The gates are closed. We (well…only me here) aren’t going anywhere. Scary times.
Like many other European countries, France is closed. Well, closed for the most part. Essential trips (Groceries, Doctor, Pharmacy) only. One person at a time, carrying an “Attestation de deplacement derogatoire” and photo ID. No one across the border, unless it’s a French resident returning home. Some departments are putting up physical road blocks. Macron said because too many people flout the rules (There have been over 80,000 fines!), if you are caught in violation of the rules, you will not only be fined, but go into a database. If you get sick with Covid-19…and you are found to be a rule breaker… your hospitalization costs may not be covered by national health, but will have to be paid for by yourself.
Right now it’s… Je sauve des vies. Je reste chez moi. (I save lives. I stay at home.)
I have plenty of food for myself and the animals, so no worries there at the moment.
And just like that… we are in Quarantine / Isolation in France for the next 14 days. The borders are closed for 30 days. We may have avoided that, but there were a whole lot of idiots in Bordeaux, Paris and a few other places, taking advantage of the sunshine yesterday, out in vast numbers, practically on top of each other — directly after all public places, bars, restaurants, cinemas and non-essential shops were closed. As well as all events over 100 people being cancelled.
Not only that, just after Macron announced that bars, restaurants etc will close at midnight — a lot of people ran out to have “one last drink” with their friends. (And if any of them had CV, it may well be the very last drink they had with them!) Thanks, you dimwits. Stock up on condoms please, because we really don’t need more of your kind in 9 months.
So what does this mean? No one is allowed to visit anyone, or be visited by anyone. Essential short distance travel to get groceries, go to the doctor, pick up meds — and only with a document stating exactly where you come from, where you are going, and why. Workers need a letter from their employer that they are required to work for essential services, or they cannot go to work. Again, need to have documentation as above. No one is allowed to leave the house, except with the above documentation. Whether it is to go jogging, or to walk the dog for 10 minutes. All outdoor activities like exercise, walking the dog etc, must be solitary. No meeting people for a walk, no letting kids play with each other. None of that. Zero contact. If you encounter anyone, you have to keep your distance. There will be fixed and mobile spot checks. If you cannot produce the document required, it is an instant €38 fine. Clearly there are RoboCops in France. 😉 Unless the Gendarmes are not classed as human… (Contact is contact, right?) All contact with people outside your household is strictly prohibited, except for necessary interaction with grocery staff, doctors etc. Even then you are to keep at least 1 meter between you if possible. This means no riding / training horses outside your property, and not even on your property, if you have neighbors. If your horses are boarded elsewhere (and being looked after), you are not allowed to go there. Period.
Obviously this means no vets (except emergencies), farriers, trimmers, equine dentists, feed deliveries allowed. None. Zero. Zilch.
So even if you think it will “never happen”… don’t. Just don’t. If your animals need vaccinations, surgery, meds, farriers, dentists etc — do it NOW. If you need meds, dentist, vaccinations etc — NOW IS THE TIME. Not tomorrow. Not next week. NOW. Because on Thursday Macron announced schools closing today. On Saturday evening he closed the bars, night clubs, non essential stores at midnight the same day. And today, Monday, at 8pm, he put everyone into isolation as of noon tomorrow. So inside of 3 days we went from “Schools closing Monday”, to full isolation by tomorrow. Not much time to get anything done. A friend of mine has a sick cat. Her surgery was just cancelled because of this. Poor thing is in pain, but there is nothing my friend can do for her. And that sucks.
So here are a few tips: First of all: Check your medical thermometers. Mine were both deader than a Dodo. I managed to grab one yesterday — the last one! — because the delivery of the one I ordered is still not here. Make sure you have enough feed for at least 4 weeks. Make sure your first aid kit (both for yourself, and your animals) are up to date. Have Vetwrap, Animalintex, Wound treatment etc handy. (Because that vet may not be able to get to you!) Nappies for dressings. Duct tape. Have a hoof rasp and some pincers, in case you need to treat a hoof / take off a shoe. I always have Nux Vomica (D6), Belladonna (D6), Arnica (D6), and Apis Mellifica (D6) in my kit. (Pearls, not tablets or drops.) Nux Vomica and Belladonna for mild colic. Arnica for bruising / wounds. Apis Mellifica for hives / stings. (You can get them at the pharmacy usually. D6 is X6 or C3 dilution. Depending where you are.) Batteries for anything you might need that might run out. I also keep Arnica ointment and my own Plantain ointment handy. Hibiscrub and/or Betadine too. Nitrile / Latex gloves, too. Make up sheets with the name and photograph of your animals. List their feed requirements, habits (as well as any unpleasant / dangerous ones!), comfort requirements. Stabled or out? Rugged, unrugged? Which halter belongs to which horse? Tag them. Where is the feed kept? How is it fed? Where is the water tap, the hose, the buckets, the trough? Is anything on meds? If yes — detailed descriptions of where it’s kept, what to give, how often and dosages. Be specific. If you end up in hospital, and a stranger ends up looking after your animals — they need this! List all emergency numbers too. Vet, Farrier, Close Friends, Relatives.
Have enough food for yourself, too. Leave some toilet paper, pasta, soap, sanitizer for others too, omg.
I have 9 confirmed cases less than 4 miles from me, and another 3 cases about 6 miles from me. Luckily I’m way off the beaten track, so “no contact” isn’t difficult, and I can be out on my land if I choose. Others are not so lucky.
And when (it’s a when, now, not an if) you’re in lockdown… sit back, relax, chill and stay away from people. Nothing you can do but stay put.
Which is exactly what I’ll do now. Take care, don’t do anything stupid, wash your hands properly. We’ll get through this. Eventually.
I pointed out that I ignore her now, because I can’t take tears and temper tantrums seriously, and neither is constructive. The moment she went “How dare you”, it was over for me.
Boy did I ever get jumped on lol. Apparently the sun shines out of her ass. Maybe people should use that sunshine as a power source…
Frankly, when the Ozone Hole was discovered in 1984, it took all of 3 years to do something about it. I well remember everyone going to pump sprays almost immediately. It was taken seriously, and people rallied.
But noooo…. “Your generation knew and did nothing”
Ahem. No. When we knew specifics, things were done. Almost immediately. (Montreal Protocol)
But 30 years ago we didn’t have the kind of science and facts we have now. How can you do something, when you don’t have specifics? When you lack the facts? There was no internet. We had newspapers. So no, we couldn’t do anything about something we had no idea was happening back then.
And measures were taken once it became clearer that there’s a problem. Not enough perhaps, but it wasn’t ignored. Nor were we aware of all the facts then. It took time to get the facts, to narrow down the causes, to figure out what to do about it. But we didn’t ignore it. If we had, the world would be in a much, much worse state now. I’m 55 this year. To Greta that might seem ancient, but it’s not. Maybe I come across as a grumpy old woman. I don’t know.
But when I see “funny” videos of a baby trying to figure out how to turn a page in a book, because it is used to an iPad… Or the Instagram generation of teenagers in the latest fashion, with new phones, and a plastic water bottle… Or 25 year olds travelling to exotic places four times a year… When I see dump trucks in India “disposing” of waste into a river… When I hear about Mexico City suffering a water shortage because of a brewery…
I have to wonder.
Apparently my generation and the previous ones are the bad guys. We’re to blame for everything wrong in the world today.
Riiiiight. It has nothing to do with younger generations wanting everything sterile, convenient, brand new. They are not to blame. They inherited this mess. They have nothing whatsoever to do with it.
My generation and previous ones are not blameless. But to lay the entire mess at our feet is not justified. We are to blame for bringing up the next generation to be wasteful, disrespectful, and negligent. We should have done a better job there. However, I grew up walking to school. When I went to business school in a town 10km away, I took the bus. At 6am, rain, shine, ice, sleet… didn’t matter. My parents would have taken my bus pass and made me walk, had I asked them to drive me to school every morning. Later, I took shopping bags with me when I did the grocery shop. This got me no amount of funny looks at the supermarkets in the UK at the time, because… plastic bags were free, why not use them? Why bring shopping bags? Well, I was brought up that way. It was normal to me. I’ve probably recycled, reused, upcycled for longer than Saint Greta has been alive. The sweat pants I’m wearing right now are oh… 30? years old? Thereabouts. They are ratty, they have holes, they have the odd stain on them. I have T-Shirts that are old enough to be Greta’s mother. And when I finally deem them unwearable… they get a new lease of life as rags. The only thing I buy every now and then are socks, underwear, and maybe a new pair of sweat pants. But even the sweat pants are often from 2nd hand shops. I have tons of pullovers, jeans, jackets and whatnot. I don’t wear them enough to wear them out. And even my socks tend to last for years. As a matter of fact, I have a pair of wooly socks I adore. They are probably close to 40 years old now. Not only are they heavenly warm and soft… it’s a pair of socks my grandmother knitted for me. I love them. I don’t wear them a lot, only when it’s really, really cold, but I keep them even though they are out of shape now. It doesn’t get cold enough here to need them, so they are packed away atm. As is the pair she knitted much later for Paul, who was quite apprehensive about them — and they became his favorite pair of socks when he had to stand in the cold for hours. Meanwhile, I watch the mountains of discarded clothes in landfills, some brand new with the tags still on them, discarded because “it’s last year’s fashion”, mostly synthetic fibres that don’t rot. That’s not my generation, thank you. That’s generally people in their teens, twenties and thirties.
I rarely see someone in their 50’s and 60’s “needing” bottled water for everything. (And you do realize that bottled “mineral water” you’re carting around in your plastic bottle is… very expensive tap water, right?) Then there is this cleaning obsession. What’s up with that? Everything has to be sterile, bleached to death, because otherwise you’ll get sick. No. You get sick because you clean everything to the point of being sterile. Your body doesn’t have a chance to build up an immunity to bacteria if you keep eliminating that bacteria. I mean, wash your hands, definitely. But do you really need every surface more sterile than a hospital operating table? Let your kids play in the dirt, for God’s sake. It’ll do them good. Kids need to get into scrapes. They need to have the odd scraped knee, a bruise, the sniffles. They need to jump into puddles, eat a worm, stuff like that. Otherwise, how will they ever build up a resistance? (Or an aversion to eating them, in the case of worms lol) Keeping them away from everything is probably one of the reasons why so many kids are sick and allergic now. And for fuck’s sake, VACCINATE the little darlings!! Maybe you don’t care if your kid dies of measles or the flu, but I assure you, most other people care if their kid dies from it because you think beetroot juice is good enough. To go from 0 cases of measles in the US in 2000, to almost 1300 in the first six months of 2019 is absolutely appalling! I’m not saying herbal remedies and homeopathy are quackery. Far from it. But neither will I take chances with my life, or the life of others, because I’m too brainwashed to see that the benefit of vaccinations far outweighs the possible complications. Yes, there are complications in some cases. No drug is ever 100% side effect free, but that’s a chance you take with any medicine. Even herbal. Autism has nothing to do with vaccinations. If it did, there would be millions of autistic people walking around. It’s genetic. We really don’t want Polio, Smallpox, Measles, or — God forbid — the Plague back. I think we have enough to deal with, without adding a pandemic into the mix.
The thing is, we all do as much as we can to save the world around us. Some of us are able to do more than others in that respect, but that doesn’t mean anyone doing less is to blame for what’s happening. They don’t deserve to be yelled at, or blamed, because I don’t think there is anyone in the West who isn’t at least trying to do a little bit.
There is a lot we could do that would require very little effort. Supermarket own brands of non-perishable goods — shampoo, detergent, flour, sugar, rice, pasta etc — could be made available in big dispensers where people can fill their own receptacles. They could take as much, or as little, as they need. Get a ticket to pay for the contents, but bring your own container. Can you imagine how much plastic we could save, just by implementing that? Germany has bottle crushers in every supermarket. There is a 25¢ deposit on every bottle, which you get back from the machine. Simple, convenient, and effective. Why aren’t they everywhere? You can also get your lemonade, beer and other drinks from a drinks merchant by the crate. You pay a deposit for the crate and the glass bottles, which you get back when you return them. The bottles are returned to the manufacturer of the drink, washed, sterilized, and refilled. Again, why is this not available everywhere? It used to be. Why was this ever changed? I’m guilty of buying the odd bottle of carbonated water. That’s because I like a bit of fizz in my orange or apple juice, and a Sodastream isn’t worth it for the little I drink of it. But still water? Hell no. I wonder if Greta insists on tap water at her podiums, or if that water comes in plastic bottles… But God help you if you dare voice any negative, or dismissive comment against her.
I drive a diesel. (Boo-hiss!) I have nothing against electric cars (EV) — except that we don’t have the infrastructure to support everyone switching to EV’s, nor do they have the range of regular cars, nor do they have the “oomph” of regular vehicles. Have you seen the machinery used in agriculture? How do you propose to run a combine harvester on electric? That thing would run out of juice in an hour flat — and then need to recharge for 12. It’s not sustainable. We’d starve to death, because harvests tend to be time critical. Agriculture is hard enough as it is, if you then screw around with the machinery used… you’ll open a whole new can of worms. My diesel is used maybe twice a week. It pollutes less than your EV’s, because it just doesn’t get driven that much. But if I switched to an EV — never mind the cost — it wouldn’t be better for the environment. I’d have to keep that thing charged, especially when it’s cold and the battery would lose power. I fill up the diesel and forget about it. So no, I won’t be switching to an EV any time soon. Plus, my diesel is a 4×4 that can tow a horse trailer if need be. Something tells me an EV will struggle with this. And in most countries the energy required to charge those EV’s is generated by fossil fuel plants. How is that any better? Let’s not even go into what happens when your battery is dead in 8-10 years, and it will cost more to replace the battery than the car is worth, and never mind that we have no way of recycling those batteries yet. Or those 8 year old kids mining the cobalt and lithium needed for those batteries. I honestly don’t see how a car can be deemed “Green”, when it relies on the destruction of the environment by mining the minerals needed to keep it going. And we’re going to run out of those at some point, just as we’ll run out of fuel at some point — then what? Horse and cart? Oh…wait…
Livestock is bad. As any rabid vegan will tell you, meat farming is completely to blame for greenhouse gases. Worse than anything else. Add to this the cruelty of slaughter, and you have the perfect storm. I eat meat. There, I said the dirty word. I’m to blame for all of the world’s evils. I’m a cruel person, an animal abuser by proxy, the lowest scum of the universe. Except… that livestock you’re so fond of blaming for everything? Well. What are you going to fertilize your veggies with? Do you know what happens to soil when animal dung – aka fertilizer — is absent? When those hooves don’t revitalize the ground they stomp on? I don’t agree with factory farming, whether it’s pigs, poultry or cattle. But a lot of them are not factory farmed. I go for free range eggs when I can, I have 4 chickens who are currently not laying (because they need more daylight) in winter, so I need to get eggs. All of them are rescues, taken in not for the eggs, or to eat them — but for pest control. I prefer the chickens to eat the bugs, to the bugs eating my salads and veggies. I got my Janzè hens because they go after asian hornets. No other reason. Well. I needed at least one extra chicken, because I pulled a little dwarf hen out of the cage she was in, and didn’t want her to be alone. So I got Thelma & Louise, and later added another Dutch Crested rescue so Lady Gaga has a friend her own size. Along comes a friend, desperate to rehome a donkey standing in the butcher’s lot, with an expiry date on his head. So I took that one in, too. Friends of mine are currently getting muck by the trailer load for their veggie plot, and are very happy that mine is chemical free. Can’t get more organic than that. I do fecal worm counts so I know what, if anything, I need to worm for. They didn’t need anything last year, but with the donkey arriving, they might this year. Still, I warned my friends that if I need to worm, it’ll be around mid February, and that the muck would then contain traces of wormer which they won’t want on their veggies. While they were here yesterday, they took away 10 yellow plum saplings as well, which have sprung up all over the place. Rather than pull them out and burn or shred them — I just rehome the tree. If it grows, great. If not, it can still be disposed of then. I’ve rehomed around 50-60 saplings in the past 4 months, and planted another 12 around my own property where they’ll be of use. Maybe the horse and cart is an option after all. How about an oxen? 😛
The thing is, people do a lot more than they are being given credit for. I’m pretty sure Greta is set for life. There will be plenty of people who would take care of her no questions asked.
But the tears and trembling lips and accusations don’t do it for me. When that starts, all I see is an attention seeking brat who is resorting to putting guilt trips on the adults. Much like a toddler in a supermarket.
I don’t buy it. And my not buying it, is obviously an affront to people. Often the very same people who seem to delight in voting for someone who single-handedly dismantles much of the climate change improvements made in the past, deregulates polluting industries and who claims climate change isn’t real, despite the evidence pointing in the opposite direction. Think, before you cast your ballot. If you keep voting in people who don’t give a shit for anything but their own gain, then why are you so surprised that the world is going to hell?
Australia burns, while Europe floods. Snow in Spain and Southern France. Record breaking storms. Temperatures soaring so high, they are starting to be dangerous. Water shortages all over the place. Cape Town skirted past Day Zero by the skin of their teeth.
I’m nowhere near perfect. I make as many mistakes as the next person. I try to do as much as I can, with the resources available to me. Every little bit helps. Even if we’re all wrong, and climate change is not caused by anything we’re doing — it can’t hurt to clean up our act, right?
But what I don’t need, is Saint Greta putting the blame on older generations. Hell, we could do the same thing, and say “I blame the Victorians and their Industrial Revolution” if they’d cleaned up their act… They didn’t know. We didn’t know either. The whole thing kind of started back in the 80’s, when the first warnings were made. There wasn’t enough scientific study at this point to implement anything, and the technology to reverse some of the things we did learn about — didn’t exist. And still doesn’t. We learned about the ozone layer in 1985. The effects of climate change the century had were only really made public in 1988. That’s not that long ago, and it’s not like nothing was done. But it takes time, new technology has to be developed, tested and implemented. Solar panels were really only an option from the 90’s onward. Before that they were too expensive, and difficult to store the energy. Even now, storing solar, hydro and wind power is extremely difficult, and often wind turbines need to be turned off because there is nowhere for the energy to go, or be stored. The technology just isn’t there yet. Just because we have eco warriors galore, doesn’t mean we have the answers, or means, to solve the problem. And it’s not for lack of trying, like Greta implies.
There, more than anyone will ever read. That’s my personal opinion, and I try to stay informed.
I was alerted by a friend to a gelded donkey who has stood in the butcher’s lot for 2 months, along with his two stud pals. The two studs had a home to go to, and, originally, so did “Tiny Tim”. But just as the other two were due to go to their new home — the lady who was going to take Timmy…changed her mind. Or her circumstances changed. I don’t know exactly what happened there, but he was now in danger of being on the meat truck on the Tuesday, when the other two were leaving. It was Sunday. 15th December. I went with her to have a look at the donkey. He was little and shivering badly. There was next to no shelter. A few bushes. A caravan to hide behind, but nothing to keep the rain off. Timmy was soaked through and very, very cold.
We fed them, and they had no interest in us. Hay first. But then… Timmy decided to come and check out this human standing in his mud pit. He was also not amused when one of the other donkeys barged past him and demanded all the attention. 🙂
We went home, and I was still undecided. It’s not fair to keep a lone donkey. There should be two. Yes, I have horses, but contrary to common belief — Donkeys and horses aren’t the same species. They don’t act the same, they don’t “speak the same language”, and they don’t have the same needs. But…the meat truck was looming for this little guy. More than looming, actually. Practically parked there already. The old man who’d owned them was put in a home apparently, and the relatives sold the donkeys. So on Sunday night, I told my friend to “Just bring him. I’ll figure it out.” He cost me the meat price. I could have got a cheaper donkey, but that’s okay. This guy was not going to be Salami, or dog food if I could help it.
Fast forward to Tuesday, 17th December. Everything is ready. Timmy is supposed to arrive at around 11am-ish. 11am comes and goes. Noon comes and goes. Lots of messages going to and fro. It was raining and horrible. Cold. I kept standing in the rain, waiting. At last, at 1pm, a trailer is coming down the road. I grabbed the smallest head collar I had, and ran to open the gate. The horses were locked into the track, so they won’t cause havoc. The ramp comes down, and a very scared, cold, shivering donkey looks at me as if to say “What’s happening? Where am I?”
We get him out of the trailer and into the field. He doesn’t want to go anywhere and he’s shivering so badly. And he was scared. He was away from his two buddies, he was alone, in a strange place. I get it. So I tried to get him to the car port, to put the only small rug I have on him. I got him almost there, but it’s all scary. So I tied him to the tree for a minute and put the rug on him. That was scary too. I doubt he’s ever worn a rug. I left him for about 2 minutes to grab some hay while the butcher turned his trailer, and my friend got her car started so another friend could get his van out… and when I turn around, there’s Timmy… heading for the gate lol. Loose Donk. I went after him and grabbed him, trying to get him back to the car port. Nope. Not going. It’s all too strange, too scary. We tried to move him between 3 of us… nope lol. I run to get food, and that eventually persuaded him. (Don’t blame him, that stuff smells so good, I want to eat it.) So he’s at the car port, tied safely, having herbal muesli, a warm blanket that’s way too big for him, and hay.
The horses are watching him like hawks, and he’s watching them. For now he’s happy, so we went to get some coffee. After coffee, my friends left, and I needed to get Timmy down to the woods, where he would be staying next to the horses for a while. (On a side note — Livvy charmed another victim lol) Right. We’re heading to the woods. Donkey, remember? Timmy did not want to leave the dry place with the food. I employed some Carson James training, and eventually we were moving. Slowly. The horses are going mental in the field. Stormy wants to get to the newcomer, while Oz is watching this with interest, but from a safe distance. (A VERY safe distance, lol.) They worry Timmy a bit, but he’s coming along. He was very timid and unsure, still cold, but getting better with the blanket on. His fur was completely soaked. I learned later that donkeys don’t have waterproof coats. So when it rains, they get soaked to the skin. This little guy had been standing in the rain for 2 months, while we had extremely bad weather and two horrendous storms with extreme winds. (Gusts measuring 132km/h. That’s about 80mph) No wonder he was cold! I let him go in the woods, and he explored a little bit. There was water, hay… I left him to it for a bit.
He was very unsure, but perked up quickly.
I went to warm up a bit and get out of my wet coat, then went back down to the woods about an hour later, to see how he is getting on.
He saw me and came straight away, clearly a lot more confident, and a lot less shivery. I’d say he’s a happy donkey at the moment. He also follows me around like a dog. The only time he goes near the fence where the horses are, is if I’m going there. Stormy is very interested. Oz…had me laughing out loud. If you look closely to the left of Stormy’s bum, you can see Oz, waaaay in the distance. He is playing it safe. Because you need to keep at least 4 fences between you and the “Thing” in the woods.
Timmy might eat him. He was checking things out in the afternoon, but when I went down to feed him… it was a case of “I go where you go” and he followed me back up toward the house — straight under the electric fence. Because you won’t move a donkey that doesn’t want to be moved, and it was getting dark, I left him in the big field overnight. There was hay anyway, so no biggie. Checked on him again late evening, and got a quiet “Haw” from him.
Wednesday morning, 18th December, he was still where he was supposed to be, which was good.
The horses weren’t quite as freaked, but Oz still kept a fair distance. In the afternoon, I switched Timmy into the track, so he has access to the field shelter, as the horses don’t use it anyway. The horses are now in the field and woods. Wednesday afternoon it was cleanup time, as he was now dry under the rug. As I fluffed up all the sticky fur… I found rain scald on his back. Not bad, but it’s there. He is in love with his blankie. I tried to clip the front shut again, as one hook had come loose, and he wriggled away the entire time. I think he was afraid I’ll take it away. 🙂 And now that he’s dry and warm, but can still be outside — he’s not about to give it up. His hooves are in a terrible state. Too long, tight… just nasty. A call and text to the farrier was in order. I let him back out and he sloshed through the mud back to the horses.
Thursday, 19th December, was another little brush day, and I measured him to see what rug size he needs, but I left him alone for the most part so he can chill out. Meanwhile, I was hunting high and low for a little rug. Preferably with a neck. Nearly impossible.
But he’s getting closer.
Friday, 20th December, I finally found one, but without a neck. Ordered it. As I had a French lesson in the morning, I popped into the local feed store to pick up chicken feed, and they had little red head collars. So he has a proper halter now.
Saturday, 21st December, Timmy had a little outing. I put his new head collar on, and after a little brush and picking hooves, he was allowed to roam the garden and explore.
He was loving it. He spooked the cows. He chased the chickens. He nibbled on everything, but found some dandelion in a pot, and demolished that. Tried to follow me in the house, too.
I’d finally heard back from the farrier, but he’s in the UK atm, so he isn’t available. A friend of mine will trim him instead, so that maybe I can let him in with the horses. One at a time. I think Oz is scared of him. He actually got nasty over the fence. Stormy is interested — of course — and the two of them call to each other when they are out of sight. It’s so terribly muddy and wet at the moment, it’s not much fun for any of them. And Oz is limping again, so it’s soak / poultice / wrap again, as the abscess seems to be back.
As I said, the hoofies are quite bad. My local farmer, who did a double take on Wednesday morning when he saw a donkey in my field, is enamored with Timmy. 🙂 He brought a new bale of hay on Saturday, and the first question was “Comment va le petit âne ?” How is the little donkey? — well, he’s happy as a clam. He’s warm, dry, has food, water, company, and gets cuddles from everyone. Happy beastie. When I went out to put him back in the track, as I had to pop out to pick up a rug a friend donated, he was already back in there. 🙂
Now he has a rug that fits, it’s warm, and it has a bum flap to keep the wind off his butt. The other rug was getting very wet, as it was just too long for him. Not the prettiest blanket, but hey… snug. Warm. Dry. Who cares about aesthetics?
It’s raining. Again. Well, actually, it has barely stopped since oh… I forget. End of September? Everything is soaked, the fields are waterlogged, the ponds have turned into lakes and what used to be a stream, is now a great big river. And yet, I don’t resent it as much as I might have a few years ago. We needed the rain. Maybe not quite as uninterrupted, but we did need it. Well, we needed rain, and we got a deluge. My poor ninja chickens would like me to build an ark for them. They don’t like wet feet, and right now it’s impossible to take a dust bath…because there’s no dry dust or dirt to be found anywhere near them. (I’m planning to put a sandbox in there, but it would get flooded no doubt.) I had a lake in the chicken pen. Not a puddle. A lake.
This almost reached the door. Luckily we moved the chicken house a few days earlier, because it was sitting right in the middle of this. I ended up digging a trench to drain it, but even that didn’t help the whole time.
Meanwhile, the pond was filling up rapidly.
As did the fields…
The horses were mired in mud, and I ended up slapping down paddock grids so they weren’t standing knee-deep in mud soup. I didn’t take “Before” pics, but this is after I put down 2 rows of grids for them.
This was on the 1st November. The soup is worse now, but the grids are holding. Alas, I put a hay net into the field shelter (which also has grids on the floor) and they stand at the hay box… wanting to be fed there with loose hay, instead. They haven’t used to field shelter much, because of the noise of rain on the roof. Instead they stand in the rain and tough it out. Squeaky — not to be outdone — has decided that rain and wind are horrible, and it’s much nicer to come in and hang out in front of the fire.
So yeah, we’re all a bit fed up with the rain now. I think we’ve had our quota now. Time to turn off the tap for a while.
I am going to share the recipe of the stollen we make in Germany. It is not the same as the traditional Christmas Stollen, because my family isn’t too keen on Marzipan. I figure there are other people out there in the same boat, but who would like stollen too. So in the spirit of the season — I’ll share.
Quark Stollen (Christmas Stollen)
Bake well in advance to improve the flavor, it will keep for a few weeks. (We let ours rest for at least 2 weeks before we eat it.) Wrap in foil or store in an airtight container and keep in a cool place. (We wrap ours in tin foil)
Quark is a kind of Baker’s Cheese / Baker’s Curd. We can get it in the UK, not sure about the US. Ask around. 🙂 In France Quark is “Fromage Blanc”.
This recipe will make 2 Stollen.
500g ( 18 oz ) plain flour, sifted 6 level teaspoons of baking powder 150g ( 5 1/2 oz ) ground almonds 150g ( 5 1/2 oz ) unsalted butter, cold, cut into small cubes 2 eggs 150g ( 5 1/2 oz) caster sugar 250g ( 9 oz ) Quark 250g ( 9 oz ) raisins 110g ( 4 oz ) mixed chopped orange and lemon peel, the grated rind of 1 lemon ( unwaxed or organic / bio ) 1 teaspoon vanilla extract 1 tablespoon dark rum A few drops of almond extract A pinch of salt Extra (for glaze): melted unsalted butter powder ( icing ) sugar (Use the lemon juice from the lemon you use for the lemon peel, if you want to modify step 8, as below.)
1. Mix the flour, baking powder, ground almonds, grated lemon rind, eggs, sugar, cinnamon, almond extract, vanilla extract, rum, pinch of salt and the quark all together on a board. 2. Add the butter and quickly knead into a dough. (Don’t take too long, it kinda goes runny if you’re not careful.) 3. Add the raisins and chopped peels and knead them in. 4. Refrigerate for 1 hour 5. Divide the dough in half 6. Roll out the dough, and fold over to form a Stollen 7. Bake at: 180 C ( 350 F / gas 4 ) for a good 1 hour or until golden brown 8. Brush generously with melted butter and dust with powder ( icing ) sugar, while the stollen is still hot. (It forms a kind of glaze when it cools) 9. Leave to cool and store well in a cool place, dust with more powder ( icing ) sugar just before serving
We do a variation on step 8. My brigade mixes lemon juice into the butter, which gives it a nice lemony glaze when it all cools down. Since that’s not to everyone’s taste, I left that bit out. If you are doing the butter glaze, let the stollen cool completely before you put it on! Otherwise it’ll either never harden, or take forever (in which case you can’t wrap the darn things to store for “resting”.)
A lot of people have pets. A lot of people get rid of pets.
In 2017, I adopted 2 young Sphynx cats. Both were just over a year when I first became aware of them on a rescue site. They kept showing up. The foster lady insisted they go together. Every time someone said \”I could take one, but not the other.\” Kudos to the foster place — they didn\’t let them go individually.
Eventually I saw the post one too many times, and got in contact. \”I\’ll take both.\” I found out the reason they are up for adoption: \”Allergies\” Now…I know that \”Allergies\” generally means \”Too much bother.\” But with these two, it was a lot worse than I\’d thought. The foster lady got them from a woman who told her that her kid was allergic, and that every time the kid had a reaction, the cats went to \”stay with friends\”. Different friends every time, that is. The moment the kid was better, they came back, kid reacted…lather, rinse, repeat. I was told that \”one of them\” had papers, but she didn\’t know which one. There were oodles of delays, because she was trying to get their vaccination history, but didn\’t get it. Hell, she didn\’t even get their names, nor birthdays. Nothing. No info whatsoever. They weren\’t chipped, either. So I asked her to take them to the vet, get them chipped, passported, tested and vaccinated if they needed it. She also told me \”The dark one\” had been spayed about 3 weeks before they landed at the foster\’s house. Bearing in mind that she\’d been trying to place them for a good month before I said I take them… that would have been about 7-8 weeks prior.
This was in early February 2017.
The two girls arrived on the 18th March 2017, late at night, in the middle of a blizzard.
I noticed \”The dark one\” — now named Jezebel — had a bit of a weepy slightly closed eye, but wasn\’t too concerned. Long drive, strange place, etc. Both were exploring, but a little shy. Understandable. Pixie, my other Sphynx, was immediately pissed off, took one look at them, and hated them on sight.
Within a day or so, the weepy eye got worse. Plus… the stitches from the spay were still in her belly!
They also only had vaccination cards, not an EU Passport. I was pretty appalled, considering they\’d been to the vet for a health check. It also made me wonder if the tests were done before vaccinating, to make sure it\’ll be okay to do so. If I\’d been able to pick them up myself, I\’d have taken them as is, and would have had my vet check them out. Alas, that wasn\’t an option. Hindsight. 20/20. Well, one got the door open while I was out, and there was a horrendous fight. I came in to blood on the floor, a shredded Jezebel, a bleeding Pixie, and a Livvy in hiding (but unharmed).
Since I had an appointment at the vet the next day anyway, and the scratches / bites / bleeding weren\’t exactly life threatening (though looked nasty), I figured I\’ll take both of them in the morning. That way I could get Jez\’s eye looked at, and the stitches removed, while Pixie went for her booster jab. Well. The weepy eye was diagnosed as Feline Herpes (FHV-1). This isn\’t uncommon in cats, it\’s treatable, but obviously it\’s not ideal to add a Herpes cat in with healthy cats. I worried about the other two, but neither showed any signs of having it. Things went downhill in the fights department. There were so many, by August I was at my wits end.
I put them up for adoption.
You\’ve guessed it, lots of people wanted one, but not the other. I made no bones about Jezzie\’s herpes infection, but every time I reminded someone that she will require vet visits and medication when she has a flare up, and that moving will definitely cause one… crickets. Never heard from them again. Now, I wasn\’t even asking much for them. A good, stable, loving home was more important to me. I\’d have waived the fee entirely, but I didn\’t want to attract the \”throw away\” brigade. Then…I got a Facebook message. \”Hi, where did you get them from? And by the way, their names are Olivia and Elsa.\” *Blink* Turns out the lady was their original owner. She\’d had to let them go when she got divorced. She\’d have loved to have them back, but couldn\’t take them. As we were chatting, the plot thickened. The lady she gave them to, was not the one I got them from. When I told her where they\’d come from, it became clear that the one the foster got them from, also wasn\’t the same person. I called the foster and asked if she knew any history at all on them, where the \”allergic kid\” people got them from. In the end, we determined I was at least the 5th owner. She\’d got them when they were 12 and 14 weeks old. She passed them on when they were about 9 months old. Picture that. When they came to me in March, they were a year and a half old. That means, in the 9 months between her letting them go, and me getting them, they had at least 2 owners before the foster took them. The foster had them for almost 2 months. So work this out: Breeder: 3 months 1st Owner: 6 months Foster: 2 months That\’s 11 months out of 18. Now, we determined that the person the foster got them from was not the same person the 1st owner gave them to. We then determined that those people also didn\’t get them from the same person the 1st owner gave them to. So that\’s at least 3 owners in those remaining 7 months, and for at least 3 months of that, they were shunted from pillar to post every two-three weeks, due to \”Allergies\”.
Those two cats didn\’t know if they were coming or going.
The adoption ad came down the same day I found this out. There was absolutely NO way I would pass them on, no matter how many fights there were. Livvy started to come out of her shell after about 6 months. Jezzie… she was a rambunctious tomboy, who didn\’t cuddle. Until October 2018. She came, out of the blue, to cuddle with me.
One year and 7 months later. 19 months. So by that time, she\’d spent more than half her life with me, and it took her that long to fully trust again. Granted, there was one huge move in between. We moved from the South of Germany to Northern France. But while it was all new surroundings, there were a few constants: The other cats. Me. Their stuff. My stuff. Everyone settled into their new surroundings… and in November 2018, we moved one last time. Permanently this time.
They took to the new house in a heartbeat, loving every inch of it.
Since I needed to register their microchips in France, I took everyone to the vet. I explained that Jez had been diagnosed with Herpes. The vet recommended that I finish the course of medication she was on at the time, and then take her to see their eye specialist. So that\’s what we did. He did tests. I should have bloody well insisted on tests, in Germany. My vet there told me it\’s pointless, she clearly has herpes. Well. She doesn\’t. She has an allergy (we don\’t know what) and had a blood infection — but no herpes. Off we went with new meds to treat all of that. They eye got better, until the nasty was gone. It flares up now and then, and we treat it again, but… it\’s not herpes. However… When I moved into the house I bought, there was a black and white cat hanging around. Fleeing in terror every time I set foot out of the door.
It was coming up to winter. She was skinny. So I fed her. Eventually she got less shy, put on some weight and became friendly. She came for schmoozies, but didn\’t want to come inside. Which is okay. My farmer neighbor popped in, and I asked him if he knew who the cat belonged to. I had my suspicions, because I found cat bowls, cat carrier, cat wormer etc in the utility room. \”Lorraine\” he says. So… the previous owner had left in JUNE, back to the UK… and just left the cat. I tried to rehome Squeaky, as she became known, but no one in France wants an adult cat. Since she\’s no bother, she\’s staying. Squeaky now comes on walks with me and Pixie, down the lane we go… 🙂 But I am thoroughly disgusted that people have so little concern for an animal they took in as a pet, never once considering that they have absolutely no choice over where or who they spend their life with.
Oz is a mudbeast. He’s a gray horse, who likes to be dirty. That’s just who he is. Take it or leave it.
There is a saying “Be you, everyone else is taken.” But it’s easy to say; much harder to do. Or be.
So, who are you?
I mean, really. Who are you? I know who I am. I’m me. Wrinkles, extra pounds, scars and all. Take it or leave it.
People always say “Oh, just be yourself.” What they really mean is “Oh, just be who I want you to be.” Because that’s what it boils down to. Everyone around you wants you to be what they want you to be. How dare you deviate from that? The phrase “At your age…” makes me want to high five the person saying it. In the face. With a chair.
Jealous much? (Because that’s often what it boils down to.) How many times have people dissuaded you from doing, wearing, wanting something? “For your own good.”? Or because it wasn’t “seemly”? Ever wondered why they thought it was a “bad idea”? Ever done it anyway? And had fun doing it? Positive outcome, and all that? Usually the nay-sayers are green with envy. The dissuasion wasn’t because they really thought you “couldn’t”, but because they didn’t want you to do something they’d love to do — but didn’t dare — usually because someone told them they “shouldn’t”.
There is always a lot of (often well-meaning) advice being given. “You ought to dress like that. It would suit you.” “You might want to do XYZ, it would be good for you.” “You shouldn’t do ABC, at your age.”
I have two words for such advice:
Fuck. Off.
No, really. I mean it. Fuck-the-hell-right-off. Yeah, I know. I ought not swear like a sailor at my age. Well, screw you, because you ought not lecture people my age.
Maybe you’re similar to me. Maybe you don’t like being told you can’t. Maybe you don’t like being told you shouldn’t. Maybe you don’t like being told you oughtn’t. Maybe you don’t like being told you would be crazy to try, at your age.
Can’t, shouldn’t, don’t, mustn’t… aren’t in my dictionary anymore. I can, and I bloody well will, if I want to. There. Deal with it.
I don’t care anymore what people want me to be. If they want someone to be a specific way… then don’t look in my direction. I’ll never be what you want me to be. I’ll never say what you want me to say. I’ll never do what you want me to do. I’ll never dress the way you want me to. I don’t want to be what you want me to be. I’m me, and I want to be me. And if that’s not good enough, then that’s your problem. Not mine.
So if someone tells you, you shouldn’t, can’t, ought not, mustn’t… and you want to?
Don’t be them, don’t be who they want you to be. Do it anyway.
Be you
(Unless you can be a dragon. Then always be a dragon.)
We all wake up one day and think “Whoa. When did I stop being twenty?” You notice hair where there didn’t used to be any, and no hair where there used to be some. Gray, where there used to be color. Skin is looser and has lines. There are aches and pains, and where you used to shake them off, now they persist.
You can lament it. You can cry over it. You can be upset about it. But you can’t change it. It happens to everyone.
You can only accept it, and live with it.
However, how you live with it, is a choice everyone has to make for themselves.
Grow old (dis)gracefully.
I’m not twenty anymore. Or rather, my body isn’t twenty anymore. My mind is a different matter. That doesn’t really get old. My reaction time isn’t what it used to be, but that’s about it. It hasn’t really grown up much. My mind is still as good as ever. Maybe tempered by some life lessons, setbacks, losses; shaped by joys, love, education, experiences — but it hasn’t changed from being naughty, funny, sexy, crazy, outrageous, daring, rebellious…etc. In my mind I can do anything. There are no limits, no boundaries. I still make mistakes and learn from them. It’ll probably never change.
What did change, was the way I let myself be dictated to. I don’t like being told what I should be, wear, eat, say, do, dare, or — worst of all — what I should stop. “At your age, you really shouldn’t…” Oh how I HATE that phrase. At my age? What age would that be? After 40? 50? 60? At what age, exactly, should I stop something? Stop making choices? Stop trying new things? Stop living, perhaps? It’ll never happen. Older and wiser? Maybe. I know I don’t bounce as well as I used to. Does that stop me from riding? No. Does it mean I’ll hang on for dear life? No. It does mean I’d rather get off, than fall off. It does mean I have the experience now to recognize when I need to make that choice. Not because I’m afraid of falling off, but because I know if I do fall off, it’ll take that much longer to get back in the saddle. And, hey, life is short. So I get off and ride again tomorrow. And not in 4 weeks, because I didn’t bounce.
Other people can go hang. Call me a frump, lazy, a slouch, I don’t care. These days, I wear the comfortable clothes, the comfortable shoes, sit in the comfy chair, put my feet up, and have that extra bit of chocolate. I’m comfortable with the way I am. And believe me, I didn’t used to be. I have tons of hang-ups, tons of stuff I’m not happy with. But it’s all superficial. These days, I’m okay with the extra pounds. I’m okay with wearing jogging pants, slouch socks, slippers and a ratty jumper. So what if I didn’t brush my hair today? The only ones around are my cats and my horses, and they don’t care about my hairdo — or lack of it. Who cares if I go to feed my horses in my PJ’s? Who cares if I run out in wellies, a nightgown, and the hairy smelly horsey coat to get the mail? I bet people who see me — if they see me — go “Look at that crazy woman” and yet secretly wish they could be comfortable. To stop worrying what “other people” think. Okay. Maybe not all of them. But a fair percentage long to be comfy and “let it all hang out” and the rest of the world be damned.
We’re so conditioned that we need to be “Fabulous Fifties” or “Glamorous Grannies” that we rarely stop to think if we’re actually comfortable like that. If that’s you, then that’s perfectly fine. Be who you want to be. Whether it’s glamorous, or grumpy. Or both. Who said you can’t be a glamorous crazy cat lady? (And if they did, screw them.) Don’t get me wrong. I like to dress up sometimes as well. I like looking my best when I can. I like a compliment as much as the next person. But I’m not going to start putting on make up, blow drying my hair into some artful coiffure, make sure my pants are spotless and doll myself up just in case someone sees me. (I know there are people who’d never go out without looking their best, but that’s not me.) I’ll end up with muck on my boots, horse snot on my sleeve, and hay in my hair anyway, so what’s the point? First of all, I wouldn’t be comfortable. And by comfortable I don’t mean “nothing is pinching anywhere”, but the “I’m not anxious about how I look” kind of comfortable. Second… If you don’t like me because of the way I dress / look… then go take a long walk off a short pier. There are no fucks given here.
Be you.
I’m me. You’re you. But…are you? Or are you who everyone else wants you to be? So many people hold back their entire life, because it’s expected of them.
DARE TO BE YOU!
Why are you listening to people who tell you what you ought to be? Say? Do? How you ought to dress? Behave?
Be yourself. Everyone else is already taken.
Oscar Wilde
Stop being who everyone else wants you to be. Instead, be who you want to be.
By the way… I actually have an “iCAN”.
Into this can (it’s an old food tin, with a label I put on) goes a scrap of paper of something I either want to get or do, with an estimated / actual cost. Could be an outrageously expensive new lens for my camera. Could be skydiving. Wild Water Rafting. Learning to fly a helicopter. Could be a holiday. Doesn’t matter what it is. The only rule is, it has to be something fun. At the end of the week, whatever is left in my wallet, goes into that can. Could be 20 cents, could be 50 Euro. (I tend to get the same amount of cash out every week and try to stick to it.) Any info on the goal in there goes into the can too. (If possible.) But… It’s my iCAN. It’s not my iCAN’T. Because… I bloody well CAN, and I WILL. And so can you.
Whatever you want to do… …ride it like you stole it.
I sometimes feel like I\’m sleeping under a Christmas tree. It seems every device we get these days, has some little LED status indicator. The on/off switch on an extension lead. The charging light on a charger. The on/off indicator on…well… pretty much anything you plug in these days. And that\’s usually fine — until you turn the light off to go to sleep.
Suddenly, it\’s not so fine.
My bedroom looks like a spaceship in the dark.
There are lights everywhere. Bright, multicolored, often blinking…lights. My own fault, I guess. \”Oh, I\’ll be able to see that in the dark.\” Yeah. I will. But when there are 20 things blinking and glowing in the dark, it gets a bit overwhelming.
So what to do about it?
First off, I taped stickers over just about every light. I turn off stuff I don\’t need glowing in the dark — after I sticker over the lights on it, just in case. Not very pretty, not always effective, but better. I have an alarm clock that is — even dimmed — so bright, it lights up the entire room. Even DIMMED. (Whoever thought of what that thing emits as dimmed, is a little.. dim.) Not kidding. I turn it face down. Not quite what the designer had in mind, but there you have it. I was actually quite shocked at just how bright it is. Actually, it\’s back in its box at the moment, because I\’m so fed up with it. There is also a plug extender which is extremely bright. So bright in fact, even with stickers over the LED there is still some light. It got so annoying, I don\’t use it anymore — even though it\’s a great device.
Argh. Seriously.
The Microwave Clock
The Cooker Clock
Some fridges
Some washing machines
Dishwasher
The Satellite / Cable box
The TV
The Computer / Laptop / Tablet
Computer monitors
The router
The Answering Machine / Landline Phone
Extension lead On/Off switches
Games consoles
Electric Heaters
Speakers (usually desktop speakers)
Touch table lamps
Printers
Any charger that\’s plugged in
And probably a million more I could list. All with tiny little LED lights. You name it, there\’s probably a little light on it. One on it\’s own isn\’t so bad. All of them? ARGH.
What about power consumption?
Actually, the power consumption of those standby devices is negligible. That\’s to say, each on its own is negligible. But all of them combined? Yeah, that\’s rather a bit more than negligible, but still not a huge amount. However, you have to take some things into consideration. How much power is consumed in standby? How much power is consumed to wake up from standby? How much power is required to start the device up from cold? My computer uses almost no power to wake up from standby mode – but it uses a whopping amount to start from cold. So that is better left on standby — unless there is some USB device plugged in to charge. Then it\’s a different matter. The same probably goes for the TV. (I don\’t currently have a TV.) Routers tend to be on always as well. And all of them have freaking lights on them. It\’s really annoying.
Still… the light show at night is something to behold. Everything is either glowing, blinking or shining in the dark.
So, if it annoys you as much as it does me — get out the sticky tape and go to town on your \”blinkenlights\”.