to learn to play in a Deefer-style, mildly robust way!

Deefer

Happy New Alfie

The humans are all a bit jaded today, so there's a lot of sitting around watching rubbish on TV, and not a lot of inspired leppin' about. We do, however, get taken on a reasonable walk all around the cemetary and back via there Rec, where we meet 12 week old Staffie, "Alfie" out for only his 2nd walk in the outside world.

As always, we have a good but gentle romp. He's up for it but very soppy and gangly, unco-ordinated in that pup way of a boy who's only been able to use his legs for about 5 weeks so far! It is always good to see new owners letting their pups socialise like this, off the lead and enjoying the outside world. If we can help with that, then we are delighted.

We meet, too, sis Ellie, as always immaculate and groomed looking. Ha! Come back Saturday, when we've all been done by "The Groomer". We will knock spots off you, Ells. Soon, Mollie, young Rottie owned by son of Ellie's owners shows up too, and we all get a good chase about, but by now it's all a bit more boisterous. We gather that Ellie's Mum is a tad "tired and emotional" having karaoke'd last night away. Whoops.

Ah well, welcome to 2009, and a Happy New Year

Deefer

Cavaliers

Our lovely warm autumn continues, with the leaves coming down in the evening sunshine, and lying in rustling beds for us to romp through. Tonight's a good night for small dogs on the Rec - one of those where we meet lots of terrier sized chums, and we can all have a chase about together.

Not only did we meet sis Ellie, but also out there were a grown up Cavalier King Charles called Louis, and a tiny (12 weeks) pup called Alfie, who is very quiet and a bit over-awed by all this dog activity. It's good, though, everyone agrees, for a pup's socialising, for them to meet lots of other dogs of all shapes, sizes and (nice) behaviours, provided it's done in a sensitive way and it's a happy experience for the pup.

Dad though, does worry about Cav's, after all the stuff on the news and a couple of dog documentaries lately about Syringomyelia (SM), which is something Cav's are prone to. Even (if you agree with the programmes), those from top breeders and Best-in-Show material, but if you're interested google Cavalier King Charles SM and you'll see it all there. So you end up looking at such a tiny pup as Alfie, and wondering what the future holds for him.

Mind you, plenty of people will issue dire warnings about westies, skin complaints, brutal cancers of shoulder joints etc - so I guess you "pays yer money and takes yer choice" (one of Stamp-Man's, that one)

Deefski

Fast Alfie

Still no sign of that snow, so we guess we've missed it as usual. We are all up nice and early to enjoy a good walk in the chilly sunshine. There's a cold wind blowing. Dad takes us down across the allotments and into the Abbey Fields behind tracing the line of the Whitstable railway and then curving Northwards towards the creek.

We meet a young black greyhound called Alfie who wants to play. We are in some close-grazed (rabbits) scrubby grassland. Alfie starts charging in huge figure-of-eight circuits, so I give chase. By cutting the corners hard (my figure of 8's are about 20 feet across, Alfie's are about a quarter of a mile!) I can keep up with him and when he curves in towards me I send him on his way with a couple of excited yaps, and off he goes again racing out on the next loop.

There! You never knew I could run as fast as a greyhound did you!

Dad then left us to Mum's tender mercies and went off to play with his Cambria restoration buddies. Came back smelling of the other Alfie, barge dog from Greta, so I suspect he may have been communing with Steve and the rest from the boatyard.

Chilly tonight - we have a coal fire going
Deefs

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

Sea Dog Alfie

This is Alfie - seasoned sailor sea-dog on board Sailing barge Greta. He gets on really well with the three of us when we meet on the quayside, and said a nice "Hello" to Mum and Dad when they came on board yesterday. The kennel is a new feature on deck, and has now been adopted by Alfie after a long time of ignoring it. Steve-the-Skipper says that the No Smoking sign is because it is Alfie's "place of work", as per the new regs

Poor Meggie, meanwhile, has gone lame, with a pink inflamed middle toe on her front left foot - probably a grass-dart type injury. She is let off the walk today and booked in at the vets. With the "old girl" out of the picture, Haggis and I get treated to a good fast long walk in the forest - lovely and quiet - we didn't see another soul

Poor Meggie gets taken to the vets, where she is given a thorough check up ("For an 11 year old dog with Cushings", he says "She is brilliant"). But there is still the thorny problem of the grass dart / puncture wound. She gets muzzled, grabbed at one end by Dad and wrangled by a blonde Finnish vet nurse at the other (Didn't hear Dad complaining about that one!), while da Boss does his work with local anaesthetic and a lancet. Ouch. Poor old Meggie. Now she's on antibiotics and salty foot baths.

Have a good 'un

Deefs

Pics of the Iron Wharf

Hi. I keep talking about the local creek and the boat yard (Iron Wharf and Standard Quay) where the old Thames Sailing Barges are restored and maintained, but it occurred to me that I've never given you any pictures. Here are a couple to sort that out.

The first (if they stay in the same order when I press "publish") is of me chasing around on the quay-side with Greta's barge-dog Alfie. who is great fun. Sorry about the back view of the ship-wright man who snuck in there.

The grassy one is the three of us approaching the boatyard along the creek side path. In the distance stands a typical reefed in "sprit-sail"rig but this boat, the "Alice of Rochester" is, I am told, not a "real" old sailing barge, but a converted lighter, made to look like a barge top-sides. The rigging and masts look genuine enough to me, but then, I'm only a pup, so what do I know?

Finally, that's me chasing Alfie and a passer-by terrier "Dotty" around the quayside again, with the blue and yellow striped sprit pole of Decima behind us, the gear lowered for winter maintenance. The quay side is actually streaked with the oily mixture (I think lanolin, veg oil and ochre) with which the guys paint the terracotta coloured sails to preserve them. Lovely smelly mess, great for a white dog to roll in and chest-plough through till they get shouted at. Personally, I can't think of a nicer thing for a westie to "ming" of, but Meggie prefers dead slugs or fox poo.

The gear is designed to be lowered, by the way, so that the barges could get under the Thames bridges. They'd sail up to them, getting plenty of way on, then quickly drop the rigging and let the momentum carry them under, before raising the masts again the other side. So Dad says anyway.

Coo - what an educational post we're having tonight

Deefer

Alfie - Ship's Dog

We have often mentionned Sailing Barges in this diary, and specifically the ones maintained at the Iron Wharf in town, on our creek. Dad's favourite is almost certainly one called "Greta" on which they (before I was born) went sailing last year. Skipper Steve, invited Mum and Dad to bring Megan and Haggis, because they get on so well with Barge-Dog Alfie. We meet Alfie often, when we walk through (as tonight, in fact), so I thought you'd like a shot of Alfie, on board, on his special bed on the main hatchway, with his life belt. Excellent dog!

Deefer