Greenbacks, and all that Jazz

There is an affliction that affects any dog of around 11 inches to the shoulder, who inhabits the Rec, called "Green-back". The dog's fur along its back takes on a powdery green look which can cause concern and consternation among owners.......

....till they spot that the dog is given to running under the Rec's wooden park-benches, which are green with dried algae all over the bottoms of the planks, where not polished by the bums of weary walkers.

We have a good run around in the Rec this morning, Dad having a day off to amuse himself with errands prior to an adventurous weekend (more of that later), chasing a ball, and romping with mainly-white young Staffie bitch "Jazz" (actually Jasmine). Jazz has a very fetching white leather collar with girlie emblems on it, and a pink leather lead. Makes you look twice, on a Staff, where your eye is almost more tuned to expect a macho look.

We pass Mollie the Beagle's house on the walk, and there's Mollie, sparko in the front bay window, oblivious to our passing, the picture of contentment. Wish we had a camera.

Deefski

Conyer Creek

For a change we head off to Conyer Creek, just west of here, now a chi-chi creekside sailing resort with a good pub (The Ship and Smuggler) but formerly an important barge-port and barge building place (among other things). Walk eastwards out of the village and along the creek side and you're soon in terrier heaven - rabbits running everywhere. There's also the creeks and inlets to wade (or swim) in to cool down.

At one stage we meet the biggest pair of Rottie's we've ever seen, Sadie and Bosley. They are hot from chasing rabbits, panting with lolling tongues. "They look warm" says Dad to the family in general, and the small boy pipes up "Yeah, they chase rabbits and Bozz catches up with them and puts his paw on them, then lets them go.".

From the size and heatedness of these big dogs, I doubt he catches many unless they are myxie, plus we have visions of cartoon rabbits flattened by steam rollers, but we don't argue. With us they are gentleness and politeness personified. Haggis needs a few nice dog-greeting experiences to settle him after Polly's snap yesterday.

My final pic is of the rotting skeletal outline of a couple of barges. 15 years back when Dad first moved here there was more barge visible, and we've seen in a barge book somewhere an older pic of them almost complete moored there when they were first decommissioned - Dad says it even gave the name of these barges if he remembers right - but now the weather and storms have done their work, and pretty much all that's left are a few ribs, some transom and a bit of the rudder post, a red bouy to mark the "wreck".

Nice walk though

Deefer

Sleeping like a dog

Here we all are, kippin' on the bed. We're tired out here from a good chase around on the Rec. Dad's been involved all day in the plant and cake sale run by the local Hort Soc, and then up at the allotments talking to a (potential) bee keeper, who might be installing bee hives at the site.

Very complicated, this bee keeping, apparently - bees need a clear-ish flightpath on leaving the hive while they gain height - a bit like the end of Heathrow's runways - and if you "aim" the hive at heavily used paths, walkways or at anywhere an allotment holder is likely to be working, you interfere with the bees taking off, at your peril.

Naturally, this is all wrapped round with Health and Safety Regs now and failure to observe them can cause claims of negligence when bees "likely to have come from your hive" sting anyone. Also bees don't like vibration, such as caused by passing mowers, so open grass areas which the Management team feel should be mowed, are a no-no. Finally, hives and swarm combined have a value of £3-400, and are subject to both vandalism, and "rustling" if in line of sight from public footpaths. Ah well, Dad says they found between them three or four possible hive locations and pending swarm availability, the man should be able to deliver "our" hive(s) and bees soon.

So we're all tired out, and the H is also a bit out of sorts because "friendly" grey and white greyhound Polly for no apparent reason took exception to Haggis as he mooched below her head, and suddenly snapped at his ear, taking a chuink out of him and causing real blood to flow! Haggis was most put out, as well as surprised. The lady was very apologetic, but it wasn't her fault - they've always got on OK up to now. Polly was obviously having a grumpy day and H got in the way. Only once - he gave her a very wide berth there-after.

Deefski

Minor Miner

Fortunately for me no pictures exist of me after this... um... incident. You know those dalek shaped plastic compost bins. A good compost maker will have them choc-a-block full of rich, sweet, fruit-cake sticky compost. This is shovelled out of the bottom via a trap door, leaving, sometimes, and arching roof tunnel of compost right through to the back. Occasionally a dog might pass by looking for a place to bury a choice bone, and the dark recesses of this cavern can look quite attractive as a hidey hole.

But if that dog had more experience, she'd know that with time the compost "arch" sags and collapses, the "mine shaft" not being as it were propped up with pit-props. What is a miner to do then, when she knows that buried behind the roof collapse is her precious bone. Surely worth getting a bit... um .... grubby to retieve it?

Meanwhile, in Challock Forest the bluebells are just about at their peak. Unfortunately the leaves in the beech and chestnut are also racing to expand and the light levels are falling fast. It'll soon be over. It also being Bank Holiday Monday the car-park is choc-a also, and there are people everywhere..... WITHIN 100 yards of the car park. Yep, it's a bit like the Lake District. You'd think it would be crammed, the number of cars crawling nose-to-tail along the roads, but stop and walk 100 yards, and you've left 99% of them behind.

So it is in the Forest, and with our local knowledge of the back-ways and secret paths we can be alone in minutes, and able to enjoy in-interrupted bluebell walking. Hope these pics do it justice.

Deefer

Shake Down

After the early morning walk, Dad abandons us all day while he and one of his 2CV chums take the "old girls" (as they call them) on the 2CV London Brighton. This is something of a "shake down trial" for Mademoiselle, the project car, now with working electrics, prior to the big adventure down into France.

Unfortunately, not all the "chums" appreciate the mess dogs can make of restored seating upholstery, so we have not yet been allowed in the car, but Dad comes back delighted with the results - the old girl "didn't miss a beat", and even with her 425cc and top speed of 45-50, they did the 83 miles Blean to Hove Park in 3 hours, including scenic stops to take pics. Dad is buzzing.

We kept Mum company - Mum doesn't really do excitement about cars. A car is just a tool to get from A to B. If it works, fine, otherwise we have issues. She's been on the 2CV Brighton run, but seen one, seen 'em all.

He ho. All part of life's rich pattern.

Deefski

Happy Birthday, Megan

Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to Meggie
Happy Birthday to Youuuuuuuuuuu!!!!

...and the humans have managed to co-incide it with a weekend day, so they are around all day to celebrate it with us. We get a nice walk in the early morning Rec, before the hoards of kiddies arrive, and we find a sponge rubber ball which is denser than my tennis ball, so it throws better and is more fun to chase. We meet assorted dogs - Barney the Springer (who "we" have known since he and Meggie were pups), and a new westie called (we think) "Skiboo".

Skiboo lives down the Graveney road and was originally one of three. His Mum had always had three, replacing dogs as they passed away, but 3 years ago, sadly, Skiboo's Dad also passed away, and Mum was finding 3 a handful. Skiboo looked very fine and handsome, a bit like Haggis but is apparently a bit of a nightmare around small children and any other dogs than westies.

In the Rec, the last big English Elm on our corner has finally succumbed to Dutch Elm Disease and produced only a sprinkle of leaves last year and is now officially dead. It's younger brothers and sisters have all gone over the last few years, and been chain-sawed off at ground level. We hear that a different fate may befall this one; its magnificent bole and thick branch-bases being offered to the artistic community for turning into a sculpture.

So for now the tree surgeons have come and lopped it to make it safe, and cut away the wrist-thick ivy stems at the base, so it stands as an ivy-covered statue, the rot inside it evident from the rotted out hollow centres of all the sawn off boughs 30 feet up. Haggis pee'd on it too many times, I reckon.

So, Meggie wins us raw pork ribs for "birthday cake", and we all mooch around the house and garden in the hot sun. Some might say that Mum and Dad are a bit subdued due to pink wine last night, but I'd never suggest such a thing. Megan looks very well on it, and is back in perfect shape (no pot belly) after her Cushings 3 years ago.... well, and now of course, but the Vetoryl every day is obviously working. Her eyes are starting to cloud a bit, but as far as we can tell, she can see OK (when she wants to!), and there's nothing wrong with her hearing (apart from selctive-deafness).

She is surely a testament to the long life giving qualities of being a totally chilled out babe. (Bad news for me, then, says Dad)

Have a Great Day, ol' girl
Deefer

Dead-Eye Dick

OK , not the sort of junk everyone would want on their terrace table, but it floats Dad's boat.

He is mad keen, as regular readers will know, on Thames sailing barges and in particular the SB Cambria, currently being restored here. The restoration involves a fair amount of chopping old wood and old parts to replace them with new (under-statement of the year), and in the process a fair amount of "junk" comes available.

This 'ere is called a "dead eye". It's a part of the rigging of the old barge. There were 16 - 2 to each "shroud", being the main "stay" (rope) from the main mast top to half way along each side of the barge, there to stop the mast falling over side-ways. We have scanned in a pic (actually of the barge "SB Will Everard" from Dennis J Davis's book "The Thames Sailing Barge, her gear and rigging" (ISBN 0 7153 4887 6)) to show the layout of the 4 pairs.

The Cambria Trust were selling these old dead eyes in aid of the restoration, and Dad couldn't resist.

Sad git

Have a great weekend

Deefski