What Do Old People Talk About?

I have been tending the Garden that is Nelly's for sixteen years now and must be well past the halfway point. If this blog could be kept going another sixteen I'll be in my 84th year. Can't see it. What do old people talk about anyway? 

Yesterday I was looking through old posts using the search word 'knee' and found that that I have had intermittent knee pain for at least seven and a half years and that it all began with Rusty. The following from Nelly's Archive.

It was last September when Rusty first knocked me off my feet and he has went and gone and did it again. I was carrying a gigantic bucket of goodies down to their paddock and while I was looking for a sweet, clean place to dump it out, Rusty all impatience, barrelled through my legs and lifted me off my feet. Yes folks, for a split second or so I was sitting atop his broad back and he just kept barrelling on and I knew for certain I was for landing on my arse. Wish I'd followed through on that one for all I'd have got would have been a soft if muddy landing. But I thought it best to try to stay on my feet and that was my downfall. People, when trying to extol the virtues of the smaller pig, say, "They'll only grow to knee height." That is all very well but they forget to mention that the 'small' pig will likely grow to around two foot wide. I know that when Rusty dove between my legs I ended up standing on tippy-toes with my legs well extended and it was when I tried to keep my balance that I twisted my knee.

Oh! The agony. At first I couldn't even put my foot on the ground. As I stood there one-legged, crying with pain and frustration I really had no idea how I was going to make it back to the house. After a few minutes I found I could weight bear but it was no fun and I made my way slowly and uncertainly to the house. Bert was, as usual, totally unsympathetic although he did help me off with my wellies which were very filthy indeed. (May, 2013)

I spent many months limping on that twisted knee but it did get better eventually. Nelly's Archive has this to say on Christmas Eve, 2013.

It's been another busy day. Lots of friends calling round and lots of baking and cooking. I felt a bit like Nigella except her kitchen is nicer than mine and obvs she has access to better drugs. All I had was some paracetamol for my sore knee.

And regarding that sore knee - I was striding through Cully yesterday when it occurred to me that my knee hadn't troubled me for well over a week. Within moments it had started to throb. I wonder if it had been sore the whole time but I'd forgotten about it? The mind is a very curious thing. (Dec, 2013)

I don’t subscribe to conspiracy theories but when both my knees started to hurt just two days after receiving my first ever flu jab, I couldn’t help but wonder if my aching joints were caused by the jab. I’d not been doing anything unusually strenuous and had not hurt myself and now, both knees were equally sore. The aching and discomfort came and went. After a week I started taking ibuprofen during the day and paracetamol to help me sleep at night. I was careful not to overdo it. There were good days and not so good. Then it was not so good and bad. Today, after limping out to feed the chickens and put the bins out I put my left foot on the back doorstep and was unable to go any further. The pain in my leg was horrible. I managed to drag myself into the house. For hours I could not weight bear and of course I phoned my GP and had a telephone consultation. He thinks it is something called a Baker cyst which may have ruptured. I have a cream to pick up tomorrow and I'm already taking the medication he would have prescribed. (Brownie points for self-funding on that.) Appointment on Friday and I'm to rest a lot.

So, to answer my own question, this is what old people talk about. Hurtings and sorenesses. What the doctor said. And crumbling away.

I had this conversation with Matty eleven years ago when, compared to my ancient mammy, I still considered myself relatively young. The title says it all. 

Yes. He Did It Again.

It was last September when Rusty first knocked me off my feet and he has went and gone and did it again. I was carrying a gigantic bucket of goodies down to their paddock and while I was looking for a sweet, clean place to dump it out, Rusty all impatience, barrelled through my legs and lifted me off my feet. Yes folks, for a split second or so I was sitting atop his broad back and he just kept barrelling on and I knew for certain I was for landing on my arse. Wish I'd followed through on that one for all I'd have got would have been a soft if muddy landing. But I thought it best to try to stay on my feet and that was my downfall. People, when trying to extol the virtues of the smaller pig, say, "They'll only grow to knee height." That is all very well but they forget to mention that the 'small' pig will likely grow to around two foot wide. I know that when Rusty dove between my legs I ended up standing on tippy-toes with my legs well extended and it was when I tried to keep my balance that I twisted my knee.

Oh! The agony. At first I couldn't even put my foot on the ground. As I stood there one-legged, crying with pain and frustration I really had no idea how I was going to make it back to the house. After a few minutes I found I could weight bear but it was no fun and I made my way slowly and uncertainly to the house. Bert was, as usual, totally unsympathetic although he did help me off with my wellies which were very filthy indeed.

That was three days ago. The first two were rather limpy and I had to go up and downstairs a step at a time like a one-year-old child. No more running up and down the stairs for me. Every step was painful but I soldiered on. That was the first piece of advice I got. Keep moving. Then someone else said, "You should stay off it. Rest a couple of days." Too late. I had spent those couple of days 'keeping moving'. Some folk said, "It will be months before that gets better." Who knows? It is three days since Rusty lamed me and today the knee is still sore but the strength is returning to it. I go upstairs and down in the normal way although it does hurt a little.

There is just one thing I haven't done since Tuesday morning and that is - I haven't gone near those damn pigs. Pigs are rough. Very rough indeed. Anyone who is tempted by the thought of a pet pig should bear that in mind. And did I mention the tusks?

Beware of the Boar

Even though he is castrated Rusty has a set of tusks on him that are as sharp as knives.

Picture courtesy of El Capitan

Charlie the collie does not respect the pigs. He chases and harasses and slips in for a sneaky nip on a pig's ear, nose or bottom.  He does not listen to me and the only way to avoid it is to close him in when the pigs are being moved. Yesterday morning he got out and started his nippy behaviour. Rusty charged him, tossed him and walked over him. Charlie ran off - I didn't realise that he'd been injured.

A few hours later Ben noticed fresh blood on the kitchen floor. Charlie had just left his corner to challenge and bark at a couple of callers. The blood spots led back to his bed. I looked him over and discovered a deep gash on his hind leg. It was then that I knew that Rusty must have caught him with a tusk.

It was straight to the vet. She discovered a puncture wound as well as the gash. Poor dog got eleven stitches. You'd think it would have made him wary of the pigs. Not Charlie. He came out this evening when the kune kunes were being moved into their evening quarters and started to stalk them, cone and all. Thankfully he kept his distance. I am going to have to be very careful in future. The dog and the pig are now mortal enemies and the dog is insane.