Charlie

On Saturday, while I was unpacking the float and Sabina was merrily dancing around me, my husband came over with a little box.  Inside was a tiny baby mouse, still alive.  It's eyes were still closed and it had just enough hair to stop looking pink.  He'd found it in the old compost bin.  (As opposed to the "current" compost bin, which is where all our food scraps go.)

Sabina was fascinated.  I wondered whether the little fella could be hand fed.  So we went back to the house, got a pipette out and tried feeding him with cows milk.  Sure enough, the little fella was keen to drink, and while he probably bathed in most of it, I was pretty confident that he'd had a good drink.

Then we put him to bed in a box, with a hot water bottle.  He shivered for a couple of minutes, then settled down and went to sleep.  Sabina was ecstatic.

When Papa came in she ran over to him and said "Charlie has had a feed and now he's sleeping in his bed.  Do you want to see?"

Papa gazed at me with concern.  "You've named him?"

I gathered that the baby mouse was intended as an interesting farm exhibit, rather than a new pet.  Hmmm ...

As I had no idea how often and how much a little 5 day old mouse needs to be fed, I fed Charlie whenever I had some spare time.  But in the evening I warned Sabina "I am not getting up in the middle of the night to feed him.  He might not make it.  Ok?"  She nodded.  But Charlie made it.  He was a bit cold in the morning, but he made it.  And he had a good feed for breakfast.

For the next couple of blissful days we fed Charlie as often as we could, and he seemed to be thriving.  Sabina had a go at feeding him, and it was wonderful to see just how gentle, careful and patient she was with him.  We stroked him, and massaged him, just the way his mother would.  He grew stronger, and more vocal, and sometimes wriggled with great force in our palm.  He was happiest when held in a gently closed fist.  And he loved having his stomach massaged - he would lie still on his back, with his feet curled up.  Sometimes he had a mind of his own, and it was obvious that one day, Charlie was going to be fast.  Very fast.

We probably spent hours with Charlie.  But they were all blissful hours.  Hours that we looked forward to.  All other tasks got done in half the time, so that we'd have more time with Charlie.  Charlie became our family time, our time out, our escape from the real world.

Then it was time for me to go to work.  While I was very tempted to take Charlie with me into work, and I could even potentially justify that while feeding Charlie for the umpteenth time I was actually thinking up the latest and greatest architecture, it was going to break some serious security rules.  So, Charlie, together with Sabina (who happened to have the day off school), went to my Mum's.

Now my Mum has a huge affinity for all things living.  Everything thrives in her hands and under her care.  But somehow, Charlie didn't survive the day.  All I can say is that my Mum was more interested in the well being of her granddaughter than her granddaughter's baby mouse, and she didn't have enough energy for both.

The little guy got a proper burial in our backyard, and we decorated his resting place with petals.  This certainly gave Sabina a positive way to move forward, and soon she had wiped away the tears and was gratefully hugging her guinea pigs.  But I must admit, that the little guy has left a gaping hole in my day.  Lets just say that the massive enthusiasm to get up in the morning is gone.

I am grateful for the experience; Charlie will be missed.

Friend or foe?

Mum and I drive up to the farm. We pop a few things in the kitchen, then I put my riding boots on and wander outside.

I'm in that wonderful fuzzy world of my own, thinking about what I need to do when a sixth sense stops me in my tracks. Motionless. I've got no idea why I've stopped. Slowly, I climb out of my little internal world, and proceed to look around.

Carefully I gaze at the path, and notice a scaly abnormality. A snake. Lazily strung out across the path and part of the garden. My husband has seen him (or her, I guess) around here before. I take two large steps back and look for something to throw. I find a flimsy piece of bark. I throw and just manage to lightly touch the snake. He stays put. I stomp my feet. I find another piece of bark. Eventually, with all the time in the world, he moves along.

I run inside, boots and all, and show the slithering scaly reptile to my mother. I get an earful about keeping the grass short, and keeping the kids out of the grass. Even if it is short.

Guinea Pig dramas

No, the guinea pigs are not drama queens. We've had a couple of close calls with our guinea pigs. Sabina's guinea pigs.

The first close call was when we had the guinea pigs in their portable outdoor enclosure. The enclosure keeps them contained, but is totally open above them. So we cover it with an old fly wire door. But that only covers half the enclosure.

Anyhow, that's how they were when Sabina and I were walking a horse back to his paddock. We looked up and saw an eagle. We marvelled at his wings, at his head, at his tail. We marvelled at his beauty. Then "Sabina! The guinea pigs! Quick!", I shouted. The little girl didn't need a second prompting; she arrived breathless at her guinea pig enclosure and kept them company until the eagle flew away.

The second drama occurred just before dinner time. This time around the guinea pigs were in "Fort Cavy".

Sabina and I were inside preparing dinner. An odd sound caught my ear. Sort of like dogs barking. "Mama, I think I can hear dogs barking", said Sabina. I dropped everything. I don't even know if I left something on the stove or not. Without another word I bolted out the back door, to find "Fort Cavy" surrounded by two keen Jack Russell terriers. Words flew, dogs started running, and I kept chasing them till they were well down the driveway, tails tucked under. They were very lucky I didn't have a whip handy.

The guinea pigs were just fine.

Dogs

Hunters frequent the state forest next to our farm. They've been out there for days. They have a machine that makes different animal sounds. Even I can tell the difference between a real animal, and the hunters' machine sounds. And the horses usually pick up the hunters from 2km away. Mainly, they hunt deer with dogs and guns.

Well they are out there today, making their fake bird sounds. I wish they would just get over it, as I saddle up Bess and Tornado. Crownie is a bit stiff through the back, and Sabina is really keen for me to ride Bess.

We ride out. It's a gorgous day and just lovely to be out there. Somewhere in the distance the motorbikes are out, and I stay vigilant. Bess lacks forward. I put it down to her character, and the motorbike noises.

We stop for a break on the side of the road. Sabina enjoys sitting in the shade and eating her snack, while I hold the horse and pony. Tornado seems happy enough, but Bess is disturbed. She keeps gazing in the direction of home and feeling anxious. I find this rather odd, as she is such a placid easy going horse. Either she is really hanging out to go home, or I have an electric seat.

As we mount up, Bess spins around so fast that I almost fall off. Oddly enough, she spins around and wants to run away from home. Strange.

We head towards home. Sabina keeps hanging back and chatting - sometimes to me, sometimes to herself, sometimes to Tornado. Bess remains on edge. Then I see them, two grey shadows ambling hesitantly down the road. Hunting dogs? Strays? They look like two huge greyhounds - each standing taller than Tornado. Their coat looks unkept, and it gives them a wild, somewhat savage look. The one closer to us has his tail tucked under his legs.

When they see us, they hesitate. We are half their prey, and half their masters. They look confused. Sabina is torn out of her childlish fantasy pony ride. "Mama!" I take a more solid grip on my whip. Thank God I brought one, and thank God I brought the one that does damage. I move Bess to shield Sabina. "Go home!", I call out sternly. I wave the whip at them. "Go on! Go home!".

They turn around, take another look at us, then slowly walk back up the track. Sabina's got the hang of it now, and she's fully roaring at them like a ferocious tiger. Thanks to her endless tiger games she's actually got a roar worth reckoning. The dogs, break into a trot.
 
We follow the dogs. I keep a very watchful eye on them. Sabina goes back to ambling 20 metres behind me, but she keeps roaring. From the farm, Pete watches the strange procession. He can't see the dogs - just me, and a screaming Sabina behind me. He thinks that Sabina is just having a bad time, and waves to us with jolity.

Finally, when we're at the state forest gate, and I see the grey shapes slinking along at the bottom of the valley, I breathe a real sigh of relief. We start laughing at our adventure. Deep down I marvel at Bess' trust in me, and Tornado's calmness. What awesome horses we are so lucky to borrow and own. (Thanks Lisa!)

Bullant

I am busy making dinner when the sliding door opens.

"Mama!!!" cries out Sabina, full of tears.

I drop everything, race to the door, my mind conjuring up all the worst case scenarios, my heart reaching out in sympathy. I come to a sliding stop on my knees right in front of my little girl. She looks upset, for sure, her pants seem to be a bit dirty (but that's normal at the farm), but I can't really see what else is wrong.

"Mama!!!", she screams sobbing. "Get it off me! Get it off me!".

The fading light makes it hard to see, but I suddenly work out that the pants are not dirty - that's bullants crawling over my little girl - about four of them. Instantly, I brush them off with a couple of agressive strokes. Then I pick her up, sit her on a chair and rip the pants off in a single motion. It appears the bullant problem is solved.

"Ouaaa", sobs Sabina, pointing to a red spot on her leg. "That naugtie bullant! Mama, that was a naughtie bullant. I hate that bullant. It's a naughtie bullant. Why did the naughtie bullant bite me mama?"

(Yes, it's not a "naughty" bullant. It's a "naughtie" bullant. So cute!)

Letter box

I arrive at the three letter boxes, enroute to farm. The middle letter box is ours.

As I drive up to the letter boxes, I glance unintentionally at Sabina. Her eyes are fixed on something. They grow bigger, wider, more intense. She has stopped blinking, and perhaps breathing too. It's as though she has seen a snake hanging on the fence behind the letter boxes.

Yeah right! I giggle to myself, and turn around to look at the fence. OMG! I almost jump in my seat. There IS a snake hanging off the fence!

Never, ever, doubt your children's facial expressions!

One mouse down

I check the mouse traps in the morning. They haven't been touched.

I check the mouse traps in the afternoon. They haven't been touched.

I go out at night to feed the horses, walkie talkie on my chest. Carefully I look behind the feed bin at the traps. One of them is gone! My heart pounds. Where is it? I find it behind the oaten chaff bin. Mouse caught. Such a pity it's not the rat.

So now I need to get rid of the mouse. Carefully, with appropriate long range utensil, I open the trap. The mouse gently tumbles onto the floor, still soft in its movement. It's definitely dead, but as I put it onto the dust pan I half expect it to twitch or speak up. It does! "Are you right out there?", says Pete over the walkie talkie. I get such a fright I almost bounce the mouse straight into my face.

Rat!

We have a rat in the big shed. No doubt about it. We've always had mice, and I don't like them, but they don't cause much harm, and they do clean up the odd flake of oaten chaff. But a rat. He stinks. Big time. And he causes harm. He's already chewed through three plastic containers with fish fertilizer. And now he's chewed through my plastic container with barley. Enough is enough.

I set mouse traps. We've got a rat trap somewhere, but we can't find it right now. So mouse traps will have to do for now. Even if he just gets his paw stuck in it. How's he going to squeeze through his little escape hole with this trap dangling off his paw?

The packaging for the traps prides itself in high quality. One of the traps breaks as I'm setting it. I position it together with the other traps. Just in case. Fingers crossed.