Had a near catastrophe yesterday afternoon. We opened the aviaries for the regular 'grazing of the galahs'. Marvin was in front of his aviary (he has to live separately as he beats up all the other galahs if he has the chance. His aviary is only 2 feet from the main galah aviary so although he can see he can't 'rough'). Fern and Obama were out and were in the little alley between the aviaries. Jack was also out. Luckily I was still nearby, removing empty veggie kebabs, food and water. Suddenly a hawk attacked a bar-shouldered dove in the alley. The dove crashed to the ground in a cloud of feathers while the hawk shot back into the sky. If I'd jumped I'd have been able to touch him. The birds screamed and climbed the aviary wire. R and I herded the birds back into their aviaries and then caught the dove. It had been ripped open from throat to under the wing exposing what shouldn't be exposed. I had several looks at it, weighing up whether this bird could be saved but each time I peeked it looked just too extensive. R put the dove down. It so easily could have been Fern or Obama. They were inches from the dove.
Now I am nervous about letting the birds out. They tend to separate. Obama and Fern go one way, Grevillea and Casuarina another. Marvin mostly sticks with me. Jack, being a large white cockatoo, would not tempt a little kestrel or goshawk but even he would be at risk from a kite or eagle. I wasn't game to let them out so picked them bindi-eyes instead. I know I'll let them out again. I guess it's just a reminder not to be as lax as I've been. I've been quite content for the birds to wander off into the paddock. I can see them but I'm not right there with them. This has to stop. If they're out they must be guarded. I must be vigilant - not just with my ears as I've always taken note of warning calls but with my eyes as well.
Dream: I am driving into town at night coming around the curve near Primac. I have been smoking dope and am wary of being pulled over by the police. No one is about. I am going to the surgery to pick up sympathy cards. I haven't had time to write them at work so I'll take them home and do them where there are no interruptions. (this part is true, I haven't had time to send out 8 sympathy cards for deceased pets). The surgery is different. It's a house but a house set down from the road. M and A are peering out. There have been rowdy groups of youths on the street. They are keeping quiet, the lights are off. A lets me in. M is in a bare white room. The surgery as I know it doesn't exist, it is just this strange cold little sunken house. I leave (with the cards?) and start to walk back up the road, around the curve to where I've left the car. It is quiet and lit by moonlight. Suddenly Drifter is with me. M said that with the cancer he has he'll only live three more years (Drifter is cancer free). Drifter is more like a hairy friend than a horse. I am grateful for his warmth and proximity. He gives me a slobbery grass-scented kiss on the lips. I wake up.
Retrieving session with Dimitri this morning. He was on alert too much to do very well. It was okay but his mind and attention were elsewhere. That is one problem with doing it on the verandah; every alarm call, every unidentified noise and rustle is heard and noted by the birds.
Jack is almost back to his normal self. A couple of days ago, when Algernon had returned for a 2 day visit after missing for 10 (Nidji has been missing for 2 days now) Jack was very territorial. Whether it was that or some other reason, Jack was in a foul attacking mood. Very aggressive, very touchy. So we just leave him alone. You can't convince him otherwise so it's best not to put yourself or him in a position where you've got to defend yourself. Just causes disharmony.
One morning I let Jack out so that I could get his food in. He trundled around beneath the gazebo, walked completely around the aviaries and then, perhaps because I was busy getting food and was ignoring him, he decided to charge. I could only retreat (which is not good but what other option is there when there is no warning?). Jack is more interesting and, despite his curmudgeonly behaviour, more lovable than ever.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Why is it I sleep well on days off and badly on days I've worked? I'm tired enough. I hit the pillow and think sweet oblivion will wrap me in slumber. I can feel it happening; the thoughts that are like flights of birds, birds that are without a compass and dive and sweep just for the sheer enjoyment. Then suddenly, without reason, I am yanked back into every day alertness and sleep has disappeared over some far horizon.
I stuck it out for an hour then decided to get up and do yoga. After forty minutes I was relaxed with that nice unobtrusive tingle which comes from yoga and still sleep eluded me. When I awoke it was nearly seven and the day felt like it had started for the train without me. I still feel that way. I've done the housework and the big push to get through the verandah (birds can do a lot of pooping in two days and that pooping takes alot of hands and knees scrubbing!) but I am without energy and have a tangible lassitude in my thinking, like cheesecloth makes a curtain between what I am capable of thinking and what I actually am thinking.
Had a great session with Dimitri on Sunday. We've just been working on targeting with him taking seeed from a small coop cup (he's so clever. I used to fill the coop cup but before taking it away he'd take a huge mouthfull of seed which would take minutes to eat. Now I use a shallow layer and he has to be content with a few seeds at a time). Anyway, we'd been working on that for awhile and I decided to try the retrieve again. I'm back chaining which means I put the wooden peg into the bowl and try and click when he picks it upand and drops it back in. He doesn't understand yet but just the fact that I wasn't clicking for when he dropped it out of the bowl and there was so much activity going on with clicks and treats and hands and movement he got quite (for him) blase with the exercise. I was very proud of him.
Even today while I was on hands and knees scrubbing the floor and he was in his 'penthouse' (a narrow 3' tall ex-compost bin with light and entrance holes cut in the sides with a ladder leading to a cocky cage with an entrance hole cut out the bottom) he didn't mind me being so close. He even preened himself! (His penthouse, now that he's learned to use it, has been very nice for him. He's up high and can see out and about yet he cannot fall and hurt himself. He had high perches before but if he got a fright he'd attempt to fly and would of course crash to the ground so this creation of R's has been a nice safe compromise).
There's a little budgie at work, handraised by K from the featherless stage. He's called Tony and is now old enough to fly. I was thinking about him on the way home the other day. I don't think his life at the vet surgery is ideal as he can get lost in the busy-ness of the day and not get time out for flying and one on one attention. Tonys valiant forgiving little heart brought tears to my eyes. Here's this bird, one of tens of thousands baby budgies bred and sold every day, often not regarded as more than a passing fancy, who is so sweet, so smart and so much a big BIG being it seems criminal the he and others like him are not lauded and loved more than they are. I know there are exceptions, many exceptions but they are out-numbered by the 'it's just a budgie' majority. But Tony is not 'just a budgie'. Neither is Cornelius. They are truly incredible creatures. I've love to 'rescue' Tony but of course I can't - and his life isn't bad. He's fed and watered. I brought him tree branches and showed how his cage could be lined with multiple papers on TOP of the wires so that a set could be removed each day and he would always have a sort of clean cage (budgies fossick on the ground like galahs and cockatiels). Still, for the most part he lives in the windowless tea room and only gets attention when someone has time - and in a busy vet surgery there isn't much.
I stuck it out for an hour then decided to get up and do yoga. After forty minutes I was relaxed with that nice unobtrusive tingle which comes from yoga and still sleep eluded me. When I awoke it was nearly seven and the day felt like it had started for the train without me. I still feel that way. I've done the housework and the big push to get through the verandah (birds can do a lot of pooping in two days and that pooping takes alot of hands and knees scrubbing!) but I am without energy and have a tangible lassitude in my thinking, like cheesecloth makes a curtain between what I am capable of thinking and what I actually am thinking.
Had a great session with Dimitri on Sunday. We've just been working on targeting with him taking seeed from a small coop cup (he's so clever. I used to fill the coop cup but before taking it away he'd take a huge mouthfull of seed which would take minutes to eat. Now I use a shallow layer and he has to be content with a few seeds at a time). Anyway, we'd been working on that for awhile and I decided to try the retrieve again. I'm back chaining which means I put the wooden peg into the bowl and try and click when he picks it upand and drops it back in. He doesn't understand yet but just the fact that I wasn't clicking for when he dropped it out of the bowl and there was so much activity going on with clicks and treats and hands and movement he got quite (for him) blase with the exercise. I was very proud of him.
Even today while I was on hands and knees scrubbing the floor and he was in his 'penthouse' (a narrow 3' tall ex-compost bin with light and entrance holes cut in the sides with a ladder leading to a cocky cage with an entrance hole cut out the bottom) he didn't mind me being so close. He even preened himself! (His penthouse, now that he's learned to use it, has been very nice for him. He's up high and can see out and about yet he cannot fall and hurt himself. He had high perches before but if he got a fright he'd attempt to fly and would of course crash to the ground so this creation of R's has been a nice safe compromise).
There's a little budgie at work, handraised by K from the featherless stage. He's called Tony and is now old enough to fly. I was thinking about him on the way home the other day. I don't think his life at the vet surgery is ideal as he can get lost in the busy-ness of the day and not get time out for flying and one on one attention. Tonys valiant forgiving little heart brought tears to my eyes. Here's this bird, one of tens of thousands baby budgies bred and sold every day, often not regarded as more than a passing fancy, who is so sweet, so smart and so much a big BIG being it seems criminal the he and others like him are not lauded and loved more than they are. I know there are exceptions, many exceptions but they are out-numbered by the 'it's just a budgie' majority. But Tony is not 'just a budgie'. Neither is Cornelius. They are truly incredible creatures. I've love to 'rescue' Tony but of course I can't - and his life isn't bad. He's fed and watered. I brought him tree branches and showed how his cage could be lined with multiple papers on TOP of the wires so that a set could be removed each day and he would always have a sort of clean cage (budgies fossick on the ground like galahs and cockatiels). Still, for the most part he lives in the windowless tea room and only gets attention when someone has time - and in a busy vet surgery there isn't much.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
dreams again
Dream: I am an observer for the first part of the dream. A tv journalist is reporting about the meat we eat. There is a huge elongated carcass hanging upside down, skinned and raw. It is divided into various cuts by diagrams so that we can see what we are eating. Behind and to the side is a woman, about 8 feet tall, thin and garbed in a orange and cream patterned skin suit. She is dark skinned and exotic with accentuated cheekbones and a long, kind of alien shaped head. She appears impervious to the fact that she will shortly be slaughtered. This, the reporter says, is tomorrows meat. Suddenly he realises what he is saying, what he is seeing and starts to cry. I think to myself, didn't you know? Where did you think the meat came from. The solution is simple, stop eating meat. The journalist quotes something, ta da ta da ta da tada TA DA! I don't remember it now nor do I remember who said or wrote it. It was apropos of the situation, the meat eating situation.
I am late for a flight. I have been living or staying in a two story house but my things are at another house, a duplication of the house I've been living in. When I go there however I see it is very different even though the houses were built at the same time and are the same age. The house I've been living in has been renovated. It's clean and has new aluminum window frames. I am shocked when I go into the other house. There is a kind grey haired woman living there but she is a bit vague and a terrible housekeeper. The house smells acrid. The carpet is worn and hasn't seen a vacuum in months, dirt and debris impregnate every last centimeter. There is clutter everywhere. The windows are different too. They are larger, longer and wood framed. I can't understand why this house is so filthy yet the woman is so nice. Then I am joining a queue waiting to check in for my flight. The queue meanders outside and down some steps. I'm last in line.
Deciphering the meaning? It's easy to see where some of the influences of the day were used in the dream decor; the carcass, the colouring of the skin suit, the houses but that's just window dressing for the meaning. I've no clue as to the meaning of the meat dream. The two houses dream seems a little easier. I believe the houses represent me, my inner life, my outer life. My outer life, represented by the renovated house, is sort of under control. The inner life, where I keep 'my things' is a mess; airless, filthy and cluttered. But the kind albeit vague grey-haired woman lives there. Me. Or some poor version of me who is stumbling along as best she can under the circumstances of neglect. The windows are a clue. They're old but they're bigger, longer. I don't remember what the view was from either house. Not sure how I can act upon this dream. Do know I need to keep a notebook again but as Natalia is sleeping with me (all 3 cats on the bed now), no pen is safe. She plays with anything that's not tied down.
I am late for a flight. I have been living or staying in a two story house but my things are at another house, a duplication of the house I've been living in. When I go there however I see it is very different even though the houses were built at the same time and are the same age. The house I've been living in has been renovated. It's clean and has new aluminum window frames. I am shocked when I go into the other house. There is a kind grey haired woman living there but she is a bit vague and a terrible housekeeper. The house smells acrid. The carpet is worn and hasn't seen a vacuum in months, dirt and debris impregnate every last centimeter. There is clutter everywhere. The windows are different too. They are larger, longer and wood framed. I can't understand why this house is so filthy yet the woman is so nice. Then I am joining a queue waiting to check in for my flight. The queue meanders outside and down some steps. I'm last in line.
Deciphering the meaning? It's easy to see where some of the influences of the day were used in the dream decor; the carcass, the colouring of the skin suit, the houses but that's just window dressing for the meaning. I've no clue as to the meaning of the meat dream. The two houses dream seems a little easier. I believe the houses represent me, my inner life, my outer life. My outer life, represented by the renovated house, is sort of under control. The inner life, where I keep 'my things' is a mess; airless, filthy and cluttered. But the kind albeit vague grey-haired woman lives there. Me. Or some poor version of me who is stumbling along as best she can under the circumstances of neglect. The windows are a clue. They're old but they're bigger, longer. I don't remember what the view was from either house. Not sure how I can act upon this dream. Do know I need to keep a notebook again but as Natalia is sleeping with me (all 3 cats on the bed now), no pen is safe. She plays with anything that's not tied down.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
4.9.10. Interesting night. Falling asleep I was aware of falling down/through/toward something. It is difficult to describe for I kept my *conscious* awareness at the same time as I was *falling* asleep. Yet there was the definite knowing that was aware of passing through/down/toward levels of consciousness that was connected to, at the same time as separate from, everyday consciousness. It was quite exciting.
Next day. Raining, raining, raining. Matisse, the Siamese and Radar, the whippet both have ringworm. My case has just cleared up. Not sure whether Natalia brought it into the house or I picked up from work and brought it home. Richard has it too. Not a big deal but annoying. Trying to treat Matisse is like trying to saddle an angry wasp. He's got two spots, one on each ear. I have to shut him in the bathroom with me and then scruff him to get it on.
We have two sick galahs hanging around. I wish we had some invention that could catch them from trees and telephone wires without harm. There is another galah with what I suspect is a broken pelvis. It looks all right otherwise and still seems to be in good condition. It can only move with difficulty and instead of standing on its legs it props on its keel. The other two are not in good condition.. There is one sitting on the wires in the rain, eyes closed, head drooping. By the time we are able to catch them they are usually too far gone to save.
The most bizarre galah death we ever witnessed took place in the big silky oak growing out of the old veggie garden. There was a galah near the top who caught our interest by its strange behaviour, flapping and jerking, and vocalizations. Suddenly it gave the most hair raising scream and fell from the tree. It didn't flutter on the way down. I think it was already dead. There wasn't a mark on it and it was in good condition.
Next day. Raining, raining, raining. Matisse, the Siamese and Radar, the whippet both have ringworm. My case has just cleared up. Not sure whether Natalia brought it into the house or I picked up from work and brought it home. Richard has it too. Not a big deal but annoying. Trying to treat Matisse is like trying to saddle an angry wasp. He's got two spots, one on each ear. I have to shut him in the bathroom with me and then scruff him to get it on.
We have two sick galahs hanging around. I wish we had some invention that could catch them from trees and telephone wires without harm. There is another galah with what I suspect is a broken pelvis. It looks all right otherwise and still seems to be in good condition. It can only move with difficulty and instead of standing on its legs it props on its keel. The other two are not in good condition.. There is one sitting on the wires in the rain, eyes closed, head drooping. By the time we are able to catch them they are usually too far gone to save.
The most bizarre galah death we ever witnessed took place in the big silky oak growing out of the old veggie garden. There was a galah near the top who caught our interest by its strange behaviour, flapping and jerking, and vocalizations. Suddenly it gave the most hair raising scream and fell from the tree. It didn't flutter on the way down. I think it was already dead. There wasn't a mark on it and it was in good condition.
Thursday, September 2, 2010
Thursday afternoon. Dimitri doesn't want to play. Too nervous about dogs, with sleigh bells ringing on their collars, and birds shouting hawk alarms. Have dishes to do but decided I'd listen to a new cheap ($2) CD I bought at Crazy's while I write just to write. The CD I use for yoga, all north American bird song (just love those red-winged blackbirds!) with voice and harp I found at Crazy's. It was such a joyful surprise that I keep hoping to repeat it. This one is Peace of Mind by Current.
Had a dream night before last in which my backyard had grown lush with unmown grass, dark green, moist and thick. I watched in delight as rabbits started to appear in the deepening dusk. They made a beeline for the grass and came in such numbers they were crammed in shoulder to shoulder, whisker to whisker. From my vantage point their bodies formed a teardrop, the large end towards me. Then an elderly grey whiskered terrier type dogs sauntered through from left to right scattering rabbits. I knew he would not harm them and indeed, they immediately started to filter back to feed on the grass.
Shorts again today. Well and truly into spring. Even for the computer. Took the side off the CPU because it was starting to overheat again. A much happier computer now.
Watched The Living Matrix that P had lent me. Had quite forgotten I had it but wanted something to watch besides Dr. Phil or a made for TV movie and scanned the pile of DVDs. R came in halfway through and was intrigued enough to watch the rest of it with me. He says he'll watch the first half later. I'm glad he's interested. Basically it's mind over matter, how our thoughts influence our health. I so want him to feel well, to be well, to move without pain, to live long and happily. He said yesterday after spending so much time in a nursing home he would never go there. Neither will I. Die at home or in some accident, not in a hospital or 'aged care facility'. Even the name is without heart, without compassion. Old Persons Home has more love in it than Aged Care Facility. So, we will be on a quest to live long and healthy lives until we are quickly and painfully snuffed out at the end. Perhaps a death during sleep when the transition is so gentle one hardly knows one has left.
Oh, the miracle of life! How easily I forget what a miracle it is to be alive. In the billions that have come before me, lived their lives and died - now it is my turn to experience this creation. How little of it three score and ten can really live. It is a dust mote in the jet stream. There's not a moment to lose and I've lost so many. How can I trust myself and Life so that I live without fear to the fullness which this mind and body and heart are capable. How can I lose fear so that I can create beautiful things and leave something of beauty behind?
I glance through the art magazines at the newsagent and although there are paintings of beauty, so much of them are ugly. To look upon them every day would shrivel your heart. I would not want them in my home. Perhaps they have a *message* about the state of the world today but their message does not clarify or help to change it but only spreads the dis-ease. I can make mean-spirited ugly things, I can slash and dash on colours and draw monster faces with leering mouths and crazed eyes and slap them around some semblance of a head but what good does that do?
Like this music. The music of this person tells me more about them than any biography or photo would do. He could not create this music with the light and delicate touch if he was a heavy hearted stolid phlegmatic type. There is beauty and lightness in this person's soul.
This CD is quite good. Thought it would be all synthesizer and frou frou but it is mostly piano and has some heart. Actually alot of heart.
Had a dream night before last in which my backyard had grown lush with unmown grass, dark green, moist and thick. I watched in delight as rabbits started to appear in the deepening dusk. They made a beeline for the grass and came in such numbers they were crammed in shoulder to shoulder, whisker to whisker. From my vantage point their bodies formed a teardrop, the large end towards me. Then an elderly grey whiskered terrier type dogs sauntered through from left to right scattering rabbits. I knew he would not harm them and indeed, they immediately started to filter back to feed on the grass.
Shorts again today. Well and truly into spring. Even for the computer. Took the side off the CPU because it was starting to overheat again. A much happier computer now.
Watched The Living Matrix that P had lent me. Had quite forgotten I had it but wanted something to watch besides Dr. Phil or a made for TV movie and scanned the pile of DVDs. R came in halfway through and was intrigued enough to watch the rest of it with me. He says he'll watch the first half later. I'm glad he's interested. Basically it's mind over matter, how our thoughts influence our health. I so want him to feel well, to be well, to move without pain, to live long and happily. He said yesterday after spending so much time in a nursing home he would never go there. Neither will I. Die at home or in some accident, not in a hospital or 'aged care facility'. Even the name is without heart, without compassion. Old Persons Home has more love in it than Aged Care Facility. So, we will be on a quest to live long and healthy lives until we are quickly and painfully snuffed out at the end. Perhaps a death during sleep when the transition is so gentle one hardly knows one has left.
Oh, the miracle of life! How easily I forget what a miracle it is to be alive. In the billions that have come before me, lived their lives and died - now it is my turn to experience this creation. How little of it three score and ten can really live. It is a dust mote in the jet stream. There's not a moment to lose and I've lost so many. How can I trust myself and Life so that I live without fear to the fullness which this mind and body and heart are capable. How can I lose fear so that I can create beautiful things and leave something of beauty behind?
I glance through the art magazines at the newsagent and although there are paintings of beauty, so much of them are ugly. To look upon them every day would shrivel your heart. I would not want them in my home. Perhaps they have a *message* about the state of the world today but their message does not clarify or help to change it but only spreads the dis-ease. I can make mean-spirited ugly things, I can slash and dash on colours and draw monster faces with leering mouths and crazed eyes and slap them around some semblance of a head but what good does that do?
Like this music. The music of this person tells me more about them than any biography or photo would do. He could not create this music with the light and delicate touch if he was a heavy hearted stolid phlegmatic type. There is beauty and lightness in this person's soul.
This CD is quite good. Thought it would be all synthesizer and frou frou but it is mostly piano and has some heart. Actually alot of heart.
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