My Stables Roof .....

  I need to clear a bottle neck here. I mean, this is Old news! Only, it ~ and what's followed it ~ has become so all encompassing in my life that I've barely been able to think of, much less write of, anything else.

  So, let me tell and show ye about my stables roof. Then I can intersperse with a few more odds and sods, bringing us bang up to date.

  I bought this stable from Pat. Only, it wasn't a stable then. It was an eight cow cow shed and pen. Stone built and asbestos roofed. Long since disused. It, at first, had a Hay Barn (What you may know as a " Dutch Barn ") on one side. A storm tore that down years ago.

  So, there's Donks and Rosie, tucked in there at night. Full time in the winters. Barricaded into the back half. Free access to the pen.

Ye know; I genuinely can't even remember how I tried to keep them back there, before Pat came along and did some wizardry with welding. Next thing, I had a sound gate and a double bay divided for them to feed in.

  Only remaining problem was the roof. The barn collapsing had fractured the asbestos. A winter or twos more Tin Tester gales had done the roof no more good. 

  My horses were now getting water pissed onto their heads and hay.  I was struggling to keep their stored hay out of the leaking areas. Timbers was rotting like pears. Another winter and the whole fucking lot could collapse.

  This was what I was looking at:

  Left of centre, ye can see where the roof's started caving in, look. And see that beam laying there? Encouraging the rain to join it ~ on my horses backs! What's a man to do?

  Off it fucking came then! Was gonna come off anyway. Pat ensured it came off the right way! Then, we made all that abby go away .....

  Days later ~ during good weather ~ I got up to find a team of maniacs on my land! WTF....?! Humping. Hammering. Hefting. 

And then, the old and rotten timbers of my stable roof had been replaced with expertly grafted, brand new, tanalised  stuff!

   In all honesty, I went out there, really just to see what they were up to. Thought I'd better offer them tea, or something.

  You ever actually seen a gang of Irishmen Work?!? It was fucking Scary!!!

  I, obviously, found myself roped into lending someone a hand, helping pass a sheet up, here and there. I was thinking how nice it'd all be, in a few days, when it was finished.

  Like rabid fucking locusts, they were! I've never seen anything like it! Look!

  And did all this clamouring, shouting, banging and bashing faze my horses, as it went off over their heads? 

  What do You think?! Donks couldn't give a fuck about Anything. And Rosie Horse is a perfect example of a Gypsy Cob! " WW3 Above My Head? ..... Fuck It! I see hay! "

   Anyway, yeah; Whole fucking roof was put on in a Morning! Guys I'd never even heard of just turned up out of no where. Then vanished, before I'd even had a chance to ask who they were. Where they'd come from. What they'd like to drink!

   They left me with this:

  In A Morning!!!  I'm still totally aghast. 

  Plasticised steel, that is. Green! I could have had white and saved myself a third of the cost. What, and laid out a fucking great white flag? Like; " Hey! Look! I'm Here! Come check me out! "  Fuck that! No. My green roof melds into the back ground. Worth every extra penny.

  And, for the eagle eyed among ye? Yes, that's a clear plastic skylight, over the far, top end of the roof. Horses now live and feed in dry, bright, daylit space!

There's so much more to add. Much more been done for the horses. More yet to be done. I just don't want this to become a horse oriented Blog. 

  Who fancies a bit of Trail Cam footage next?  

Some Savage Craic, With Pat ....!

  So,  I've had a JCB down here, doing some work for me. He's finished up today, so Pat's asked him to push in some fence posts as he crawls back up the track on his way home. Good economics all round, obviously.

  And that's how come I was out, this afters, giving Pat a hand to get the old posts checked for viability. Those we couldn't break, by shoving them hard, would do. The ones that gave a sharp 'Crack!' at the base? Fucked.

  And, at each cracker, Pat had to crow bar a hole beside them. Then pound a new post in, just enough that they'd be standing there when the digger arrived.

  Now, being about as physically useful as a piece of wet newspaper, my job was simply to shove posts and bring fresh posts to lay beside the snappers.

  Pat would then use his quite scary physical energy to ram the crobar into the ground. I'd pick up the fresh post and feed it into the hole. Pat would then use the weighted steel tube which is a Post Driver to slam down on the post. Driving it in next to the old post.

  I'm really not sure how it happened. But, I was holding a new post in position as Pat slammed the post driver down like a man possessed. Catching the end of my finger with it!!!

  Oh and we laughed and laughed ....!  

Pat; A Man Consumed By Hatred .....

  I went after the brambles, today. Fucking things. Only the ones directly encroaching into my compound, 'mind. Going up into my trees will be a push on the scale of a Gulf War. And, considering I use secateurs .....

  So, anyway; I'm snipping these fucking things by the barrow load and chucking them over the wall, into my designated land fill. Ironically, much grown with brambles itself.

  That doesn't bother me though. They don't bother me. They can fucking get on with it. Birds can nest in them and my occasional little burn ups keep my dumping spot free enough. 

  Now, the spot where I 'chuck and burn' happens to be right next to where Niggy gets put on his food chain. And he was on his chain right then ~ having been fed, between me cutting and then picking up all these brambles.

  " Pat wouldn't put up with brambles on his land, Niggy. " I said. Then, it occurred to me that I've never seen so much as a stem of bramble on any of Pat's land. He'd hate them too. I'm sure.

  Hate. I found myself recalling the time I found some shit in one of Pat's sheds. I examined it and pronounced to him that this was cat shit. I saw his face visibly darken. " Cat?! I fucking Hate cats! " He spat, through clenched teeth. (No mean feat, when ye think about it)

  On the way home that day, I'd met Noel. Pat's close neighbour. I recounted the incident to him. " I don't know much about my neighbour, Patrick. " Said Noel. " Except that he Hates cats! "

  Back in the present, I thought about the ivy. Not so long ago, Pat spent some quality time ~ days and days, in fact ~ tramping round his considerable acreage of land with a chain saw. He even roped me in, one afternoon.

  We were crawling in and out of the ditches, live chain saws roaring. Our mission was to cut a foot length out of the lower end of every stem of ivy. On every tree. Lot of fucking trees, I can tell ye!

  " I fucking Hate ivy! " He foamed to me. " It fucking ruins trees! Destroys them! " He even suggested I might get the ivy on My trees. The trees around my paddock that sits amongst his land. I didn't commit. Spotted Flycatchers nest in that ivy .....

  That would have been last winter, I suppose? Or, the one before that? Yes. The one before. Because we were cutting the hated ivy off the trees.

  This winter was when the mad cunt set out and cut down 95% of the fucking Trees on his land!!!!! I shit ye fucking not!!!

  Seems he remembers being able to peer down into the land basin and see this great, sweeping vista. Now, trees in the hedge lines were obstructing his view. He Hated it!

  We've done the juncus rushes. Spent a week or two strimming them into a very temporary oblivion. Couple of years ago that was. Hated them, he did.

  So, I just stood there, with Niggy. Thinking about it. What the fucking hell's next? 

  Now, I can't help but thinking of him, throwing off the covers and leaping out of bed each morning. A firing rage burning within him. Carries on like that? He'll be hating his fucking ulcers! 
 

More Work To Do .....

  Remember the fencing I had to do, Here ?

Got that all finished up nicely. Look:

  See how the crafty wire forms an inward carpet? Vegetation'll grow up and through that. Soon just form an invisible and impenetrable Dog Barrier.

  And here's the long side of that stand of bushes:

  See? Bush is already thrusting through the stock fencing and hiding it. I'll hedge trim to within a few inches of the fence, in future. Be a wall of green, hiding the fence buried within.

  Fucking great, it is! I can now just let the Dogs out, in the morning, and pretty much leave them to their own devices.  They've somehow decided, of their own volition, that 'up the back' is off limits. Maybe because I no longer go there? 

  Either way, yeah, they now stay in the compound and it's lovely to let them just wander about or bake themselves in the sporadic sunshine.

  I need to get the back fence put up now. Just because. Posts are long since sunk. All the runners and pales are painted. Just need Pat to help me for half an hour more. Cutting a notch out of a tree and simply holding one end of the runners, as I screw them on. Rest I can sort out alone.

  Right now though, the thing on my mind is the stable roof! FFS! It's corrugated asbestos and caving in! It won't stand up to this coming Winter.

    So, fuck the overdraft. I'm going for broke. (Christ, I'll be broke!) But, my horses will have a luxury roof over them that'll still be looking fantastic, long after I'm gone.

  Suffice it just to say that, as I type; If it rains? The fucking rain comes in and drips directly into the very place where there hay feed goes. So, they get wet as they munch on wet hay.

  It also runs down on the only spot available to store their half a dozen bales at a time that I buy them. But, that's nothing though. Ignore it, and the whole fucking lot will simply collapse, this Winter. No two ways about it. 

  Here's what it looks like, today then:

   And, believe me, that shit's shot to shit. It's a fucking abortion up there. Half the rafters beneath it are rotten as pears too. Never mind though. I'm on the case. 'Nuff said. Massive money is now pledged to this situation. Twenty by Thirty roof? Fuck, yeah!

   Watch this space! 

I Was Just Eating My Dinner .....

Dogs told me I had a visitor and, glancing out, I saw it was Noel. WTF could he want ....?

Leaning in his van window, to ask him as much, I saw a shotgun beside him. Interesting.

Turns out he'd seen two young mink, fucking around at a hollow rotted, broken off tree stump.

Very Interesting! I said I'd fetch my fuckin shotgun!

Five minutes later, there I am, staring intently at the offending tree hole. Noel's stood beside me. I give a little call. Nothing happens.

I focus my intense gaze on the hole. Call again. Nothing. Noel shifts his feet. Probably thinking about cattle.

Fuck cattle! I'd just abandoned my fucking dinner to be here! But, still, Noel made his excuses and left.

I called again. Again, nothing. Thinking I might want to set a trap, I walked down the cattle path and examined the terrain. M'hmm.

Walked back up. Heard the abuse. My hearing is so shot now though that it seemed to be coming from all around me.

Never mind. I stood still and scanned with my eyes. And there she was! Screaming piss and vinegar about my calling and her having youngsters and Bang!

I just will not put up with an abusive fucking female! Not at my time in life! Charge of #5 shut her the fuck up!

Met Pat, on the way home. Then Noel. Oh, what happy bunnies they were!

Of course, I had to have a go at Pat! " You called her?! How in bejesus do ye Call a mink?!? "

So, I cupped my hands round my mouth and gently called; " Mink! ..... Mink!!! " Poor Pat. I love the guy to bits. That's why I give him such shit!

Anyway, there ye go. Job done, inside ten minutes. My reputation, for a doer of what I do, now just about off the fucking charts, with the people who matter. 

Get my arse back up there, tomorrow, with a trap or two. Sort out those youngsters

" Evil Little Dog " .....

  Pat's brought my hay down, the other day. And, there we are; Standing around in the stable, having a swift chat. I've just turned my back on him, to take a piss. And that's the moment he cunningly chose to strike.

  With a practised air of the oh so casual, I heard him breezily enquire:  " I don't suppose ye'd be interested in a Dog, would ye ....? "  But, I'm too good. I caught the tension underlying his words. Now what ....?!

  " What Dog? " I asked. Turning to study him. Already accepting that I was probably about to do my usual in these situations. Swear under my breath. Shake my head. Swear more heartily and demand " The fucking thing " be delivered to my gate.

  Yeah. I'm a mug for Dogs. Very seldom do I go looking for one ~ why the hell would I?! But, Dog in dire straits ....?  Just call me Oscar;  I want to save them all!

  So, anyway, at this juncture, I might suggest ye reacquaint yeself with This One.   And, yeah. That's the one Pat now wanted to shift. 

  Can't argue with his reasoning. His cattle had been mysteriously aborting, in his pens. That's his sole livelihood, right there! Obviously, he pulled out all the stops.

  Vet's did all the tests imaginable. Came back that it was some pathogen passed to the cowz, in the faeces of cats or Dogs. And ~ ye'd better believe me ~ there are No damn cats getting round Pat's place!

 Just his shitty, Evil Little Dog. Damn thing made a habit of wandering fifty yards, on its tiny little legs, just to shit near those cattle.  Dog had to go. Obviously.  So, of course, I said I'd take him.

  Not much happens at once, here, of course. So, we agreed I'd take Evil Little Dog.

 (God knows how I came to start calling him that! Just always have done. Response to his hilarious habit of coming sliding out of his 'car port' shelter, where his little house lived.

  Only, he'd literally drag himself out. Front legs walking. Back legs splayed out and limp. Dragging. All the time, shooting me crafty, coy little sideways glances. Mad fucking thing! LOL!)

  So, I was mentally chewing it over when I was giving Pat a hand to clear a ditch, days later. I had an inspiration then; Why didn't I knock up a proper chain rig?   Evil Little Dog could stay in his car port. Drag his body around in greeting. Just not shit near those cows!

  Pat said his kids, and " The Woman " (FFS! He must have been married to the lovely girl for forty years now. And still he refers to her as The Woman! LMFAO!) they wouldn't stand for it.

  So, I told him; Damn thing's not house broken. I'm not about to wake up and find it shitting all over my bed! Where the hell did he think I was gonna keep it?! Evil, shitty arsed little Dog. In fact; I suggested he ask his kids, and 'The Woman', to come up with a better idea.

  Well, today, over a week since Pat slid the question across in my stables, I was up his place on some errand.  I asked him about his plans. He was non-committal. Then, he finally said that Evil Little Dog would be going somewhere. And, he mentioned the local Dog Rescue ....!!!

  That was fucking It! (I never did get to tell ye about " Rag ", did I?) Well; That place is one of these " No Kill Shelters " that simply spirits Dogs out the back door, into The Van.

  It's common knowledge, locally, that the " Animal Welfare " emblazoned van is, weekly, ferrying 'rescued' Dogs to a 'No Qualms' Death House, over the way. There they summarily execute them.

  Need I say more? Evil Little Dog is curled up, a few feet away. In the terrier box I have at hand. Nice, snug bed. 74F in this room. Had a good feed of fresh, raw flesh. The others find Evil little Dogs diminutive size, coupled with feisty, snarly, snapping jaws, quite amusing!

  Poor little mite's mortified to be suddenly plunged into this world of giants. My lot are good natured though and used to little, tiny terriers. They'll soon accept eachother. Just a few days of gentle handling ahead now.

  Oh, and speaking of handling? Tonight, while out for their mid evening break, I idly wondered if Evil Little Dog still had his nuts on. So, absent mindedly, in the half light, I reached down and cupped his .......... Belly full of tiny nipples?!? :o

  The name'll stay though. " Evil Little Bitch " just doesn't sound the same!
 

Pat; The Man Is A Fucking Legend !

 So; My entire life, right now, seems to revolve around these Dog fences I'm working on. I aim to make my entire compound inescapable to my Dogs. 

 It's costing me £ Hundreds! Timber. Paint. Hardware. I'm just throwing money at it, month after month. And the man hours are just sublime! It's become 'What I Do', these days.

 I'm spending entire, full days (after days!) just painting or staining dozens of four foot x 3 3/4" slats. Each one needing at least three coats. My home has become a slat factory. I'm not shitting ....!

 

  Of course, all these slats have to be screwed to horizontal runners. And they have to be screwed to posts! Posts that need to be sunk deep into this large stone infested ground.

  Pat said he'd found a guy with a Post Driver on his tractor. We needed to get the posts positions of the bottom and back fences worked out, so the guy could just drive in here. Drive the posts. And drive out. Every minute would be costing me yet more money.

 I was okay with that. I've long since lost count of the expenses here. It's for my Dogs. So, fuck it. Then, last Sunday happened ....!

  13:00. I heard a noise and glanced out to see Pat's van arriving at my gate. So, I wandered out there to greet him and see what the craic was. He asked me if I had my cro bar. Of course I did. Pat often enough liked to borrow it. No problemmo.

 Then, it started! Fucking hell! Far from putting the heavy bar in his van and driving off; He marched down to the bottom of my compound with it. And there he looked about and then started smashing the fucking thing into the ground like a man possessed! I'm like; " WTF?! "

  Without going into every moment of a blow by blow account; The guy just went fucking balls out fucking Nuclear! String lines were strung. Bars were smashed into the ground. Solid, large stones were shattered where they lay. I got to hold the fucking string out of his way!

 Then, he asked for my Post Driver ....! Get to fuck ....! I'm a full head taller than Pat. But, I'm now reduced to skin, bone and water. I have no muscle and no strength. Pat is scary!

  Exactly two hours after he'd pulled up ~ Pat drove away.  I was just in awe of what I'd beheld that afternoon. His parting shot had been something to the effect that the man and the post driving tractor would have cost me €50 -100. And that the stones would have broken half the posts anyway. 'Fuck That!'

  So, he'd simply rolled his figurative sleeves up. Jumped in his van and come down here. On his day of rest. He left me with This ....!

  My bottom fence posted and ready for the runners. And, not content with that ....?

  The Human Dynamo sunk four more, at the back of my place too! And there he Really had to smash that bar through some massive fucking stones! (I got to hold the string out of his way, again. FFS!)

  I'm telling ye; All this guy needs is a fucking cheroot. A squint. And to whisper. 

  Fucking Legend!!!

A Miracle In Co. Leitrim ....!

  No shit! Even Pat' agreed that this one was one of those things ye just couldn't have believed, had ye not seen it. And Pat' knew, very well, the background situation. Which I'm about to try and explain to you, in words and photo's.

 The winds, here, have been quite awesome, of late. The Northerly turned to an Easterly. The easterly, having tested every sheet of tin in the county, turned Southerly, for another try. It's blowing a six, out there, as I type. But, it's been far worse. Murderously so.

 Now, I have a cow shed. It's a bit bigger than the average, urban UK garden shed, of course. This thing's about thirty foot long. Probably pushing fifteen foot deep. Same high, at the back.

 It used to have a Dutch Barn butted against the back wall. Running the length of the shed. Hay would have been stored there. Only, due to simple old age and dereliction, that collapsed a few years ago.

  Thing is, it had this three or four foot high skirt of corrugated iron where the side of the barn butted to the cow shed. And, when the barn dropped, this skirting broke in two and laid on the asbestos roof of the cow shed.

 Amazingly, it didn't crash through it and actually caused only a minor bit of leaking.

     

  I hope that shot's clear enough? That's the roof of the shed, with half the skirt laying on it. The far corner's still attached to the upright it was fixed to. 

Here it is from the other side of the shed. See how close it is to my starling nest boxes? I've been meaning to get it brought down. But, it's a fucker of a job in 'winter' ~ winds and rain 'n all. Not to mention tractors chewing the paddock up.

 Come 'summer'? Starlings are long since back in residence in those boxes and I don't want to disturb them! What's a man to do?!

 

 Well, in the case of this ones twin, on the right side of this skirt? That's easy. Just sit back and await the Leitrim Miracle! Take a fucking look at This ....!

  Would ye fucking believe that?!? I barely could! Pat' was completely amazed at it! That's about fifteen foot of corrugated iron skirting. It's been picked up by a south wind.

  It's been lifted on that same wind. Then, miraculously, it's been fucking Thrown off the roof ..... Missing a row of four starling nest boxes hung directly beneath it on that wall!!!  

   Here's another view of it. How this load of scrap and rotten timber ever missed those nest boxes is just mind boggling. Just thank fuck it did!

 Now, I really Must get the other one sorted out, safely. I consider this The Gypsys Warning. Can't go expecting a second miracle.

 

I'll Give You " Timber!!! " .....

Mother Of Fucking God!!! 

 

 I Nearly Died And I Never Knew It!

 Five days a week, I walk the Dogs up to my post box. Obviously, with the last post being 24th, presumably until today? I've simply had no reason to go out the gate.

 And, with all that rain? I guess, in retrospect, when I've gone out the back door, to the ditch or what ever? I've just been looking at the ground, trying not to slip in the mud.

  That could well explain why I never noticed the slight matter of a fully mature Sitka Spruce having crashed over. Missing my cottage by just feet! God alone knows when this bitch came down then.

 I have eighteen inch thick, stone walls. Tin over old thatch roof. Extremely new and good quality double glazing throughout. Throw in that I'm deaf as a post too? I barely hear fuck all in here.

  I did catch the sound of some wind, 'recently' though. I remember mentioning to the Dogs; " Windy out there tonight, Dogs. " If I could hear it? It must've been a Tin Tester! That'll be when she dropped. Faark! 

  And The Gods did look down and say; " Steady on there! That's fuckin' Ditch in that place! Easy over a few feet to the north, so ye don't crush him and his Dogs. Only, not too far. Else ye'll crash over the boundary onto his neighbours land.

   In fact, if ye could just go down right There. There's barely a couple of feet in it. But That would be absolute perfection. Where he'd have wanted those £K Tree Surgeons to drop ye. " 

  And the tree said; " Your the Boss ....! " And there she is. And, I swear; I couldn't have dropped her more perfectly with a laser guided chain saw!

 I wanted her down, as it happens. I'd even enquired of some passing Tree Surgeons, not so long ago. £MEGA!!!  Thing is; I was trashed to death about her coming down on the cottage.

 A man's got to Tell Someone about a thing like this, of course. So, I phoned Pat' up and told him. He came rumbling down here on his tractor. Saying how he'd bring my SDS drill back ..... There's a whole background thing to " My " SDS Drill ....! But, that's another story.

 Pat' came. He saw. He exclaimed; " Foooking Hell!!! ". He climbed about on her a bit and fell down a hole amongst the roots. That gave me a Flash Back and I just went clammy and muttered something about " 'Nam " and " Those damn booby traps! ".

 Pat' sort of gave me a stare. Then he was off back down the slope. Saying something about 'Needing to get on.' Before leaping onto his tractor and roaring off up the track, away from me.

My Freezer .....

 Oh my fucking god! There's something in there! I just found it. Right at the bottom. Buried under the Dog meat. Tied up in a black bin bag. 

 What the fuck is it though?! I haven't the faintest clue. And, frankly? I'm in no mind to go opening that bag and seeing what slips out in front of me! It's horrible.

 Some sort of animal, by the feels of it. About the size of a gray squirrel on steroids, or something. Racking my fucking brain here, trying to remember ~ or work out ~ what the fuck it is. And why the hell I put it in there.

 Where could I have got it from? Killed it, presumably? Or picked it up dead? That should narrow it down. But, it doesn't. I can't remember anything I've killed which I'd have reason to stick in the freezer.

  I have a kestrel in there. I know that much. Found it dead on my track and took it up in case we could get a post mortem done. Check for rodenticides or what ever. But, that proved infeasible and now I'll probably use it as crow bait. That one's in a white sack.

 There's a meadow pipit in there, somewhere. Found that one, stone dead under the fence. Kept it in the hope of finding a Taxidermist who might use it. Probably a few little birds in there for that reason. Forgotten about.

 Mice too. Fuck loads of mice! I used to bag them up virtually by the pound and put them in there. All clean, trapped mice. Caught in places where there was guaranteed no bait around. 

 Not sure why I fuckin' did that either now. What the fuck was I thinking of?  I seriously wonder about myself, some times. Right about now is one of those times!

 Nilsen. Dahmer. Ditch Shitter. It doesn't bode too well, does it? I wonder if those two guys woke up in the morning, comfortably aware of what the fuck They had in their fridges and freezers? 

 Or, did they find a black bag one day. Think; " Hello ....? " And open it. " Aagh! Jesus fucking Christ!!!!! What The ....?! "

 I could give it to Pat', couldn't I? Pat's my answer to so many things around here. Say, " Here ye go, Pat. Want this? " He'd say, 'What is it?' And I could say; " Dunno. " And run away.

 Fuck it. Wish I'd never moved that Dog meat now. Look at the trauma it's caused me.
       

Kangaroo .....

Boing. Boing. Boing. Boing .....

I was just singing the praises of le Ding to myself there. Telling myself what a loved Dog he is. He's mad. And hairy. And called " The Dingo Dog ".

 Then it struck me: 'But, he's never seen a kangaroo.' Ye know how the old mind works, while ye fixing ye dinner. Head left pretty much to its own devices ....?

  So, I thought; Should I buy him one? Ye know. Have it around the place. So Dinger could see it. Make him a Dingo Dog who Has seen a kangaroo, fuck ye very much!
  
  But, then, of course, it'd scare the crap out of Pat's fucking cattle, wouldn't it? Anything and Everything scares the crap out of Pat's cattle! Rosie's a horse. They're absolutely fucking terrified of her. 

  And goats? Don't even think about it, sunshine! Goat so much as comes eyeball to eyeball with one of Pat's cowz? Fucking stampede time! Mind you; If I ran into some cunt with horizontally split pupils and horns? Don't think I'd have much to say either.

 Kangaroo though? Remember " Upstairs, Downstairs "? Theme music to the tune of the song; " What Are We Going To Do With Uncle Arthur? " ?

 I sing that to myself. Only, I use Dingers name: " Dingeler Ding the Ding's a Dinger Dingo ..... " Shit like that.  Sorry. Where was I? Ah, yes. Kangaroo's. The mind wanders .....

 So, of course would a kangaroo. Hardly just let one loose on the meadow out there and expect it to be around in the morning. Boing! Boing! Splash! Splash! Moooo!!! Thunder. Splash! " Ditch!!! Ye fucking kangaroo's amongst my cattle!!! "

 Doesn't bode well, does it? Think I'll just settle for showing him a photo then.

 This is a kangaroo:

  

 This is a le Ding:

It's easy to tell the difference, look. le Ding has the smart new collar from Strong Stuff.

 



 
   

Got Pat' A Fucking Blinder, Today ....!

 Yes. I know. Bit fucking sad, isn't it, when the very highlights of a mans existence amount to winding a mate up now and then! Even sadder that I'm now sat here, virtually crying with laughter at the mere memory of it! 

 Sad, but true though. Pat's simply the only person I can expect to see, more than once in an average week. He also, somehow, just brings out the mischief in me! Getting him going is one my harmless little pleasures in life.

  Anyway; As anyone from Jim's would probably know by now, I've bought myself an Electric Fly Killer. Ye know, the things with steel grills enclosing ultra violet strip lights. Ye see them in butchers shops and shit. Flies go snap, crackle and pop on them.

  So, I've bought myself one and, as it was coming by Courier, had it directed to my local, in town. Pat then fetched it back with him when he ran into town in his van, today.

 It also happens that my back's giving me some shit, today. Made a wrong move yesterday, trying to avoid my donkey, and have ripped a muscle in my back. So, it's not 'gone'. It's just fucking sore and tending to 'ping'.

  That's why I was on my knees at the back of Pat's van as I examined my fantastic new EFK. Bending and lifting isn't the best policy, right now.

 Pat was sitting in the back doorway and I was explaining the principle of how these things operate. The Ultra Violet light tubes attracting the insect so that it flies in and touches the electrified grid.

 Then, Pat must have asked me some innocent question, such as; " Do they always hit the grid then? " And, straight away, I knew I had to do it! (Readers from Jim's will probably have read this one already. But, this is what I told Pat .....)

 " One time I was in Hugh Logans, the Butchers, shop. Saw the most amazing thing: A fly was flying round the shop and flew towards the EFK. Then it had a heart attack! Dead in the air it was. 

 But, its momentum carried its little dead body straight into Hugh's Excalibur. The corpse hit the electrified grill and Snap!!!

Know what? Fuckin' belt of electricity restarted the flies little heart and it fucked off out the door. None the worse or wiser! "

 Pat stared at me. Open mouthed and wide eyed in aghast. " Ye Not serious?!? " He breathed ..........

 Fucking good job I was on my knees. Because, seeing That reaction? I'd have fucking doubled over and fell to them anyway!

 Strike Two to Ditch! 

Pony Has His New Friend .....!!!!!

  I'm So chuffed, for him! I honestly don't know what else to say, really.

 I just sat on Pat's shoulder. Leaning the weight and easing off, as I felt his moods swing with the other things  in his head at that moment. Seems I got it right!

 Last Saturday week was the local horse sale day. We went there. First thing I saw was a drop dead gorgeous, gray donk. Absolute ringer for the bible picture ones. Cross on the back?

 Five minutes later and Pat's asking me about the self same creature! I agree that she (And it was a She) is fucking gorgeous. I'm just wondering about the little, chocolate brown, thing that's sticking so close to her ..... Till it dropped a 1/3 grown, fifth leg! Jack! Forget it!

 Frankly? There were one or, maybe two others there that had My eye. But, come the actual time of the Donkey Sales? I was completely smitten with this heart breakingly gorgeous little pony foal ~ Keep repeating mantra: " No More 'Horses'! No More 'Horses'! "

 Pat', meanwhile, had got a call, telling him that there were four jennies up for grabs, on the way home. So, the big, black jen' slipped us by. I dragged myself away from that To Die For little pony. Self harming all the way. We decided to gamble on the four.

 Fine looking four too. Pat' and I simultaneously eyeballed one, in particular. Much talking out the sides of mouths ensued. I had a swift commune with the candidate. Meaningful glances and barely perceptible nods were exchanged.

 £50.00 later, we're bowling down the road. Pony's new friend to be in the little horse box we were dragging behind.


 Well, that was, what? Just short of two weeks ago. Pony was absolutely fucking ecstatic to meet his new friend ~ though She was a little less forward in reciprocating his delighted enthusiasm, at first. Well ..... At least for the first ten minutes that I stood around.

 Long since then, they've become inseparable. And I've ~ quite deliberately ~ curbed my daily visits, to feed Pony his 'biscuits'. I see myself as their God Father. Pat's their Dad. I didn't want to 'compete'.

 So, I've popped up each two or three days. (Granted, I've barely known what to do with myself on my 'off' days!) Tuesday, Pat' invited me up there. Offering me a lift into town. I got Donkey to actually touch the biscuit I offered her, with her mouth. Then she shied.

  Today? She took several biscuits from my finger till I'd run out,  in fact

  Not sure Pat's got her eating out of his hand yet. I'm gently working on him too though .....
 

Pat' Never Knew .....

 How close he'd come ....!


I was mouching about in one of his hedges, this afters. I'd just been up to see Pony, and check a couple of my nest boxes, and was working my way along a nice hedge, on the way home.

 As this hedge thrust toward me across a deep and unforgiving ditch, I was extremely aware that one false step could send me down, riding the mare of blackthorns. Face first.

 That'll be why, when my phone rang, in my pocket, I nearly fucking shit myself and suffered a cardiac, all at once.

 It was Pat'. I said I was close by and, as he wanted a hand with something, I turned straight back to the road and was with him in no time. My heart still pounding like firing pin of an Uzi.

 Turned out he just needed an extra pair of hands as he rigged up a fresh bit of electric fencing, down on the Bog. Power was off, so no problems there then. Off we went.

 Pat' asked me to pull this length of plastic sleeving to a corner post. I duly did that. Then I stood there, gazing around me, thinking of Bird Boxes and nests, as I waited.

 Not knowing what I was supposedly waiting for, I looked for Pat'. There he was, buried in some rough cover, the other side of the fence. No doubt fiddling about with wires and connectors. Getting what ever he'd come here for done.

 My mind began to drift ..... Always a danger sign that. Keep me focused on birds and their nests and I could bore for Ireland with what's going through my head. Let me go into myself? Fuck knows what's gonna come out.

 I wandered down to where Pat' was now working on my side of the fence. His back to me. I heard myself, in my head, preparing to very casually ask him;

 " Pat'? You ever had any problem with the word; Moist ....? " And, I knew, Pat', being engrossed in his work, wouldn't hear me the first time. He'd say, " What's that? ". And I'd repeat, " Moist. "

 Already, I was smiling. I thought of how Pat', brilliant guy though he is, would simply have no possible concept of the world we inhabit, through our computer screens.

 Pat' lives in a world where only cattle need concern him. His kids would have computers. " The Woman " would handle that sort of thing. Pat' thinks only in terms of his beloved cattle. " Moist "? He wouldn't get it .....

 I thinks he's getting a handle on me though. Because, by the time he turned round, to find me staggering about the Bog. Completely helpless and doubled over. Tears of silent laughter streaming down my face as I struggled to breath .....

 Pat' the Leprechaun simply cocked an eyebrow as he peered at me with a dubious look in his pale, blue eyes. Half smiled, as he shook his head. And muttered, " Jesus! "

 But; He never knew how close he'd just come ....!

My Cow Shed Roof .....

 Okay, peeps; This one's going to become an Epic! Not this Post. This is just announcing it and outlining it. But, I intend to follow this story ~ as much for my own pleasure, to be frank. It'll give me something to look back on ~ as the project unfolds.

 Craic is; My cow sheds roof is fucked. And this is a shed roughly twenty by thirty feet. Haven't got a fucker like that, in Your fucking garden, to worry about. Have ye?

 Better yet? The bastard's got a corrugated asbestos roof! Now, working with that shit doesn't bother me. I deliberately breathed in as much asbestos dust as I could create, some thirty years ago. And I created a Lot! But, that's another story .....

 It's the getting lumbered with all this shit. If it were iron? I could get someone to haul it off as free scrap metal. Like I did the 'Dutch Hay Barn' which collapsed, some years ago. 

 Legacy of that is now impinging on this next building. Today I decided it was time to man up and get cracking on doing something about it. This is notification of the fact that; 'Today, Ditch Decided To Man Up About His Cow Shed Roof'.

 Next, I hope to show ye some photo's. Give ye a feel for the magnitude of all this. And, don't forget; This is for my personal benefit too. I don't give a fuck if you read it, or not. I want a record to look back on.

  To kick off though: Dean O' was up here today. He has his portable forge in the shed. He reckons he can lift the 'Skirts' of the old Dutch Barn off the roof. He also expressed some views about how to handle a couple of rafters which are gone.

 Pat' came by, this evening. He's my roof iron 'contact'. He's going to speak to his man, guy he gets his own roofing materials from. Get me a price for the essential shit to repair the damage, thus far. Said he'd give me a hand and reckoned it'd only take a few hours (?!)

 So, there's the situation as it stands. Pat' reckons he'll have word by the weekend. I'll try to have photo's, showing ye what's what, within twenty four hours.

 Let the drama begin ....!
  

Happy Saint Paddy's Day!

 Shocked and stunned, personally. Been mouching about all morning. No real concept of which day of the week it was. Finally decided to go and spend an hour or two, squaring off that corner of the rushes.

 Wandered up to Pat's place. Communed with Pony for a bit. Fed him his biscuits. Then headed over to the shed, to pick up my brush cutter.

 Just happened that Pat was coming out to his van. When I explained my plans, he looked horrified! " No ....! " He said. " Ye can't go cutting any rushes today! "

 I thought; 'Well; It didn't rain that much yesterday. And it's a bloody Bog anyway. Never exactly gonna be dry underfoot, is it?'

 But, then, Pat carried on; " No Irishman works on St. Paddy's Day! "  I'm like; ' Faaaaarkk!!! ' Never had a bloody clue!

 I knew it was coming. But, that was like days ago. Then it all got a bit nebulous. Now it's here, upon me, look. 

 And, as the only person I've spoken to thus far today, a natural born Irishman, has so generously, graciously and quite unconsciously embraced me within the terms of " Irishman ", I've felt honour bound to follow suit.

 Thus I've abandoned all thoughts of working today. I've come home and have tied on my Shamrock patterned dicklo. And now, here I am; Sat here with the first of a Great Many pints of Stout. (I also had a crafty nip of Jameson too. Just to rinse my gums with. More of that later!)

 I'm sure the entire UK, at least, will today be throbbing with 'Plastic Paddies', those who, on this day and this day only, seem to remember that their Great, Great, Great Uncle, on their Mothers Sister In Laws Brothers Mates side was 3/8ths Irish ~ or so family legend has it.

Green beer will be sold. Guinness will become suddenly favoured. The Real Irish, abroad, will go absolutely fucking ballistic. I raise a glass and salute you all!

 Now, let's get on with getting completely fucking slaughtered! It is, after all St. Paddy's Day.
  

Tormenting Pat' .....

 I have a totally fucked up sense of humour. Probably comes as part of the package. I'm long since fucked up myself. Don't honestly know if one preceded the other. Anyway .....

 Today then, I'm back down on the water meadows, cutting rushes, with Pat'. I've just turned up and Pat's explaining something or other about the petrol situation.

 Means fuck all to me. Pat' buys petrol. We pour it into our brush cutters. Rushes fall like rain. What else do I need to know? 

 So, I said to Pat', completely laconically and conversationally; "   It was the third of June, another sleepy, dusty Delta day ..... "

 Pat just seemed to keep saying what ever he'd been meaning to say. Barely even registering that I'd started speaking.

 Then, as he finished, I carried on into the correct silence which conversational convention allows for with:

 "I was out choppin' cotton and my brother was balin' hay  ..... "

I suspect it was, probably, the reference to " cotton " that caused some resonance with Pat's subconscious.

 "  And at dinner time we stopped and walked back to the house to eat. And Mama hollered out the back door "y'all remember to wipe your feet"

Now, at This point, I'd definitely got Pat's attention. He was now looking at me as if I'd just suggested we get on our hands and knees and eat juncus rushes. Only, he couldn't quite work out why.

 "  And then she said "I got some news this mornin' from Choctaw Ridge". I said. Still flatly. Conversationally. Pat's eyes were now fixed on me. Widening. His jaw starting to drop.

 " Today Billy Joe MacAllister jumped off the Tallahatchie Bridge". I, matter of factly, informed him.

 That did it. " Jesus! " He exclaimed. " What in the name of God are ye talking about?!? "

 And I ~ mentally ~ licked my finger and drew a stroke in the air between us. Gave Pat' a smug, 'cat's got the cream' smile. And trudged off down toward the bottom end of the meadow. There to start my engine. 

 Grinning a grin that would see me through several hours of shoulder wrecking work. 



 Is there Anything sweeter than, just occasionally, winding a mate up and then leaving them to hang? 
 

Pat's Pony ~ Update .....

 " Pat's Pony ". Sounds bad, that! Like I'm announcing that my mate, Pat, is shit! Hell, no! Just thought I'd bring " Pony " back into the loop here. Because he's becoming quite a feature, with me.

 Last time I wrote about Pony, see, I didn't even know where he was. Pat has land down behind his bungalow. I don't go there. I don't like sniffing around behind his house. Just doesn't seem right. Wife and kids 'n all. 

 Anyway, the other day I'm in Pat's farm yard and think to ask him; " Where is Pony? " Thinking of those mysterious meadows, tucked away behind the home place there.

 Only, to my astonishment, Pat' shoots the bolt on a low door at the end of his 1904 cow shed! There's Pony! Poor fucker! He's in a two cow bay. No view of the outside world. Hole in the wall showing the furry flank of a tethered cow, next door.

 Effectively? A fucking Dungeon! And Pony's doing Solitary. He's got a rubber mat in each bay. Both piled with mouldering shit. No water. No current food. No salt lick. Fuck all.

 Worst of all? I've stepped in there and he's nearly gone ballistic. Poor creature's a complete fucking wreck. He didn't seem to recognise me and was half hysterical at my presence. Right There: This was gonna fucking stop!

 Now, Pat has a cow laying down, right now. She's in calf, far as I can make out. I've no idea why she's laying down. But, Pat paid £50 for someone to bring an inflatable balloon thing and blow it up beneath her.

 That got her to feel her feet on the ground for an hour. Supposedly made her feel a bit better? I wouldn't know. I know shit about cowz. Know next to shit about horses, come to that. But, I have an inborn affinity with Dogs. And now, it seems, horses touch me too. 

 Back to Pony. I just wanted to indicate that Pat is Far from some ogre. He too loves his creatures. He's simply clueless about horses. He's never, in years, been able to get near Pony without simply herding the poor creature from A to B. Or calling me, to lead him.

 I gently bid Pat get the fuck out of Pony's dungeon, while I got to work on Pony's head.

 Twenty minutes later, I beckoned Pat in there and gave him some pointers. Another Ten minutes and Pony was, all be it tentatively, eating out of Pat's hand :-)

 I'll leave it there, for now.  I could go on all night here. I just wanted to make it clear that Pat, genuinely, cares for his creatures. He just hasn't ~ yet ~ twigged how bovines and equines differ. 

 Don't worry though. Pony is now being cleaned out, daily. Gets a basket of hay to amuse himself with. Fed loads of proper, horsey treat 'biscuits' and is generally 'communed with' by someone, every day now.

 The Inner Pony is being taken in hand. Get that up and running. Then I'll have to turn my attention to the Outer Pony. His coat's in a shit state. His feet?!? Let's not even go there .......... yet.