Early Start

  Got up, this morning ~ well, yesterday. Tuesday, 30th of March. Let the Dogs out. Turned around and the lot of them were transfixed by the starling nest box outside my door!

 

  Balzac's standing up there. Nose a bit Too fucking close to the hole in it! (Has that bugger actually still managed to grow that much more?! Surely to fuck he must be too old to grow now?)

 

  Small Dogs are yipping, leaping, sitting transfixed.

 

  But, it was the fucking box itself that got me. It was actually Rattling!

 

  Like, this is a fucking big box! Made of nine inch plank. Inch thick. Over a foot tall. I've humped these muvva's up enough ladders and, I can tell ye; I don't fucking like it!

 

  And this one's Shaking! Audible smashing and banging going on inside it!  No wonder the Dogs are fixated! I am!

 

  Well, with the racket, and the movement of the thing, I figure it's got to be a fucking Pine Marten in there. Bitch one could probably slither through that hole.

 

  Or a rat? Equally plausible.  But; What The Fuck was either of them Doing in there?! Battering this, I dunno ~ Three or four pound ~ fucking box about?

 

  No Way I was opening the top face of the damn thing! It's at face height. I wasn't too interested in having what ever it was leaping out, right into my eyes!

 

  Fuck this. Went and got my " See Snake ". Electronic endoscope. Hang over from my Pest Control days.

 

  Fucking batteries were dead. Replaced them. No luck. Fucked if I know.

 

  Stood there. Staring at this fucking box, on my wall. Dogs seemed to have lost interest now. Fucked off. Box seemed quiet enough too. What's a man to do?

 

  Fingered the little hook off. Got my face up close ~ I hate this shit. But, I need to See what's in there. My eye sight's so shot these days. Opened the top opening, top half of the frontal door .....

 

  Oh! (Closes the door) Pardon me!

 

  Now, here's the fucktest thing! I swear to god; Before I got out of bed, this morning, I had a dream.

 

   Now, we all know  how fucked up and partially remembered dreams can be. But, what hung with me, from this one, was when I opened some door.

 

  I needed a piss, in my sleep, and this was one of those ~ Translates as ~ 'looking for a place to pee' dreams? 

 

  So, in this dream, I've  opened a door.  And there's some young girl I've previously met, in this dream. And she's standing under a shower!

 

  Obviously, I'm like; " Oh! Sorry, love! ". And have almost broke my fucking spine with the speed I've turned away and fucked off.

 

  And, weirdly, that's about exactly what I did, when I lifted that door; And got a split second glimpse of ~ I'm sure it was! ~ Two Starlings, in amidst a load of fresh straw 'n shit, in the bottom of that nest box!

 

  Yeayy!!! I've watched my 'usual male' claiming that box since about November. I've seen two birds popping in there, weeks ago.

 

  But, to actually eyeball Two birds, rustling around in there. Actively building a nest. Before even April? Well, that's just cool 👌

 

  I rung about 105 chicks, last year, from my starling boxes. Then, the govt's took over with this social control bullshit. 

 

  Either way; My birds are showing me good signs! I aim to break the Ton mark again, this year.

 

  Given my freedom? I'd planned to widen my net of Starling Boxes for miles around! 

 

  I'm happy to spend the endless time ~ and money ~ making them. Taking them. Putting them up. Checking them.

 

  Dunno though. Fucking governments have got us all strapped down now, look. Hunkering down. Servile.

 

  'But, it'll get better!' You cunt! Cite me one, single fucking example of when a modern day government has given us back a 'right' they once took from us?

 

  Me? The Dogs and my Starlings?  Just watch a Murmuration. Know that we're part of that.

 

A Day Of Joy!

   I've spent the day playing email tennis with someone at a major paint place. McDonnell's, to be precise and give them due credit.

  I wanted a small tin of smooth, white Hammerite and also thought to ask about some wood stain I've used and now wanted a lot more of.

 But, which has practically gone off the market and the producers ignored my enquiry.

  Anyway; Yesterday, I went into town and ordered a shit ton of planks.

 I want to make more starling nest boxes and worked out it'd be easier to have them delivered. So, I bought a load, to make it worth paying a tenner for delivery.

  As I'm waiting for the truck, Pat turns up. Our postie drops my Amazon shit off with Pat. Saves him worrying if it'll all go in my post box. Which it, often as not, won't anyway.

  And Pat brings me not only my sand belts, which I was expecting. But my Belt Sander! And the couple of pairs of new strides I'd ordered!

  I'm well happy then. But, none of it's any use to me yet. Can't sand the wood till I have the stain to cover it, before bare clean wood gets grubbied.

  Oh! I forgot to mention; Pat'd also brought my Brush Cutter back, the other day, from the bloke in town. Completely overhauled and working a treat.

   Seventy quid I was more than happy to shell out! Having left fuel in it and generally left it to fucking rot ~ as is my way, due to my head.

  Sadly; I just managed to cut a clear path to my grave yard gate when the harness fell apart. FFS. Same problem as the brusher!

  Never mind. Ordered a new one. That'll be here next week. Then, once I get a new bridge installed, I can get up to the grave yard and reclaim That from the brambles.

  And, saying that? Pat comes back with my new bridge! Some sort of steel length. Absolutely perfect for the purpose! That's in place now.

  Then, before Pat even gets away again? Fucking truck turns up with my planks!!! I'm doing fucking dances, by now!

  Driver, bless him, backed right down to the stables. Physically lifted Seven fucking 9" planks, in one go!?! And put them down by the door!

  Absolute fucking Awe of this guy! I told him straight; My arms would fucking Snap, if I even Tried to lift That weight! FFS!

  Then, Pat rushed down and gave me a hand to shift them into the stables. Job fucking done! 

  Tomorrow, I can take my mitre saw and stand down there and start slicing them up.

  Build the boxes down there. Stack them there. Boosh! No need to worry about the weather. The Dogs. Or carting wood, or boxes down there!

  I Then think to ask Pat if he can ask 'The Boy Bohen' to get me a price to replace this fifty foot of guttering that's blighting my life right now.

  That's in hand, at last, then! Great! That'll be more money well spent, and another massive load off my mind.

  Pat fucks off then, and I come in here. Oh, look; Another email from
McDonnell's paint people.

  I'd last told them:

 

  " alternative options in medium oak shades "? Okay. I'm ready to listen. I did a Belfast sink cover with Johnstones. Three coats and I was in love!

 

  Now, I want to do a Lot of wood similarly. Maybe, if ye shoot me a name or two, I can look on line for examples of how they end up?

 

  My number's xxxxxxxxxx. Afternoons are best as I never know when I'm going to surface and don't like talking before my head clears.

 

  So; I'm down for a tin of paint. (Freezer lid will look great again!) And now we need to sort out this stain. Then I can get stuck in! Deep joy!

 

  Thanks! "

  And, their unnamed person has come back to me with:

 

" We stock products by ronseal and sadolin that may suit you. I have requested someone give you a ring from the Athlone store to advise you on exactly which one to go for. They should be calling you tomorrow so your joy should be well underway ! 😊

 

Best of luck with it all and thanks for the laugh!

Enjoy your evening!

 

Kind regards. "

    Fucking talk about the icing on the cake!!! To have ~ quite unconsciously ~ brightened someone else's day, whilst having a belter myself?

  I'm So fucking happy now, I'm sat here, spontaneously bursting into laughter!!!

  Who, and where ever, you are? May You too have an absolute cracker of a day soon! :D

 

Started Ringing My Starlings, Today .....

  Actually written on the 28th of April. Dunno what happened there!

  Funnily enough, every year, this stresses the shit out of me.  It's not the handling, positioning and climbing the ladder.

 It's not opening these boxes and  being greeted by that miasma which, believe me, only a starling nest box can hit ye with.

  It's not the certain knowledge that, by the time I've finished? Despite my years of experience and the crafty little tricks I've developed? I Will end up stinking of starling shit! 

   No. It's the fucking Weather!

  Starlings hatch. Then, they're in that nest for three weeks. Second week, they've grown exponentially. 

  Eyes opening. Feather points coming through. Grips like gin traps. That is when I want to ring them! 

   It's, frankly, shattering work. Because ye so focused. Total concentration. Trying to be quick, yet careful and correct as ye can.

 Ye've also got to be absolutely certain the conditions, outside that box, are right. Their lives are, quite literally, in my hands!

  And, I've been praying for those conditions. Because I have a couple of dozen, active boxes to do. Average of five chicks in each.

 Forecast has been wind, rain and dead starling chicks, for ever!

  Today? It simply wasn't so bad! No rain. Wind was in the right direction. This Was It! I have, probably, a ton plus chicks to ring. Here we go!!!

  Grabbed my gear and checked it. Bird bags? Check. Ringing pliers? Check. Note book? Check. Pen? Check. C rings? Ch .....Ang about!!!

  Rings come on 'Strings', see? Strings are colour coded. A rings ~ finches, tits and shit ~ Yellow. B rings ~ Sparrows, greenfinch, what ever? Brown. C rings. Starling? Orange. 

  And, a year since I rung a starling, I'm staring at this string of almost a hundred rings. And the plastic is very, Very fucking Brown!!! That short stub, beneath it, was Orange. 

  I had just Twenty fucking Starling rings left!!!

  How the Hell did That happen?!! For a whole Year now, I've had these damn rings, Laying There, in my kitchen. In clear view.

  How The Fuck have I looked at almost a hundred, tiny rings, on a Brown string, and thought; " Mm. Yeah. Ready for the Starling season! "

  Ah well. Life's a bitch. Phoned my boss; 200 Starling Rings will, hopefully, be here for Wednesday.

  Forecast ~ though That changes by the day! ~ is good. Hope and pray that it is. And the rings get here.

  It'll be close. It'll be intense. I'll end up covered in projectile starling chick shit.

  But; This is what I live for, now.

When I End Up Covered In Blood .....

  When ever I'm trying to do something and I end up pissing with blood? That's, generally, right about the point where I say, " Fuck It! ". Down my tools and go get a beer.

  Well, I've just done that. Let me explain; It all started a few years ago. I finally gained myself enough free time and clear head to settle down to tinkering about, doing shit I felt like.

 What I felt like was making and putting up nest boxes for the wild birds around here. Tits are an obvious choice, of course. But, I also have a soft spot for starlings. 

  So it was that I built dozens of boxes and put them out and about, all over the area I comfortably strolled. And all was good. And the birds did come and, lo, they proliferated. Obviously then, I Did look upon this and see that it was good.

 Then, last year, the pine marten population, that had been teetering on the very finest point of balance, made that one, teentsy bit of effort ..... And avalanched, freefall, into total saturation!

  The result being that barely 10% of the chicks in my nest boxes got out alive. And I personally know of just One of my swallows nests that may have got away. Basically though, it was a route. A complete massacre. 

  Nest boxes were ripped into. Open, 'wild' nests were ripped apart. As were any birds caught on or in them.

  Obviously, I'm not about to sit back and see this happen again this year. So, first off I looked to my starling boxes. They're already building their nests.

  I cut seventeen, carefully measured, pieces of wood. These I then measured up again, for the entrance holes I needed to hole saw cut through them. 

  That done ~ some stained, to match the torn up boxes they'd be fitted to, to cover and strengthen the piney damaged holes ~ I pumped four screws into each of them. Ready to quickly fix to the active nest boxes with minimal disturbance.

  I felt quite pleased with that little burst of activity. Untill, that is, I married one up against the face of one of my nest boxes. Then tried to open said box!

  I should point out that the upper half of the front of my boxes forms the lift out / up door. The top edge moves back, into the box. Bit like an up and over garage door.

  Only, with an inch thick lump of timber strapped to it? The door couldn't budge. Great. Seventeen pieces of carefully measured and cut wood. Seventeen carefully cut fucking holes. Fuck Knows how many fucking screws put in ....!

  All for nothing. I'd forgotten my own golden rule (because I'm fucking useless) of Always trying shit for fit. All that time, effort and materials, down the pan. Imagine my delight!

  Okay. Fuck sake. Spilt milk and all that. Think ..... I'd tried hole sawing a 40mm hole through some thin, steel cladding I have here. It laughed at me!

  Think some more. Thinner metal? Tin? Beer Kit Tins Tin??? I have plenty of those! Got one. Got the tin shears out and went to town. 

  Cut myself a sheet out and held it firmly down onto my block of scrap timber, on the window sill. Pressed the drill firmly down and pressed the trigger.

  Much whirring. Couple of sparks. Bit went through. Teeth scratched at it. Damn!

  I took the drill off and examined the tin. Hmm. Not what I'd hoped for or expected. But, wasn't it getting there?  I put the bit back in the hole. Applied that bit more pressure. Pressed the trigger .....

 " VrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRHH!!!!! " SPIN!!! Fucking piece of tin shot round like a malicious Catherine Wheel! I just registered that really, Seriously scary touch against my thigh (I have a Thing about catching my femoral artery!) when my thumb exploded!

  That's it. Fucking blood everywhere! First Aid training kicks in. Hand straight up in the air. " Please, sir; May I be excused? I've just fucking butchered myself here! "

  For fuck sake. And that's why I'm sitting here. Having a beer. Thumb swathed in heavy duty plaster strip. Kitchen looking like a set from a Shlock Horror film.

  I'm pissed off. Really, Deeply fucking pissed off. Because I nearly took my thumb off.

  Well, now? It's Gloves Off ....!

    

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.

 

What The Fuck Did They Eat ....?!?

  I was up at Noel's northern farm yard, today. He has two farm yards. North and south. He lives along the road from the southern one and his northern one is up behind me.

 Anyway, I've spotted that his new cow shed is fucking perfect for Starling Nest Boxes and so was up there today, putting the first few up.

  I'm hanging them on the north facing wall of this nice high, really long shed. They face out onto nothing but acre upon acre of nothing.

No one can even see them, unless they come through the gate and intend to trudge off into the distance over rough pasture. Perfect for both Starlings and peoples aesthetics. Out of sight, out of mind.

 Only, as I was up my ladder, fixing the second one in position, that's when I happened to glance down and spotted it. Horrible.

 It was a sort of orangey brown colour. Smooth and glistening. It lay curled in the grass beneath me. And they say St. Patrick got rid of all the snakes in Eire? Well, he'd fucked up with this Bad Boy!

  This area is known as ..... well, suffice to say it begins with an 'S'. We'll call it " Scammel ", just for the purpose of this discussion. And I thought; " Fuck me! The Scammel Serpent! The Snake Of Scammel! A Legend!!! "

  And, of course, ye know how these kind of things have a sort of magnetic allure all of their own? It's like a train wreck; Ye shouldn't. But, ye can't help looking.

 Of course, as a Rat Catcher, it's second nature for me to go straight into Detective Mode around such things, despite myself. I came down the ladder. Bent over. And had a fucking good look.

 I wanted to believe Dog. Because the colour and consistency suggested a Dog fed on that carcinogenic shit people feed Dogs these days. Disgusting little pellets of vet kill and shit.

 But, there's no Dogs of this size and calibre in the area. No Dog had done this. Ah! And I was right! There it was. Barely a foot to the left, look. 

 A visible scrap of that blue paper towel they sell big rolls of, in the agricultural store in town. Dogs don't wipe their arses on paper towels.

 Noel. His wife. Their two sons. They all come down here, checking on the cattle. But, it's only a minutes drive for them and they wouldn't be here long. 

 Who of them ~ and why ~ did they produce this abomination of the bowel? This catastrophic colonic cast off. Why couldn't they have waited till they'd got back home?

 What The Fuck Did They Eat ....?!?