Tag Archives: chickens

Evolution Can Be a Bitch.

The average human being is a pretty incredible creature. Apparently, we consist of some 100 trillion cells (what anorak sat and counted?), we can distinguish tens of thousands of scents, a million colours and store 1000 terabytes of memories. Apart from teeth, we repair and regenerate the cells in our bodies so that every ten years we are physically a new person. Not bad for a species that is 70% water and shares 50% of its DNA with bananas, 60% with chickens, 84% with dogs and 96% with chimps. It is those minuscule differences that make us what we are. I read somewhere that if the human genome was written down, it would fill nearly 300,000 pages and only the last couple of hundred would contain the parts that make us the individuals we are. Unless you come from Kentucky where everyone has the same DNA.

We have evolved as bipeds and for humans to be able to walk upright, we do not have opposable big toes. This in turn means that our feet are arched and this enables us to walk the way we do. We continue to evolve and toes are as good a place to talk about as any. As a rule, each human has 5 toes on each foot. The big toe and the next 3 along do whatever they do, but the human little toe is evolving faster than they are. It is becoming increasingly sensitive to the extent that it has now developed into a sensor of hard objects in low light environments. It finds these hard objects by hitting them and then informs you that it has found the armchair/bed leg/door frame by sending a wave of excruciating pain to your brain. Forget child birth. Forget kidney stones. Forget a kick in the ‘nads. This fuckin’ hurts! So much so that it is impossible for the human who has recently rediscovered the whereabouts of the door frame that’s been in the same place for centuries, to swear. Instead, all that can be managed is;

Ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah (all very quietly because it’s 3 o’clock in the bloody morning and you don’t want to wake everyone up) ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah (until eventually) ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah Ffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffuck it! You manage to swear.

How do I know this? I know this because last night, at 3 o’clock in the bloody morning, I discovered where the door frame to the toilet is courtesy of that wonderful appendage, my little toe.

Have a wonderful day.

More Dick soon.

auto

With apologies to the inhabitants of Kentucky who, I am sure, are very nice people all with their own unique DNA but I couldn’t find a picture for Louisiana.

One Down, Plenty More To Go.

20150904_084333

20150904_112117

20150904_074518

My sister Boo is a very efficient person. She and her husband have to be. They own a small holding with a great many animals to care for.20150904_082538

20150904_082909

20150904_082749

So when I arrived in Wales to look after their place I was given a great many important instructions. So, for instance, I know where the chocolate cake is.

The care and feeding of all the animals was carefully explained to me. The clucks and ducks get fed twice a day. One type of food in the morning and another in the afternoon. I know where all the bedding materials are, what to do with the eggs once they are collected, when the bin men come and how to divvy up the general rubbish with the recycling and what bags each go in.20150904_112504

20150904_112608

I know what to do with the crops in the poly tunnel, how often to water and what type of watering (deep root at present).20150904_112421

20150904_112431

However, Boo failed to give me one important piece of information and misled me on another. The misinformation first. She told me the battery powering the electric fence had no power left. Wrong! As I discovered when I brushed against the crotch high electric fence and received an electric shock to a part of my anatomy that no man should have shocked. Made my eyes water!20150904_084321

The information she forgot to give me was what the bloody hell do you do with a dead chicken?

When I let them out this morning one of them stayed in the hen house, so I gave it a poke and said;

“Oi you lazy bugger. Time to rise and shine.”

It stayed put. So I picked it up to discover rigor mortis had set in.

“Oh bugger!” was my first thought. Then I thought,

“What the fuck do I do with it now?”

Couldn’t eat it cos it wasn’t an eating chicken and I didn’t really fancy plucking, gutting and decapitating it. I’m not sure if you’re allowed to bury the damned things as it may be against the law as the carcass might pollute the water. I couldn’t just chuck it in one of the fields for the Kites and crows to eat. Well I could but the neighbours might get pissed about it. So what to do? I scratched my head. I scratched it again. I thought about it long and hard and after 3 or 4 seconds of thinking hard thoughts I put the carcass in a carrier bag, dumped it in the bin and let the bin men take it. They came today. Problem solved. I just hope any other critters that decide to snuff it do so in their sleep on a thursday night so they can go in the rubbish the next day. Unless its a bloody horse!20150904_084208

I think the bin men might notice if I binned a whole horse. Crikey, this farming lark is difficult. Decisions, decisions.

Time to go feed the animals again, water the crops, scratch Chalkys chest and throw his balls around the fields for him to chase.20150903_113235

Have a great day.

More Dick soon.auto

It’s Only Me

I have absent from the blogging world for a little while and I’ve just realised how long it’s been since I posted anything since returning from my holidays. I’ve knocked out a couple since then in the mista…

Hahahahahahahahahahahaha. I’ve just realised what I have written! “Knocked out a couple”…..? What must you be thinking of me? That I sit in front of my screen having a Jodrell while waiting for inspiration to strike? Hahahahaha.

Jodrell Bank

Jodrell Bank

Rest assured that I don’t. You’ll have to take my word for it though.

Work has been manic since my return and we have a new task that has been proving to be a bit of a nightmare. I always love it when my boss phones up and says;

“Houston. We have a problem, don’t you”!!!

My Boss

My Boss

It always means that the soft brown stuff has hit the fan and it’s heading in my general direction.

Anyway, that aside I did intend writing about the progress, or lack of it, in my garden but I’m in Wales for the next few days looking after my sisters smallholding

Boo & Guptas smallholding taken from the fields towards the house

Boo & Guptas smallholding taken from the fields towards the house

and all her critters and crops.

There are three horses,20150902_113751

20150902_113725

a dozen ducks,20150902_113333

a large, indeterminate number of chickens (they’re always scuttling about making it impossible for me to count them)

This chicken is called "Mrs Bogbrush"

This chicken is called “Mrs Bogbrush”

20150902_113411

and a labrador called Chalky

Chalky. Along with his favourite balls

Chalky. Along with his favourite balls

along with a semi feral cat called Morgan.

Morgan

Morgan

Plus all kinds of fruit and vegetables to take care of.

By the time Boo and her husband Gupta get back from their holidays, I suspect there may be slightly fewer animals to deal with!

It’s lovely here and it’s been some years since I’ve been in this part of the world and it was really pleasant to be driving along and recognising village names from back in the day when I was in Wales most weekends for canoe races.QuentinBonnetainAction

I might just take a wander down to some of them for a look-see and remember my long-lost youth. In the meantime though, I’m busy feeding animals, clearing out hen houses, shovelling up horse muck and picking raspberries, strawberries, aubergines and that kind of stuff. It’s bloody brilliant!

Boo and Gupta live on the edge of a small village not far from the coast. All the locals seem to be called by their job names as their real surnames are all Jones. Or it might be Evans or Jenkins or some other Welsh surname. So the bloke who delivers logs for the wood burners that everyone has is called Dickie Log, the school cook is Betty Cook, the carpenter is called Dai Saer (Saer being Welsh for Carpenter) and his wife is called Betty Dai Saer. The landlady of ┬áthe local pub, The Commercial Inn, is run by a lady called Betty Commercial. There’s another bloke called Dai Buns who may be a baker but may not and the guy who keeps all the roadside hedges trimmed is called Eaun Hedge!!! The local farmer is called John Ty Mawr (Ty Mawr is Welsh for Home Farm) and so it goes on. Boo and Gupta are called Boo and Gupta Wyndarra because the name of their smallholding is Wyndarra! Wyndarra being Australian but that’s just like my sister to put a spanner in the works! Apparently, most of the women (of a certain age) are named Betty as that was the name of the midwife who delivered them all. Electricity arrived in the village in 1963 and some of the inhabitants here remember revising for their school exams by candle light! The Interweb is unbelievably slow and it is taking me bloody ages to download the photographs I’ve taken but do you know what? I think it fantastic here. Boo and Gupta (so-called because of his love of curry. Also known as “Stink” when he’s had a curry!) dreamt about having this life for many, many years and they achieved it 6 years ago and I envy them. It’s not easy but it is plain to see that they are living the dream.1926889_654140781288958_206925591_n

I have to go give the clucks their afternoon feed now, so on with my wellies (I brought them along in case I found any stray sheep!) and off into the fields, the fresh air, the rain and the wind to feed the animals and think some thoughts.

Have a smashing day.

More Dick soon.auto