The Hills are Alive! with the sounds of shagging

My walk today left me in no doubt.  Spring has well and truly sprung and there is little you or I can do to halt it.  And why would we want to dampen this fulsome explosion of warbling and coupling?  The hedgegrows are bursting with saucy overtures and one (particularly drab) little bird was making downright lurid approaches from her elevated bower.  Pairs of swallows were jostling in the air and the forest was quite palpably aquiver. Mallard Ducks are in bill to bill combat over their lady love in the marsh at the foot of Gorse-Hill.  Yes, the Finn Valley is all a-shaggin'.  

One should not however assume that this extends to the human folk of these regions and instead I have already encountered my fair share of sour faced of flat capped codgers today.  Alas I too can lay no claim to be all a flutter in a daffodil field.  Utterly, utterly crap and no sign of the drought breaking before said daffodils wilt.  

Nothing for it but to go out and get oneself a puppy, you can never have too many.  And so here she sleeps, curled up on my lap, all 9 weeks, two ears and one waggy botty of her.  Mrs Thatcher,  (not her real name) has already been mistaken for a quinea pig twice, once by the hot vet (one can only hope the identification was made in jest) who really should know better. More disturbingly, whilst I was escorting Mrs Thatcher outside on her 3am toilet call, it was quite chilling to hear the owls hooting very very close by.  I snatched puppy from the exposed lawn just as soon as she was done and we beat a very haste and frightened retreat. 

Collie Wobbles and Banana McFly (not their real names) are not exactly thrilled by the new arrival.  Banana McFly sensibly just removes her self from the annoyance og the upstart constantly wanting to bounce and play and gnaw on ones superb licourice colored ears. Collie Wobbles is less English about the whole thing and tends to bare her gnashers and then boot Mrs Thatcher to the other end of the carpet as she makes a speedy and pointed exit.  I am surprised she doesn't slam the door and shout "I hate you! you don't understand me!"

I think she's lovely and we are already firm friends.  

PS Poor Seabiscuit, only recently back from the horse-pital were he indeed had his biscuits unceremonially removed, is back at the fine equine facility having come a cropper out on a hack.  You wont be surprised to hear that it was indeed carnally cavorting sparrows in the hedge that spooked him- no telling what horrors his young eyes fell upon, whatever they were they caused poor innocent Seabiscuit to flee the scene of the crime in some haste.  Lets all hold hooves he recovers well and can come home soon. 

Lack of blogging due to extended trip to Africa.... High jinx and capers of creatures and blogger to resume shortly...

Vetting the local talent

Very disturbing news doing the rounds on the local rumour mill - well, actually just the local tire and exhaust place -  is that the very hot local vet (hot in talent, hot in looks) is taking himself off to Australia. This is outrageous news!  I suppose koalas get sick too, I couldn't tell, you don't look at those intense high octane koalas and say, oooh well Crumpet's been really lethargic doctor, do you? Koalas don't really have great big vaulting gothic ambition do they?  I digress, back to the hot vet, who is in fact Banana Mcfly's dedicated health care professional and saw her through some very unpleasant surgery (rabbit hole, labrador leg, high speed chase etc).  Said charming vet has been the only ray of hope in the dark days of McFly's health problems and yes I admit, I did sometimes think, not without aching sympathy for poor Banana Mcfly whose leg was very sore again, oooh well, not all bad, at least we get to visit the dreamy vets.  I say Vet"S" because one day McFly's dedicated man wasn't available and a replacement was offered.  My heart sank, great, McFly  is hurt again and there isn't even the consolation of seeing the dreamy vet, I think I should refuse to pay, this really isnt... oooh, Hello Mr Vet Man.... ooh no, she's just twisted it again... giggle..... twirl.... blush.  That practice is crawling with impossibly handsome men.  Its a bit like a boy band;  preppy vet, sporty vet...   Utterly outrageous.  I even sulked when Mademoislle Banana McFly received copious, yes copious, numbers of kisses on her nose to thank her for the Quality Streets she and Collie Wobbles left for Christmas.  I received exactly no kisses for the gift. Again. Outrageous. There is no official confirmation on the departure but I feel the lure of soporific koalas rings true for said character..... we are abandoned ....  Outrageous..... 

What to do? HIde the body....

This afternoon produced a situation in which you really really wish David Attenborough would turn up in his blue shirt and khakis and give you a blow by blow account of what you were looking at.  And to be fair dear reader I wasn't sure what I was looking at....

As ever, most adventures in this neck of the woods (and very nice woods they are too) start with myself, Banana McFly and Collie Wobbles setting out for our walk.  Yesterdays was a lovely 45 minutes in the snow and saw McFly pronking through the frost like a a gazelle, today, the snow had cleared and we headed off under blue skies and frosty air.  McFly, ever the vigilant hunter spent some some stalking a mole hill, poised on three legs, one front paw extended and nose  arched forward, she leaps, she lands and in a flurry of paws like rotator blades within seconds, her whole head is down a hole. Her strike rate isnt great but according to some local "Mole Man"  we only have 3 moles on the property anyway.  You mean 300? or 3000? no ... 3.... erm ...okay...

Anyway... back to Banana McFly who today  hits the jackpot and emerges from the dig with her trophy mole! And a big 'un he is too.  After letting her give him a the requisite neck breaker head shaker move so beloved of dogs, I go over to examine the little chap.  

Rather beautiful really, fantastic front diggers, neat little snout, lovely dusty brown colour... not wearing his boating outfit today I see, but then I did extract a drowned bloated Ratty from the horses water bucket this morning (what CSI would call a "floater") so boating and visiting Toad may not be on the agenda this afternoon. 

Further inspection of Mr Mole reveals that he is a subtle, modest sort of creature and feels soft to touch. Oh dear he' has some straw on him let me just move that off.... oh its... not.... its n..... AAAaaaaahhhhhhh!!!  OMG!!!!  ergggghhhh ...... oooh ..... the blank unholy horror of realising I have just flicked a male mole's protruding unmentionables is just too awful to relive even in memory. Instant panic, sweats, horror, yuck and yuck and also YUCK.

What do I do now? I have just unwillingly participated in some bizarre countryside pornographic mole snuff movie.... what to do?  Nothing for it but to hide the body and act natural.... I grab Mr Mole by one powerful digger, dash across the field to a tree and pat him into the ground under a large piece of moss under a tree and immediately shout- Ballie!! Come along doggies.... act cool and walk away.... just walk away.....I suspect this is one of those (forgive the pun) seminal countryside experiences that will surely never fade from the memory. Ever..... EVER....  

Collie Ballie (a new variation of Pooh Sticks)

For those who have never played Collie Ballie I should warn that it is not for the faint hearted and involves much more kinetic involvement than its more genteel cousin, Pooh Sticks.

To begin with, ask your Collie to come on a walk with you, take along a tennis balls, a ball chucker and a determined stride as well as a well hones truck driver's baratone which is the only voice some labradors will respond to. And so off you go diligently throwing the ball from left to right watching in delight as the genius that is Collie Wobbles (not her real name) flies on the wings of Apollo from one end of a field to the other as your work your way across the Valley.  At some point on this rural amble, usually shortly after the Labrador, Banana McFly (also, not her real name) has ambushed a herd of 12 cows (or, the Rosery Massive to those local to this farm), she and the Collie will repair to their favourite spot on the river banks to cool down by wading in a little and drinking deep on the restorative waters of the somewhat flooded Finn Valley.  As collie Wobbles in no expert on things like localised flooding and liquid velocity it is with horror that she notices that her Ballie has been swept away by the waters. In a flurry of hysterical woofs, which crescendo into a high voltage yelp, Collie wobbles watches her Ballie head downstream and some speed.  And so begins the game.  Collie wobbles paws at the water whilst yours truly starts running down the river on an increasingly precarious and very slippery river bank.  Banana McFly notices that some sort of panic is underway and immediately throws her whiplash tail into the fray. So note the elements of a good game of Collie Ballie- one escapee tennis ball heading down stream, one hysterical yelping collie, one underfoot, over excited labrador and one childless woman, clearly struggling to separate the nouns "child" and "dog" as she throws concerns for her safety to the wind and barrels headlong down a river bank adjacent to a very fast moving, very deep, very murky river.  It is important for the  human involved in this game to occasionally scamper further down the embankment, dangle their full weight from a dried out thistle and stab wildly at the passing ballie with the ballie chucker shouting- "Dont worry Collie Wobbles!!! we'll catch it on the next bend!!!"  before throwing herself back up the embankment and scamper along to the next feasible stop.  Labradors find Collie Ballie a super game and like to jump in and out of the river all the way without actually bothering to retrieve said ballie as the fun is really in running back up the incline to shake all over their person and taunt the collie with their superior swimming skills. 

Finally the game comes to an end when the human announces "Sorry Collie Wobbles, we'll have to leave it its gone into the rapids now." At which point the collie looks quizzically, cocks her head to one side, turns to the river and launches herself full throttle off the stubbled bank and into the swell. "Come back Collie Wobbles!!! All is forgiven !!!!!! "  Collie wobbles doesn't even need to paddle as she is spirit down river, keeping her ears dry and her tail held aloft the waves like a beautiful sail, she catches up with her ballie on the corner, transforms her tail into a rudder and drifts ashore with all the elegance of a swan.  She looks tranquil and smug as Banana McFly and yours truly look on in amazement, wheezing and panting.  Great game, needs three to play, winner takes all.