Farewell to the Help-X

Teamwork. Sonja and Asbjörn help Elizabeth laying weed proof
membrane across the big flower bed.

This post brings us to the end of the current fortnight of Help-X and our hosting of Sonja and Asbjörn. They are up. packed and breakfasted, and Elizabeth has just now set off with them and their huge hiker back-packs for Castlerea station. They are off up to Dublin to spend a few days relaxing and touristing before heading for the airport on Tuesday for their flights home (Berlin and Frankfurt). They have been great and we will miss them a lot, but more on that story later.

Jean with Molly and the new pup.

I am sorry to bring sad news, but we heard this week that our UK friend Jean had to say goodbye to our own #1 bitch Deefer's birth Mother, Molly, who would have been 14 years or so old, a good age for a Westie. Jean is widow of my very good friend and closest colleague, Steve, who is also no longer with us and much missed. Steve and Jean bred 3 pups, Deefer, Ellie-Bez (still with us) and Archie (RIP).

Deefer's birth Mum, Molly.

All their dogs were named after characters in the Scottish TV series "Monarch of the Glen" (remember "Och, Don't be silly, Molly, 'Tis only Golly the Ghillie!" ???). I still love to hear from Jean occasionally with news of the dogs. She is carrying on the Westie tradition with a new pup recently purchased. Her dogs always look pristine, clean and white compared to our poo-encrusted farm mutts! Good luck, Jean.

Lucifer planted down the fence.

So the Help-X-ers served out their time and have now departed. They were good hard workers and got stuff done way and above the call of duty, often working well into the afternoon. The unwritten "contract" such as it is, says you feed and house them for about 24 hours work a week.

A small mountain of thistles.

In the last few days of the stay they helped lay the membrane across that flower bed, they divided a huge clump of Crocosmia 'Lucifer' and planted chunks all down the driveway fence and pulled/dug a gazillion thistles out of the East Field. They cleared a pile of fallen, rotting wood (optimistically called the "Habitat Pile") from the woods and piled it on an ever growing bonfire heap. They mowed the orchard and down the pig 'race' and created a dog-proof "kerb" from concrete blocks under the pig gate. There was no stopping them - they hated to leave a job unfinished. On their last day (Friday) we give them free choice of the jobs on the "to do" list, but they still chose mowing and thistling. The Lady of the House had to nip out for more petrol for the mower.

German style apple cake with a nutty base layer and the set-but
-creamy custard 'roof'

They have proved very useful in the kitchen, they took over the table laying task and were quick to clear away and fill/empty the dish washer as soon as a meal finished. They also did more cooking. Sonja is a dab hand at the sweets, and created a superb German style apple cake. We have also been enjoying Elizabeth's more impressive end of the repertoire. The 'unlucky'*** rooster became a delicious pot roast (and then a pasta sauce) and the 'Last Supper' for these guests show-cased traditional "Dublin Coddle" and an Elizabeth David choc-mousse (just eggs and chocolate!).

*** That rooster. He was the white one who featured as 'lucky' in my 4th Sept post; he'd been saved from the usual fate of spare roosters by archery friends Con and Niamh needing a replacement bird after a fox strike. However, the month of pig-harvest and other busy-ness went by and C+N did not get round to building their bigger, stronger, more fox proof chicken run, so they decided not to take him after all.

In the pot he went then and deliciously tender he was. He was this year hatch, so would only have been 6 months old. He was, anyway, another in that fine Feigh tradition of our never being able to breed FEMALE white birds. 6 years we have been at the 'Sussex' chickens and the law of averages has still not delivered any hens. Every white chick we have ever hatched turns into a rooster. We have three little (white) half-grown newly feathered chicks out there at the moment and even they have been seen squaring up to one another in that baby-rooster, play-fighting way they have  so all our money is on them being roo's too!

Tom hanging in the shed.

'(Un)Lucky' was joined this morning on the chopping block by the Turkey-Tom. I have posted before about him starting to attack me and getting himself a verbal warning. Yesterday I went out to check on progress by the mowing Help-X crew and he started doing the karate kicks in the orchard. I'm a bit breathless at the minute, and Sonja had to fend him off with a broken rake handle while I made good my escape. He was definitely playing a dangerous game. The next part of this story is also ME playing a dangerous game and for the first stupid time, pushing my luck well outside of the Doctor's "Take it Easy" advice. Silly, reckless me. (I have been properly told off). Read on.

So I was letting all the birds out this morning, on my own, with everyone else still in bed, when the turkey put in his most determined attack yet and chased me, fending him off with the feed bucket, into the Tígín. I was safe enough but cornered, so I decided if I was going to off him, then it might as well be now. I grabbed a big plastic dog bed and dropped it over him upside down, pinning him down. I reached in and grabbed his legs, swung him out, grabbed the wood axe with my other hand and brought the edge of it down on his neck. Bye bye turkey BUT he is about 8 kg and the axe is a good weight so I was way outside 'light duties' and was suddenly coughing enough to nearly be sick. I was in real trouble for a while there and had to sit down a bit smart-ish to get my breath back. There was no way I could lift the bird up to tie twine round his legs and hang him up to bleed out, but at that point Sonja heard me struggling for breath and came down to see if I needed help. Lesson well learned, Readers. Apologies. It will not happen again.

Once the guests are gone, it does not take long
for the dogs and cats to take back over "their"
room.

Enough drama for this post, I guess. It's all nice and quiet here now (except for the "weeping") female turkey who is wondering where her boyfriend went. The females make a repeated 'Pew-pew-pew' noise which we are, of course, now blaming on her grief. We hope she will get over it. Turkeys form a very close pair-bond and we have experience in the past of a 'tom' pining away when he lost his hen to a fox. I'll keep you posted.

The Final 9... and a half

Colin has a bit of a sort out of the sheared ewes

In the last post, I promised an end soon to talk of sheep shearing. This is definitely the last word on that subject or at least the penultimate one. Friends of the blog will know that on Saturday I was booked over to Co. Sligo again to nail the final 9 Texel ewes plus, it turned out, a little grey mountainy animal who had nearly sheared herself by losing her winter coat except for some shaggy pantaloons and a fluffy (un-docked) tail. Some sheep breeds do this, the Wiltshire Horn for example, so this girl, Molly, may have some of that DNA in her mix. She was our "and a half" sheep.

For this session our French student assistant was absent, given a lie-in by the family as she'd been working her socks off all week and was exhausted. It was just Colin and I but that was OK. The 3rd hand is useful but not vital. Anne joined us late morning when we were just 2 sheep from the end of the task, a nice "bringing on a fresh sub" move.  We took it fairly steady and got through all ten animals between 9 a.m. and 11:30 even with a break for coffee mid way and a bit of a pause to sort and treat a fly-strike victim.

Fly strike lesion on right side of ewe. Cleaned up in this pic.

You'll recall that one of the main reasons for shearing early-ish in the year (May?) is to avoid the over-heated sheep getting blow flies lay their eggs down among the fleece. These eggs hatch and the maggots crawl down to the skin and start eating that, causing, as you can imagine, all manner of discomfort to the sheep and eventually worse ills.

Letting them all go back out to pasture.

Fly strike is messy, smelly and not nice. We only found the one case, a ewe with maggots down in her groin area. These sheep-keepers though, know their stuff and had what felt like 4 different lotions and potions on hand to wipe on, sponge on, massage in and then (a very bright yellow cream) smear around the outside of the place. Once we had got rid of all the maggots all you can do is prevent more and let the wound, which was not very deep in this case, dry and heal.

So that was me, sheared out for the year. I could clean the shears, de-tension them and send the blades away to be sharpened. Luckily I mentioned this to Alayne, who sends her horse-trimmers off like this and when I told her of the 'brilliant place' on Achill Island I have used before she was able to advise me that that one is closed following the tragic death of the business owner. She gave me an alternative place to get them sharpened.

Had to try these new "Jakoti" hand shears

The reason for my "penultimate" possibility is that I have been tempted by all the @smallholderIRL Twitterer sheep-folk into buying a new toy.

Connie takes her 3 babies to visit 'Big Red' in the Utility Room,
who has just hatched 4 for herself. She does not receive an
enthusiastic welcome. 

This is a pair of Jakoti hand shears looking like an extended pair of Felco secateurs. All the sheep people swear by them now and have been abandoning the olde fashion sprung-steel "double bow" type. I have now received these just after having finished shearing proper but I have one tidy up job I can try them out on - those frilly knickers and woolly dewlaps I left on my own sheep before I had all this practise on Southdowns and Texels.

The Hubbards at 3 weeks are fast out-growing "baby chick"
status

Meanwhile, back home we are awash with baby chicks and more on the way. You'll know we got the 13 (now dozen) Hubbards hatched on 5th June. In the last post I spoke of 3 chicks hatched under our #1 broody, Sussex 'Connie', with Utility Room broody coming up to Day 21 yesterday. Well, right on schedule, UR-Broody (we'll call her Big Red) hatched hers, 4 chicks in her case. Hot on her heels should come 'Stumpy', Due 7th July and now we have found a 4th 'clocker', the part-Araucana we call 'Beeblebrox' whom we THINK will be due on the 15th. We are furiously trying NOT to count our chickens.....

Foaming porridge? A sour dough starter. 

Tipped off by our visitors from Dorset, Mazy Lou and Airy Fox and then encouraged by the 'curator' of that Twitter account (@MagsMorrisey) who did a week of bread making Tweets, I have decided to try my hand at the sour-dough bread. Both of us have tried plenty of yeast bread since we have been here (and before) but never sour-dough. I will not go into detail as this 'muck and magic' has been covered intensively else where but in brief, the bread rises due to the activity of a 'starter' which you keep active, instead of dried or fresh yeast.

Bread makers love and cherish their starter cultures, feed them and tend them like any other livestock. They even give them names. Mine came over from Mazy in Liz's hand luggage and I named it Reginald after the ram I had just sheared. Ooops - sorry, that slipped out.

Anyway, long story short, we have fed Reg for the required week and, finding him foaming like a swamp, I made the first loaf today. Even though I failed to artistically score the top of the lump of dough and scorched it a little by forgetting how fierce our oven can be, it came out very well and is delicious.

Hard to beat. Your own pork. The bread-crumb crust covers
shredded courgette in creamy garlic sauce

Other than that, a nice bit of progress on the kitchen project. We'd been looking for a suitable worktop for in there against the bare stone wall plus wondering how to mount it given the lack of cupboards, then sitting down at our Dining Table to scratch our heads and drink coffee. This is what we need, we agreed, something like the top of the table. Solid wood, 4 cms thick, honey-coloured oak (or similar?), 6 foot long, stripped of varnish and cherished for years with something like our beeswax polish.

New kitchen gets an up-cycled dining table work top. 

BING! Light-bulb moment. Why don't we either find another table and cut it up (well, get K-Dub, our ace carpenter, to do it) or find one to replace this one and cut this one up? So we did. I was out in Boyle last Friday and spotted a "Pre-Loved Furniture" shop (yoiks) and there, right in the front window was the very table. We nipped out to collect it yesterday and texted K-Dub, and he came round today. Bingo! Liz has a perfect-height, solid wood worktop which even has a 'splash-back' with twin double sockets for the various kitchen gadgets. Marvellous.

Too Cold for that Caper

As predicted (but not with any credence from us!) our poly tunnel is delivered this (Sunday) morning. This unlikely event, a bloke doing a delivery of building materials with a lorry on a Sunday is only happening because bloke's Mum and Auntie both live in the nearby village of Loughglynn, it's Mothers' Day and he is bringing his wee daughter over for lunch.

Daughter is fascinated by the rabbits and geese but declines a look around because it's lovely and warm in Dad's lorry-cab and 'out here' there is a fierce Nor'Easterly charging through at what feels like about minus 4 degrees and the forecast is for snow. Donegal, a couple of counties north already has snow. If you stand in the Tígín with the east side door open, the wind chases in behind you and howls out through the gaps around the west door with a noise like a Scott of the Antarctic sound-track. Lawrence Oates quotes resound in our ears. "I am just going outside and I may be some time".

What ever, it's way too cold to play poly tunnels and would be downright dangerous in the wind, so the bits and pieces come off the lorry and will pretty much stay put till the weather improves. Not only do you need it reasonably still to be handling huge sheets of plastic, but it is much easier to get the plastic correctly taut around the frame if the plastic is warm and supple.

Meanwhile, a new complication develops in our gardening, and that is in the pond department. We had hoped that the apparently sticky, heavy Roscommon clay might be gloopy enough to give is a waterproof lining to our intended and half-dug big pond. I have posted in an earlier post about digging a test-pit, filling it with rain water and slapping it about a bit to smear out any obvious worm-holes before leaving it to the geese. Well, to my amazement I woke up on the 2nd morning after creating the test-pit to find it drained dry, so not that waterproof at all! So much for all the 'living in a bog' no drainage nonsense.

Liz and I decided to research this 'puddling' a bit further and the methods as described in our internet searches involve scooping up tennis ball sized lumps  the clay, squishing it in you hands, forming it into hamburger shaped 'tiles' and then creating multiple, interlocked layers of these tiles to 6 inches thickness. This is all totally impractical on a 20 foot by 30 foot pond as is the commercial/industrial/contractor method involving 20 tonne excavators etc. We had a little poke about with our own hands and shovels and discovered that the 'clay' when wetted is actually quite gritty, more like a silty-clay than a pure clay. It definitely did not feel as smooth and clay-like as the stuff I can remember trying to spin on the potters wheel at school. When you try to puddle it with water it falls apart and, even when squished into a ball-shape it splits and breaks apart when kneaded.

The net result of all this mud-pie puddle-ducking is that we now think that a clay liner would not work and that we will have to go for the butyl rubber liner. Butyl rubber round these parts comes at around €8.50 per square metre so you can probably do the sums and see that we are talking about a several hundred euro spend. We have seen the advice which says length is pond length plus twice depth plus 500mm margin but we have also seen the little footnote which says 'if you have dug your pond already, lay a hose pipe along and down into the pond hole and then measure the hose'. The latter is much more efficient and will result in much less waste of expensive rubber sheeting. So I am back in the pond digging game but not in this wind.

Today I am staying indoors for the most part, doing all the cooking to give Liz a Mothers' Day break and keeping the home fires burning. Love to my own Mum (Pud Lady) and Liz's Mum, (Steak Lady) plus to any Mums of our animals; Deefer's Mum (Molly), Towser and Poppy's Mum (Lily), the cats' Mum, and so on. Off to walk the dogs now, though.

"I am just going outside......"

White Stuff

We wake up to about an inch (at most) of snow. Not having been paying attention to the forecasts, this is a pleasant surprise, and I race up and down the garden as soon as Dad's alarm gets him up to let me out. Megan and Haggis stay put on the bed.

As is normal for Kent, most of it has gone by evening, so there are no photo-opportunities, and the Rec has just enough for a dog to roll on her back and play snow-angels. Were you worried that in our new short clipped fur, this snow and cold would be unwelcome? Fear not. We are a ruffty tuffty Scottish breed. Och Aye!

The Rec was full of like-minded strollers, enjoying the snow, such as it was - old faithful, rather portly Jack Russell "Patch" was there (whose Mum I always remember as being a source of dog-sweeties from those cavernous pockets), and Spinone "Tosca", beagle Molly and a small black terrier (Scottie? - we're not sure, some sort of cross, we think).

Meg, though, seems to be suffering a bit from lameness in the front left. She's OK on dry tarmac, but does not like the frosty earth and grass, or icy patches on the paths. We are taking it gently and we'll keep an eye on her. Poor aul' love.

Deefski

Groomer and the Guitar Man

Our electric power suppliers, British Gas, via distributor EDF (mais oui!) seem to have lost the plot lately. 6 times since the 4th of Dec, the house has been plunged into darkness and the humans, who have poor night vision compared to we dogs, have been reduced to candle light and early nights. Fun and romantic the first time - candle lit supper, coal fire, chatting etc (weh heh!), this has now lost its novelty value. I can't get on here, and Mum can't get on with the fast-encroaching Open Univ assignment deadline.

This leads to Mum on the phone last night giving out (politely and sweetly, natch) to 6 different "Customer Services" (Hah!) types of increasing rank and decreasing ability to pass the buck. The buck, in this case, a feisty human female with her posh voice turned on, and her previous studies with the OU concerning contract law, Provision of Goods and Services Act, the Sale of Goods Act and a raft of case law with names like "Bloggs Electricity supply company vs. Forsyth, 1992" etc. Go Mum! Lambs to the slaughter.

We're off out that night anyway, over to visit Mum and Dad's chums Guitar Man and "The Groomer", plus Norfolk terriers Dylan (who we've met and has featured in this blog before) and newer pup Molly, 9 months old. The Groomer (as I can now call her) was formerly "The Refrigeration Plant in Supermarkets Service Consultant" (not such a snappy title), but we're happy to report that she's now jacked all that in and set up in business as a dog groomer / dog creche in their village.

She is rapidly building a client base and has many pics of poshly groomed dogs, including westies, on the cork-board. There is hope for me yet! The Groomer has a newly fitted out extensive summer-house as a workshop with hydraulic tables, huge-dog sized bath with walk-in ramp at one end, along with racks of lotions and potions, clippers, combs and scissors plus, of course, dog treats.

Mum and Dad have promised us that we will be treated to a pampering day after Christmas, as soon as the weather starts to warm up. We will, of course, let you know how you get on. Diamond, too, is interested on behalf of Rags, though if Groomer can make either Ragworth or myself look like posh show-dogs, then she will come heartily reccommended, and we will shout her name from the roof tops.

It was a good evening. We three dogs packed it with Dylan and Molly (I only had one scrap with Molly, but you do, don't you. Can't have everyone thinking I have become an angel), while Mum and Dad, plus Guitar Man, Groomer and a couple of chums of our hosts, ate, drank, crossed the road to join in the proper carol singing on the church green and wandered down to a superb micro-pub called the Butcher's Arms (Real Ales are us!) - they weren't even too rude in there about Dad's Shepherd Neame sweatshirt !

http://www.micropub.co.uk/

Back at the house all dogs collapsed on furniture while Dad and Guitar Man played guitar (brilliantly) and sang (badly), while Mum attempted to master the intricacies of the computer game Wii Sport (Tennis). Apart from wanting to call it "Why -Aye!" instead of "Wee", it was amusing to see Mum thrashing at thin-air with her gadget, while the player on the screen completely missed the incoming baseline volley. The screen even did the whistle of the "racket" through the air like a Zorro sword-slash, without the accompanying "thwack" of ball on catgut.

Wet weekend on the cards, though there is talk of us buying our Christmas Tree.

Have a good one
Deefer

8 go mad in Maidstone

After the emotional turmoil of yesterday, we needed a happy relaxing day today. We certainly got one! Today, all the family went on our annual birthday joint-walk, on this occasion around Leybourne Lakes in Maidstone - that's we three (Meggie, Haggis and (me) Deefer), plus my real-Mum Mollie, real Dad Hector, bro' Archie and sis' Ellie, plus, on this one, sis's owner's daughter's 6 month old Rottie pup, another Mollie.

Here are a couple of shots of the day. Anyone who knows Ellie will laugh at the one of her looking like a drowned rat, having just been in the lake (by mistake). Always immaculate, our Ellie is pretty much a self-cleaning dog. Her long hair seems to shed dirt, so, having got wet, and then picked up a load of dust on the wet fur she looked like a right tramp. By the time she got back to the car, she was pristine!

The one of the four westies near the chair, with Rottie, Molly is there to give you a look at Moll. She's a lovely soft, very well socialised, gentle, gangly loose-limbed babe, who regularly trips over her own feet.

And then there's the group photo. Dad had not managed to get a decent one of all 7 westies on the way round, so we were posed on this bit of grass. Even then it was difficult to get everyone to look at the camera, and this is one everybody looking, selected from among about 10 failures!

We had a fantastic day, and then many of us retreated to first-Mum's house for the humans to have a coffee. Happy Birthday everyone and we must do it all again next year! More pics soon

Deefer

Between the Hail storms

What a day! Dad's been trying to finish his digging and put the rotovator across the allotments and has been dodging between the hail storms by hiding in a nearby plot holder's shed. The goons apparently run for cover and then spend the next 10 minutes waving and grinning and exchanging banter from inside their various open shed doors.

We get our walk when a particularly big blue patch of sky comes over the horizon, and we decide to "risk it for a biscuit", the Rec, the Parish Church and back down through the boat yard, where we are surprised to see S.B.Greta still moored up. Steve is on deck and Alfie is barking at us from the starboard bulwarks. He didn't want to risk the sail he says, on that dodgy weather yesterday evening, so he sat tight and they'll head for Whitstable Monday or Tuesday.

We meet Molly the beagle on the way home. As I race in circles and Molly shows every sign of wanting to join me, Dad suggetsts she is let off the lead and is amazed to find that the lady has "not yet plucked up courage" to let her off because some helpful soul has said "Oooh - Beagles - they have a reputation for taking off and never being seen again". We've not heard of that at all and don't beleive it but the idea is fixated in the lady's head and the dog is now stuck on the lead. We suggest some places and situations where it could be low risk (out in a "pack" with us, and along the levee where the opportunities to scoot are limited. We'll see

Treat tonight. Mum's cooking duck in Guinness for a posh dinner party, so we get the cooked giblets.

That's the life!

Deefs

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...