Visitors - nice and nasty

The Nice
It was getting late in the evening, around 9pm, the frost already glistening in the moonlight but our country silence was broken by a heart wrenching howl, bordering on screeching.  Hunky Hubby and I donned gumboots and jackets along with headlamp and ventured out in the darkness to identify the sound, worried that a dog had been thrown from a truck and was entrenched somewhere in the paddock.  Once outside the paniced creature went quiet so Hunky Hubby went to get the car, we were going to need much more candle power if we were going to find this hound.
It wasn't long before the headlights identified the glistening orbs of two terrified eyes reflecting out of the darkhess and only a few minutes longer to encourage a cold, wet and fearful Labrador/Beardie cross between the fence railings and into the car.
We drove our passenger to the nearby farm but no one was home so back to ours and secured him in the shed with the creature comforts of a duvet, a feed and a bowl of water.  He seemed placid enough but all creatures in shock behave accordingly so until morning, this poochy was going to have to accommodate a little rough. 

Phone calls were made to local farms with no joy before bed but I was confident someone was going to be looking for our late night visitor and if not, he would have a good home with us.
The next morning the first port of call was to allow our shaggy intruder out for ablutions.  No interest in the ducks or chooks who were already up and vocal inspite of the early hour.  A feed and a cuddle and back to bed for a bit longer.
I got on the computer and created a flyer with a couple of pictures taken at day break (to drop off at the butcher and local supermarket) and then I took our visitor for a truck ride to the vet to see if he was microchipped, alas he was not.  He wasn't recognised by the staff either so after leaving a flyer, it was back home.
I decided this gentle giant was definately a much loved pet so risked bringing him indoors on the lead, assuming he would rather snuggle in front of the fire instead of be left in the shed or in the garden.  No aggression towards Taiza, no interest at all in Monster, the cat, so things were looking really good.  I was liking this old boy a lot.
And then a knock at the door changed everything.  A gentle man and lady stood apart from my ice clad path on the grass trying to snatch a little warmth from the watery morning sun enquiring if I had found a dog, anticipation and tentative excitement spreading across their faces when I opened the door and called to my visitor 'Mummys here'.  As the woolley mammoth made a bee line for the gentleman, the lady was hugging me furiously thanking me for finding her boy.  Apparently she had called one of the farmers in the morning that I had called the night before and they told her where he was having his overnight vacation, thank goodness for the country grapevine.

His name is Guinness and he is seven years old and like my smallest chook with the same name, a bit of a Houdini.  One of three dogs, him and his smaller companion managed to sneak out through a hole in the fence at their home about 5 km from ours.  Once free it was likely the lure of a runaway rabbit across the fields that found Guinness in one of ours.  Lucky for him, and his family, he had been discovered by like minded animal lovers and was well taken care of, and now he's returned home to his family.
The thank you card that followed from his folks mentioned that come Thursday, Guinness has an appointment at the vet for microchipping. 

The Nasty
Each evening before bed, Taiza has a nature call.  This is also the time that I check on the ducks to make sure everyone is bed and often put the drier on a bit longer in the shed for the evening load of washing.  This night I could hear some scratching in the chook shed against the metal walls.  In passing I commented to Hunky Hubby that perhaps there were some rodents in the shed but then it was quickly dismissed.
A couple of nights following the three amigos were still outside in the cold and damp when I did my nightly rounds, under protest I eventually had them rounded up but the next night it was the same scenario.  Convinced our terror tunnelers were back we donned the trusty headlamp again and searched the chookhouse, lifting the straw and the wooden pellet beneath, sure enough there was the evidence, piles of dirt and stones on top of the flagstones.  As it was late and very cold, we threw in a poison bait and put everything back for the night.
The next day I was back pulling the shed apart, this time lifting the flagstones as well and found the loose bait in the middle of a large nest along with a decent pile of chook food.  I destroyed the nest, filled in the tunnels, nailed baits to the underside of the pellet and after taking a mental note that there was more tunneling under the nesting cupboard, put everything back until the weekend when there was more time.
That was a couple of days later.  This time I took all the straw out completely.  Because the three amigos sleep in the chook house, I cover the entire shed in straw to keep them dry and to stop me from slipping, its so easy to remove a fouled slab of straw and replace it with fresh.  The soiled slab goes straight out to the garden under the trees as fertilised mulch so nothing is wasted.
After moving the cupboard, and filling in the tunnels beneath I decided to check the baits under the pellet and there she was, big and brown and nasty.  Initially I was going to stomp on her but then I envisaged her running up my pants leg and freaked myself out.  She somehow managed to squeeze under the flagstone and made a bee line for the exit under the wall of the shed that I had filled in.  I could see her tail under the corner of the flagstone so jumped on it and discovered it had movement so I jumped on the opposite corner to provide some lift.  For a few seconds I stomped on the flagstone in the method of a see-saw.  I stopped briefly, the tail twitched so a few more stomps.  I'm no light weight so she had to have succumbed to the pounding pressure of my stomping.  Gingerly, using the pinch bar, I edged up the corner of the flagstone.  Her head and shoulders were under the wall of the shed and her hips and tail inside.  I had to make sure she was dead and not suffering so I pulled her out by the tail and gave her a quick sharp smack to the skull with the hammer, and then I felt sick!.  I had just killed one of God's creatures that I had no intention of eating.  I stood and prayed for forgiveness at the same time proud that I had just killed the rat that was tormenting my ducks.  I was hot, sweating but proud, but I got the bee-arch and even took the photo to prove it.

Dreams versus Reality

Isn't it strange how we can spend years dreaming about something but once that desire becomes a reality, it somehow looses its importance, or perhaps we just loose the passion that drove the desire?

When I was a little girl walking to school in Motueka I would go past the home of an older girl that had just got her first car.  To me, she may as well have just landed on the moon.  The reality of me ever owning a car seemed too fantastical.

When I was 17 I had my second real boyfriend, hindsight being 20/20 I would of been better off not to but every experience we have in life directs us to where we end up so for that I am grateful.  This chap had a Honda CB100 motorcycle, turned out it was his second bike but his Triumph 650 Bonneville had been stolen so I missed out on the classic REAL motorcycle.  Anyway, he had promised to take me to the movies, it was the first showing of the first Star Wars movie.  He'd had a couple of ales on his way home, he slid in some gravel and did them both some serious injury  That was the end of the date but the beginning of my dertermination to learn to ride so that I never had to miss out on something because of someone elses behaviour again.

There were some horrendous journeys on that CB100 over the years but that little bike was also my training ground for motorcycle mechanics as I rebuilt it, and the CB650 Custom that followed it a few years later.  Granted my butt was incredibly smaller in those days, the thought of this arrangement adorning that tiny frame is all but farcicle.

Anyway, I digress.  Back to the dream, it was always the Harley Davidson.

The CB 100 dude ended up being husband #1 and that ended with a broken CB 650 Custom which in turn was replaced with another CB 650 Custom albeit without the stainless steel pipes.  A broken marriage, a broken bike and a broken body (not literally, just a lot of bruises that took many months to heal) it was time to move on.  The accident knocked my confidence around but it didn't keep me off the back of a motorcyle for long.  Over the years that followed the CB 650 Custom became a Suzuki GSX1100 and then a Honda 700 Magna which in turn gave way to motherhood until 2007 when the Beast arrived - originally a Yamaha XS1100 it was unrecognisable as it had been when it left the factory but for me it was love at first sight, of course the price helped too as it was totally affordable.

The Beast was all muscle, it was black, it was heavy and it was loud, very very loud.  I reckon the previous owner was a Harley wanna-be so it suited me to a tea, cause that was me too although I don't think I would have ever butchered this bike to the degree it had become.  It wasn't long however and the Beast became a financial black hole and a potential death trap so it was time to repair and replace and the dream finally became a reality.  Caution gave way to insanity as I commited myself to a $21K debt to ride my dream machine, a 2008 Harley Davidson XL1200 C, 105th anniversary edition.  To tell the truth, if it wasn't for meeting Hunky Hubby #3 I don't think I would have returned to motorcycling after junior parenting but because of his passion and encouragement it was a natural progression, also helped immensely that he proposed while test riding the Harley Davidsons but that is another blog :-)

I was absolutely precious about the XL1200C, it was the only brand new vehicle I had ever owned and it had taken a lifetime to realise the dream, 46 years. I was in heaven.  I had my bike and I was engaged to Hunky Hubby, the only thing missing was the place in the country but that was to come less than six months later.  Thanks to the musical persistance of new neighbours we left Bishopdale in January of 2008 and moved to Southbridge.

The cottage was awesome, the driveway was dusty and so began a disgruntled relationship with a bucket and brush to keep the beauties clean as by now Hunky Hubby was on Harley number 2,  a lovely Softail that I was also privileged to ride, usually in the rain when it was due to be taken to town for a service but it wasn't really a chore.  It was big and black and loud, oh what a beautiful note it cracked!  But with our country lifestyle also came sacrifices and the extra hours travel to town meant that we stopped attending the Ulysses bike club meetings mid week.  It also meant that the average 250km ride became 350km so we began to pick and choose the events that we attended and then our weekends became so labour intensive that the riding diminished to the point a ride had to be added to the calendar just to be included into our lifestyle.

This year began tough.  With Hunky Hubby still struggling to find a permanent position and the government threatening, and succeeding, to increase registration on motorcycles, we had to face cold hard facts.  Our lifestyle had surpassed the dream and now the two just weren't compatible.  The decision was made to let the bikes go.  I think we both immediately went into mourning and began second guessing our decisions but it was meant to be.  The bikes spent more time in the shed than on the road, our lifestyle was more designed to a truck than a motorcyle so for now, the dream was overshadowed by reality.

It's probably been three months now since the Harley sold and to be totally honest I haven't missed it.  I decided to sell the car too and followed the lifestyle we now lead when I purchased the Ratbag.  With #1 son moving out again in a couple of weeks, and he too the proud owner of a truck (following in his mummys footsteps, so proud), it just cements that the decision to sell was the right and practical one.  Hunky Hubby is still unable to find a permanent position and we are facing some incredibly tight financial times ahead therefore no time for expensive dreams just now but...................in the future, perhaps a trike, a Harley Davidson of course!