The Robin

It snowed heavily over the weekend, and outdoors became a veritable winter wonderland. For the cats, it was a great hunting opportunity, as the garden birds were both easily visible and stupefied by the cold.

It probably wasn’t a good idea for Bert to scatter breadcrumbs right outside the glass double doors. It’s charming to see the robin come so close to the door for its feast, but it was also close enough to make the cats acutely aware of the birds’ presence, or availability.

So, when I spotted Woody carrying a limp body in his mouth, my first fear was for the robin. But there appeared to be a long, dark dangler hanging from his jaw. A young rat. That would be all right, better than killing one of Bert’s robins.

Then Hannah’s wee dog Chico spotted it. Chico likes to bullyWoody and steal his kills. He got outside and took the little dead thing. I pulled wellies on and went out into the snowy garden to take the creature off him. It wasn’t easy persuading him to give it up. And when I did, I saw that the dangly thing wasn’t a rat’s tail. It was a long, limp bird’s leg. A robin. All bedraggled, yet unbloodied. Did Woody kill it? Or did he find it after it had perished? It might have died from the cold. I decided not to mention it to Bert and put it in the bin.

Bert was away when all this occurred, driving Hannah to work. When he got home, he went straight to the cats, both standing to attention and looking for their breakfast. He petted and stroked them both. It is funny to think how he used to dislike cats. Harry de Cat changed his mind, then Holly. He adored Holly. Big Fat Fred was another favourite. All those cats are gone now, but Bert still has a lot of time for Pippin and Woody, especially Pippin.

I was wondering why I feel less uneasy when cats kill rats rather than robins. Surely rats have as much right to existence as robins. But rats have such a bad reputation, disease, dirt and all that. That’s not entirely fair, for the wee birdies are pretty disease-ridden too, and when our cats eat them, they can pick up parasitic pests. Despite their worms and mites, I still prefer robins, wrens and goldfinches to rodents. Apart from shrew mice*. It’s so sad when the cats get them, for they are so sweet and cute, with those little pointed snouts. Adorable. Yet it feels wrong to make the distinction. Who knows where that might lead one?

Woody and Chico

Happy to report that the robin Bert was feeding by the door has survived another day. The feeding station has been moved further away.

*Not rodents, although cats don't make a distinction. They are one of the most common mammals in the British Isles.

Teach Your Grandma

 How do I know that my two oldest grandchildren are growing up fast?

1. They have to bend down to give me a goodbye hug.

2. The younger one showed me a far better way to put a fresh duvet cover on.

3. They are house-sitting for Nellybert on Saturday night while we are visiting Doctor Dede and Dmitri in Leitrim.

Re number 3. I might have slight reservations about this, as I had dreamed this morning that an acquaintance of ours had brought Gary Glitter to visit us. In this dream, I was very pleasant to the predator until it dawned on me who he was. Then I was horrified for two reasons. The first was that my siblings (especially Gan) would be disgusted with me; the second was that my older granddaughter was upstairs. I ran to warn her then I came to my senses and ordered the fiend and my now ex-acquaintance out of the house never to darken my door again.

I learned something from this dream  This acquaintance cannot be trusted. I may ban him anyway. It's what my subconscious wants me to do.

One more thing -  no need to worry about the young ones house-sitting on Saturday night as there will be a fierce Aunt and an even fiercer dog on-site at all times.

Fierce dog. Remember, appearances can be deceptive.

A Week In Pictures

 

Above, are my latest purchases from our local Oxfam shop. To be added to the To Read pile. The Richard Flanagan is for Bert. Its subject matter might be too harrowing for me.

The two youngest members of our animal family. They have a peculiar relationship. One minute it's all lovey-dovey, the next... battle royal. Earlier today Chico was trailing Woody around the kitchen floor by the throat. Woody seemed to be taking masochistic delight in it. As I said, peculiar.

Thanks to a few pleasant blue sky days, I was enjoying the garden again. 

After a couple of years in the wilderness, things were taking shape. Even Bert was showing an interest. 

But today. Horrible. Wind, blustery rain, everything being blown about. What I'd give for even three pleasant days in a row.

Which doesn't put the snails off. I've just pulled five of them away from my newly planted nasturtiums. The two pictured are engaging in snail foreplay.  

I am literally experiencing empty nest syndrome. Since my last post the spotted flycatchers have flown away. They are still around, somewhere. I saw them a couple of times but oh how I miss hearing them cheeping and watching the parents fly to and fro answering their pleas for food.

They were not the only ones crying to be fed. A couple of nights ago, after I'd gone to bed, Bert strolled towards the lane. He heard the young owls calling and because he could hear them (he's pretty deaf) knew they were close. He must have disturbed them as they left their perch and flew over his head followed by a parent. I was so jealous when he told me this.

The next night I went to the same spot. I heard the young owls squeaking and then the answering call of the adult long-eared owl. That sounded like a gruff bark. Perhaps that call was meant as a warning. I didn't get to see the owls but was pleased to hear them.

Our snails weren't the only creatures caught in the sexual act.

Lilioceris lilii (Scarlet lily beetle) found fornicating on lilies. 

I've learned a lot about these little pests this past week. They're not native to these islands and have only been around since the 1990s. They have a high sex drive, and lay hundreds of eggs, they squeak when threatened and their grubs hide in squelchy blobs of their own black excrement. They also perform back flips when disturbed, land on their backs and hope not to be spotted as they present their black undersides.

The grubs which survive me will, when fully fed, hide in the soil and emerge next spring and so it begins for another year.

Nice sharp shadows on one of the sunnier days this past week. More of that, please.

The Rest of the Week

 On Tuesday I cooked dinner for the Haribos. Lasagna and lemon drizzle cake for afters. I expected the lemon drizzle cake to be a doddle as I'd made two on the Saturday for Banjo Man's birthday. The first of those was a disaster, baked in the mini-oven, it was burnt black on top and uncooked in the middle. I pur it down to having oilified the butter before I mixed it. The second cake, baked in the big oven was perfect.

Haribos for dinner on Tuesday night. I made a lasagna and another lemon drizzle cake and this time, not having liquefied the butter it went into the mini oven. Ten minutes later, smoke everywhere, cake burnt black on top, uncooked below. I complained to Bert,

That oven is overheating. Something must have gone wrong with the thermostat. I'm going to dump it.

He went to check it. Told me,

You know what? You had it turned to the grill option. 

I scraped off the black top and finished baking it and it turned out fine. With extra lemon syrup and Bert's amazing custard it went down a treat. No more grilling cakes for me. 

It was up extra early on Wednesday morning . I was taking the eight o'clock train to Belfast as I had an appointment at the BBC. Afterwards I went to the Palm House, the Tropical Ravine and the Museum. I was disappointed to see that the dizygotheca elegantissima was gone from the Palm House. Maybe the PSNI had it under investigation? 

Thursday was Martha day. No Evie as she was at her after-school music practice. I hardly saw Martha that evening as she preferred hanging out with Chico. I don't blame her. Chico is much more fun than Granny.

Did something happen on Friday? I don't remember. The only thing I can recall is a phone call from Vancouver Brother. He and his beloved are holidaying in Puerto Vallarta, staying in a gorgeous pink hotel. 

Then on Saturday we went to a birthday party. Excellent food and the best craic. Today, Sunday Hannah and I went to St Georges Market and took Chico for his first train ride. He seemed to enjoy it all except for the pink double deckers racing past. In all his little life (3 months) he never saw the like before.

I'll be back in Belfast tomorrow as I am taking an old friend (Vee) to Ikea. Wish me well. 

A Tale of Two Badgers

I believe in the existence of badgers. I've seen the entrances to their setts, I've heard them snarl at Ziggy when he went down their tunnels, I know they live in the woods, I suspect that in the past they were scratching at the doors of the hen house and I've even seen dead ones on the road. But I've never seen a live one and I still haven't.

Last night Hannah came rushing into the house, Chico in her arms.

Where are the dogs? Are the cats here?

What panicked her? Just outside our house, halfway between the back door and the entrance to the hen run two badgers were fighting. Hannah was scared that one of the animals might have been one of our pets. But no, two badgers fighting. Bert saw them both run across the yard then scoot off in different directions. All our pets were fine. Cleo was outside, as was Judy. Judy, being stone deaf, heard nothing but Cleo was excited and set off in pursuit of the badgers. 

I was so jealous. I've never seen a living badger and now Chico has and he is only eleven weeks old.

Chico is Hannah's puppy. This is his sixth day living here and he is well settled. Nothing fazes him, not even fighting badgers. But wait until he meets the pigs!