Dogs Chickens and a Horse called Harry

I understand now it is mainly my fault, oh alright then, I know now that it is definitely all my fault, but then hindsight always has been a wondrous phenomenon and the curse of the ill advised.

When the telephone rang all those months ago it seemed at the time pleasant enough that my daughter had spared some time from her busy hectic and occasionally chaotic schedule to telephone and have a chat, perhaps I thought to enquire how her ageing parents were. We are going on holiday came the sudden announcement from the disembodied voice, very nice dear was my reply, anywhere nice? We wondered if you might have the dog whilst we are away enquired the distant voice.

We were used to taking in the dog, an ageing Jack Russell terrier, who though in real terms is perhaps thirteen years old, in his mind however he still thinks himself to be a lot younger, which often has the dramatic effect of turning him into a howling and snarling apparition at any moment and attempting to take on all comers from the postman to the Rhodesian Ridgeback that lives further down the road.

Maybe I should have been slightly more attentive or apprehensive when the voice then suggested it might make a nice change if instead of bringing the devil dog to us that we might like to come and stay in her house for the duration......................duration I queried, the faint tinkling of alarm bells at last causing my brain to work a little faster than it had been doing...................well we are going away for two weeks she said and there will be the chickens to feed as well...............at this point I tended to give up and passed the telephone to my wife with the parting words that she may like to speak to her mother. I then surrendered the telephone and went back to what ever it was I had been happily and blissfully doing before the telephone had rung five minutes earlier.

Occasionally in the background I could hear the odd snatch of conversation, the odd word and in general terms what seemed to me to be my wife agreeing with much enthusiasm about all manner of things, I think I closed my eyes briefly as I perceived my moderately happy sedate and ordered existence to very soon take a very sharp downward spiral. I heard the click as the receiver was replaced. Well that will be nice the lady of the house said as she entered the room retaking her seat in the armchair and picking up her glasses, there was a brief silence, what will I asked, what's that dear she mumbled without looking up from her book, it was in that instant that I knew my fate had been sealed, what will be nice I asked in a slightly stern voice, oh us going to stay in York and look after the animals while they are away on holiday, wont that be nice she said again.

Suddenly and in the space of no more than thirty minutes we had somehow agreed to uproot ourselves and move fifty miles away for two weeks to look after a house, some dog's chickens and Harry the horse, this seemed slightly more responsibility than just looking after a Jack Russell terrier. There was also the point about work, not yet at the age of retirement I still have to attend some gainful employment to earn a monthly wage and I wondered if it had occurred only to me that I would now have to commute fifty miles each way to work and back, though fortunately being a shift worker I would be able with some very careful planning and the kind agreement of some of my colleagues be able to shuffle a few shifts around and take a few shifts off allowing my friends to gain some well deserved overtime payments. However I would still have to attend work at some point during the two weeks period thus making me drive for fifty miles, work a twelve hour shift then drive back again for fifty miles, perhaps not an option I would recommend to everyone.

So many months later and here we are. We are now only two days away from the return home of what I assume to be a suntanned daughter and her husband and between my wife and I we have managed to maintain the house, keep the howling banshee dog fed watered exercised and out of any fights; well apart from the other day when the postman knocked on the door to deliver a package too large to post into the letterbox. It surprises me still how fast some of these postmen can run even whilst still carrying a bag full of mail, had it been me I would have jettisoned the post bag in an attempt to give me a slight advantage but all credit to the training system of Her Majesties Royal Mail and the diligence of today's postal workers that he kept it with him all the way.........................but even at thirteen years old my money was always on the dog.

The chickens have also survived, those who alive when we arrived are so far still alive, they too have been fed and watered daily given fresh straw for their nest boxes when required and we have collected their eggs. Which brings us to Harry. I attend the stables twice daily armed with carrots. He gets brushed and groomed and his stable is mucked out [this being an equestrian term I have learned] he is watered and turned out and I make the daily decision as to which rug to put on him and whether to leave him out overnight grazing in the field with the other horses or to bring him in to the warmth comfort and dryness of his stable and supplying a hay net and seperate water buckets.

However I am not sure Harry has fully understood the time effort and care I take on his behalf.

He has so far run around the field when I wanted to catch him, has stood and stared at me moodily from the opposite side of the muddy field, he has kicked me and even at one point bitten me. I have told him in no uncertain terms that there is a howling banshee devil dog at home that might make good use of a horse soon to be converted into dog food and glue should he continue in this way and I think now we have come to an understanding, I will bring him carrots and he will continue to do whatever he likes, well at least it is a partnership in progress.

So here I am almost at the end of the two weeks feeling as if I now need a holiday. It has not been that bad my wife keeps telling me and as always she is right, it has not, but soon I will be back to my quiet sedate and ordered life.................ah bliss..................but now I must go as I can hear the devil dog howling at the door and I need to go to the stables but first I have to collect the eggs from the chickens........................but as I know I only have myself to blame.

Much Goings On

Well the last week seems to have been dominated by the death of Michael Jackson, no matter which television channel or wireless station you tune to it is not long before Michael Jackson is mentioned, how he died, how he did not die, who was there and who was not there, how Neverland is to be turned into a theme park of some kind and then how it is not going to be turned into a theme park of any kind.

The world has been bombarded by general media hysteria about the life and times of Wacko Jacko. Much has been reported about what will happen to his children, did he or did he not leave a will, is there some conspiracy going on within the family to grab what they can, was he addicted to some drug or other and questions are again being raised about the aborted legal case of if he was some sort of pedophile or not. It just seems to go on and on and it is becoming mind numbingly boring.

I did not like Micheal Jackson as a person [not that I met him of course], I did not like him or any of his siblings when many years ago they performed as The Jackson Five and I certainly did not like any of his music as he progressed into adulthood. However I can understand that tastes in music are wide ranging and I can see that there were and still are tens of thousands if not millions of people around the world who did like his music. For them I suppose I am sorry for their collective loss.

I do know and understand how they may be feeling at this time, I know how I felt, for example, when the world lost the King of Skiffle Lonnie Donnigan and even early Buddy Holly, and god forbid the national wailing and breast beating when the sad day dawns [which we all hope is yet many years in the future] that Bert Weedon is taken from us, that sad event alone will no doubt introduce days if not weeks of national mourning and a worldwide outpouring of great sadness.

I am sorry for the fans that he is gone but for goodness sake enough is enough with the media frenzy. Perhaps to put it in context we should remember also this week of the passing of that American actress Farrah Fawcett an actress who won much acclaim for her many film and television appearances. We should not forget as well our own Yorkshire born National Treasure, Molly Sugden, who also sadly passed away this week, both events overshadowed unfairly I think by the Micheal Jackson media circus and frenzy.

We are a fickle lot when the subject turns to the weather. We it seems are collectively never happy. Last year I distinctly remember the seemingly never ending rain which lead to much flooding and in turn much damage to lives and property, all the Governments fault of course, when the media took what I thought to be great delight in reporting the many misfortunes of others. This year however the story has has been much different and certainly in the last couple of weeks we now find ourselves in the grip of a heatwave and temperature records are being broken, this of course all being the fault of the Government, and we moan now how hot we all are and we are being advised daily to seek medical advice if we feel too hot or are unable to sleep at night due to the excessive heat. Come on you lot make up your minds and stop moaning.

We have been away for a short break to Northumberland it was certainly very pleasant and the aforementioned weather was very nice. The hotel we stayed at was of very good quality and the service given by the many staff could not be better. I was slightly concerned at first that a Full English Breakfast for five days running would no doubt take its toll on my Charles Atlas like body but I need not have worried, a walk along the beach straight after breakfast each day was a delight and a good way to aid digestion and help maintain my rugged manly figure. Trips were made to Lindisfarne or Holy Island as it is more well known as, Berwick on Tweed, Alnwick and the Castle Gardens and Bamburgh and Seahouses, all places we have visited before but well worth visiting again. The food, beer, scenery and weather were outstanding and made for a very enjoyable few days away.