I've got the memory of a paramecium. Got all excited watching a program about black holes a couple of nights ago and champed to get the ideas it sparked down. Thought about it after I went to bed and now I can only remember half of what I intended.
It was about these equations. One of them was using quantum mechanics to try and figure out the gravity of the singularity at the center of the black hole. The gravitational pull is so great, as we all know and marvel at, that even a photon of light cannot escape - hence the black of black holes. Anyway, it was troubling to these theorists for the equations they came up with always equalled infinity. Not infinity once but infinity many times. Infinite gravity cannot be. Can it?
One black hole being studied had the mass of 143 million suns. That's huge yet it is a finite mass, even if it is pulling in every bit of matter within reach. How can there be infinite gravity? Does having a singularity always entitle the black hole to infinite gravity, like having a gold card, or is it just for the really big and showy ones?
Then there was this other equation, the one I've forgotten (damn!). The weird thing was it too equalled infinity. Even seeing the infinity symbol gave me goosebumps. It was like for all our smarts, all our advances in technology and mathematics and thought, we will never ever uncover the infinite mystery of, god I hate using the word God for all the baggage it's collected over the years, but there it is; Powers that Be is just too cumbersome, The Is sounds too much like a bad musical and the Creator is the first cousin to God. Still, you get the drift. For every layer uncovered, and every pat on the back for another mystery solved, another mystery appears.
On to a more mundane subject. Went to Murray's Art supplies yesterday and bought about a dozen Van Gogh oil pastels. They are so colourful and bright and pure I almost don't want to mess them up by using them. Unlike the student grade pastels I bought in the local newsagent these feel buttery and rich. Should make for some interesting effects. I've been so used to grinding the student sticks onto the board that using the Van Gogh's will be like driving a Rolls after a mini-moke.
Supposed to go to yoga tonight but there is a line of thunderstorms sweeping down from the northwest. We had a storm at 2am. I woke up with the rain and stayed awake until 5. Not sure why. Wasn't worried about the storm but with lack of sleep I've been a little bleary today. Lay down with Natalia, what a good bed cat! this afternoon. Couldn't sleep but it was nice just to lie there and listen to the birds and thunder and Natalia's purrs. The greatest gifts are in the small things.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Sunday, August 28, 2011
The Cow and the Calf
Raining yesterday, sometimes steady, sometimes a foggy drizzle that blurred edges and made the familiar mysterious. On the ridge behind our house a white Brahman cow paced the edge, lowing. Didn't worry about it at first. Perhaps she was separated from the herd. Then Richard heard a calf.
The top of the ridge is ringed by black basalt boulders. Grass grows right to the edge of the boulders encouraging hungry mothers and playful calves into danger. If a step too far is taken it's a vertical drop of about twenty feet to the grass and lantana scrub below. Even if the fall is survived it's a hazardous and steep descent to level ground. I know. I climbed and descended it twice yesterday.
Richard came in for lunch and said he could hear a calf. The mother was still lowing on the ridge so we left lunch uneaten on the table and headed out. Walked down the back paddock and climbed through two barbed wire fences to reach the base of the ridge. The calf was now silent but we judged the position of the calf by the position of the mother. We started climbing. The lower level wasn't difficult but as we ascended the angle became sharper and the going more hazardous. Several land slips from the January floods had us climbing on our hands and knees. Worried about Richard but he was right behind me. Unfortnately no calf was in front. Above us was the shiny black vertical face of the boulders. We couldn't climb any more and had to turn back.
I'm a decent climber but I'm hell on descents. Same feeling when I'm walking on a pitched roof. I'm not afraid of heights but clambering around at an angle is unsettling. Richard went down on his butt. I worried he'd topple over and roll down the hill but his method was the right one. I stuck my butt in the clay and slid or fought through tangled grass and lantana. Deceptive because rocks were hidden in the grass so it was wise to feel with your feet first, if you could, before adding weight.
Decided Richard would go home and fetch the truck while I climbed up the track and approached the ridge, and the cow, from the top. Richard would drive to the owner's house. He is away but the property is being minded by his son. We'd rung before leaving the house but got no answer. Yet we could see two vehicles at the house.
I was wearing wellies so the trip to the top wasn't fast. Crossed the top and found the cow with a very full and painful looking udder waiting in the same spot. Told her what I was there for, that we'd do everything we could to find her calf. Brahmans can be testy about newborn calves. I didn't want to be hit in the chest by an angry mother and knocked over the cliff. But she just looked off in the distance and bellowed.
After seeing the land slips in January I was cautious about putting my weight on these rocks jutting out from the ridge, especially as it had been raining since the night before. But I did. To no avail. I couldn't see the calf nor could I hear it. Then the little blighter started bawling. I retraced my steps until I figured I was right above it. It sounded as though it was just at the base of the boulders. Sighted on a couple of trees so I could find it when I climbed from the bottom and went to meet Richard.
He'd returned without the son. Told him what I'd heard, what I was going to do. He went back for the son and I started climbing. I was certain I'd find the calf. I'd pinpointed his location from the top, memorized the position of trees and shrubs so I'd find him. Climbed to within two feet of the base of the cliff and came up with nothing.
Unattended calves will lay perfectly still to avoid detection by predators. Well, this little guy wasn't saying or doing anything. I could have cried. I couldn't travel along the cliff. As it was I was holding myself in position with handfulls of grass and lantana. The son, Mark had come in the meantime and was atop the ridge. He decided to search by going down the shallow southern end of the cliff and then working his away along to the base of the cliff where I was. I, completely soaked through, caked with clay and mud, climbed down again.
Richard stayed behind and I went home to get into dry clothes. I could see the white dot of Mark's tee shirt working along the middle of the escarpment. I didn't want to dwell on the future of the calf. He could've fallen through the thatch of dead grass and not be seen by anyone standing right above him. It was like those fake forests in Tasmania where you think you're stepping onto hard ground and fall through the foliage never to be heard from again.
But this story has a happy ending. Mark did find the calf, about twenty feet from where I had been. It was only about a week old so light enough that the fall didn't hurt it. It was stuck in a clay swale which was so slippery it couldn't get out. By this time Mum had come down from the top and was making her way along the base of the ridge. Mum and calf were reunited. The calf got a drink, Mum got relief. We all got dry clothes and a good feeling.
The top of the ridge is ringed by black basalt boulders. Grass grows right to the edge of the boulders encouraging hungry mothers and playful calves into danger. If a step too far is taken it's a vertical drop of about twenty feet to the grass and lantana scrub below. Even if the fall is survived it's a hazardous and steep descent to level ground. I know. I climbed and descended it twice yesterday.
Richard came in for lunch and said he could hear a calf. The mother was still lowing on the ridge so we left lunch uneaten on the table and headed out. Walked down the back paddock and climbed through two barbed wire fences to reach the base of the ridge. The calf was now silent but we judged the position of the calf by the position of the mother. We started climbing. The lower level wasn't difficult but as we ascended the angle became sharper and the going more hazardous. Several land slips from the January floods had us climbing on our hands and knees. Worried about Richard but he was right behind me. Unfortnately no calf was in front. Above us was the shiny black vertical face of the boulders. We couldn't climb any more and had to turn back.
I'm a decent climber but I'm hell on descents. Same feeling when I'm walking on a pitched roof. I'm not afraid of heights but clambering around at an angle is unsettling. Richard went down on his butt. I worried he'd topple over and roll down the hill but his method was the right one. I stuck my butt in the clay and slid or fought through tangled grass and lantana. Deceptive because rocks were hidden in the grass so it was wise to feel with your feet first, if you could, before adding weight.
Decided Richard would go home and fetch the truck while I climbed up the track and approached the ridge, and the cow, from the top. Richard would drive to the owner's house. He is away but the property is being minded by his son. We'd rung before leaving the house but got no answer. Yet we could see two vehicles at the house.
I was wearing wellies so the trip to the top wasn't fast. Crossed the top and found the cow with a very full and painful looking udder waiting in the same spot. Told her what I was there for, that we'd do everything we could to find her calf. Brahmans can be testy about newborn calves. I didn't want to be hit in the chest by an angry mother and knocked over the cliff. But she just looked off in the distance and bellowed.
After seeing the land slips in January I was cautious about putting my weight on these rocks jutting out from the ridge, especially as it had been raining since the night before. But I did. To no avail. I couldn't see the calf nor could I hear it. Then the little blighter started bawling. I retraced my steps until I figured I was right above it. It sounded as though it was just at the base of the boulders. Sighted on a couple of trees so I could find it when I climbed from the bottom and went to meet Richard.
He'd returned without the son. Told him what I'd heard, what I was going to do. He went back for the son and I started climbing. I was certain I'd find the calf. I'd pinpointed his location from the top, memorized the position of trees and shrubs so I'd find him. Climbed to within two feet of the base of the cliff and came up with nothing.
Unattended calves will lay perfectly still to avoid detection by predators. Well, this little guy wasn't saying or doing anything. I could have cried. I couldn't travel along the cliff. As it was I was holding myself in position with handfulls of grass and lantana. The son, Mark had come in the meantime and was atop the ridge. He decided to search by going down the shallow southern end of the cliff and then working his away along to the base of the cliff where I was. I, completely soaked through, caked with clay and mud, climbed down again.
Richard stayed behind and I went home to get into dry clothes. I could see the white dot of Mark's tee shirt working along the middle of the escarpment. I didn't want to dwell on the future of the calf. He could've fallen through the thatch of dead grass and not be seen by anyone standing right above him. It was like those fake forests in Tasmania where you think you're stepping onto hard ground and fall through the foliage never to be heard from again.
But this story has a happy ending. Mark did find the calf, about twenty feet from where I had been. It was only about a week old so light enough that the fall didn't hurt it. It was stuck in a clay swale which was so slippery it couldn't get out. By this time Mum had come down from the top and was making her way along the base of the ridge. Mum and calf were reunited. The calf got a drink, Mum got relief. We all got dry clothes and a good feeling.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Matisse never looks me in the eye. I've never met a cat who won't enter into a staring contest, much less look directly at you. And if I was to meet such a cat, I would never expect it to be a Siamese.
Hadn't given it much thought before. Matisse is nearly 8 years old. His shyness has never been a problem. I mean, he isn't shy. He's the first cat to come out and greet visitors. Usually we're grouped around the kitchen island bench on stools and Matisse will jump on my lap to be involved. If we're in the living room he'll make hs way from person to person, not in any obvious way but if you watch him you'll see he'll amble from one person, stay there a while, stroked or unstroked, and then unobtrusively walk over to another. If he isn't doing that he's sitting in the center to soak up the energy. So why doesn't he look me in the eye? If I try to make eye contact he'll look 10 or 15 degrees to my left or right. If I also play that game and face him without looking directly at him, I never catch him having a good look at me. In every other way he is the most affectionate of cats. A typical Siamese. He loves to be loved. He loves to be touched and will often sit at my feet with his tail draped across my instep, just to have that contact. He purrs constantly and marks me with his whisker pads, rubbing head and face on any available body surface. Except my face. He never kisses. Unlike Natalia who kisses all the time and even nibbles my chin or nose.
The only time when Matisse looks directly at someone is at Richard. Every night is the same routine. Richard sits on the couch, Matisse jumps up beside him. He places a paw on Richard's arm and then stares up at his face, asking permission to be allowed onto Richard's lap. If he is refused he lies beside him and tucks his paws under Richard's leg. Most of the time he is allowed. Who could refuse those blue eyes? Especially when they stare straight into your soul.
Thoughts are things. I know that. I don't want to think the quarry into existence but judging by the reams of expert reports and the results of the mediation of the experts held this month, there is a great wall of pro-quarry thoughts to overcome. The noise will be overcome by some architecural alterations on the residences closest to the road in the way of double glaze windows and reverse cycle air conditioning. The destruction of this rare and precious environment will be offset by land purchased at Blenheim which has a tiny patch of dry vine scrub that will be enhanced by planting and protection from cattle, fire and weed. The quarry, all agree, will be economically marvelous. There is a huge need, according to the experts, for basalt quarried cheaply (no blasting necessary) and sold cheaply because the markets will be nearby. The consensus is that the quarry is a resource that the court would be mad to refuse.
I look at land and houses for sale constantly, bordering on compulsively. Try and think that if we lose and the quarry is approved then that means it is time for us to have a new life, a new adventure. Richard is worried about aging and his ability to keep up with these 10 acres. There are some ideal places for sale. Most of them are too expensive but I am hopeful that at the time we need the money, the money will be there.
We have to have some room, even if we don't have enough room for the horses and have to agist them. The aviaries and the needs of the dogs require that we have a good sized block. To contemplate a move to suburbia is chilling but we may have no choice. On the other hand, if we do move to suburbia, we will have access to things that we don't have here.
Gatton, specifically here in the wild outskirts, has been glorious, but Gatton itself is sometimes a little conservative. I'm not a city person but cities do offer the variety lacking in farming community Gatton. And a different outlook. So it could be a good thing. One thing I know, I do not want to witness the demise of that mountain. If we lose, we lose. We gave it the good fight so there are no regrets but it would kill something inside to have to watch the death of that wild and secret place.
Hadn't given it much thought before. Matisse is nearly 8 years old. His shyness has never been a problem. I mean, he isn't shy. He's the first cat to come out and greet visitors. Usually we're grouped around the kitchen island bench on stools and Matisse will jump on my lap to be involved. If we're in the living room he'll make hs way from person to person, not in any obvious way but if you watch him you'll see he'll amble from one person, stay there a while, stroked or unstroked, and then unobtrusively walk over to another. If he isn't doing that he's sitting in the center to soak up the energy. So why doesn't he look me in the eye? If I try to make eye contact he'll look 10 or 15 degrees to my left or right. If I also play that game and face him without looking directly at him, I never catch him having a good look at me. In every other way he is the most affectionate of cats. A typical Siamese. He loves to be loved. He loves to be touched and will often sit at my feet with his tail draped across my instep, just to have that contact. He purrs constantly and marks me with his whisker pads, rubbing head and face on any available body surface. Except my face. He never kisses. Unlike Natalia who kisses all the time and even nibbles my chin or nose.
The only time when Matisse looks directly at someone is at Richard. Every night is the same routine. Richard sits on the couch, Matisse jumps up beside him. He places a paw on Richard's arm and then stares up at his face, asking permission to be allowed onto Richard's lap. If he is refused he lies beside him and tucks his paws under Richard's leg. Most of the time he is allowed. Who could refuse those blue eyes? Especially when they stare straight into your soul.
Thoughts are things. I know that. I don't want to think the quarry into existence but judging by the reams of expert reports and the results of the mediation of the experts held this month, there is a great wall of pro-quarry thoughts to overcome. The noise will be overcome by some architecural alterations on the residences closest to the road in the way of double glaze windows and reverse cycle air conditioning. The destruction of this rare and precious environment will be offset by land purchased at Blenheim which has a tiny patch of dry vine scrub that will be enhanced by planting and protection from cattle, fire and weed. The quarry, all agree, will be economically marvelous. There is a huge need, according to the experts, for basalt quarried cheaply (no blasting necessary) and sold cheaply because the markets will be nearby. The consensus is that the quarry is a resource that the court would be mad to refuse.
I look at land and houses for sale constantly, bordering on compulsively. Try and think that if we lose and the quarry is approved then that means it is time for us to have a new life, a new adventure. Richard is worried about aging and his ability to keep up with these 10 acres. There are some ideal places for sale. Most of them are too expensive but I am hopeful that at the time we need the money, the money will be there.
We have to have some room, even if we don't have enough room for the horses and have to agist them. The aviaries and the needs of the dogs require that we have a good sized block. To contemplate a move to suburbia is chilling but we may have no choice. On the other hand, if we do move to suburbia, we will have access to things that we don't have here.
Gatton, specifically here in the wild outskirts, has been glorious, but Gatton itself is sometimes a little conservative. I'm not a city person but cities do offer the variety lacking in farming community Gatton. And a different outlook. So it could be a good thing. One thing I know, I do not want to witness the demise of that mountain. If we lose, we lose. We gave it the good fight so there are no regrets but it would kill something inside to have to watch the death of that wild and secret place.
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Dogs to continue to improve. Both got up from their beds yesterday when we had a visitor. Previously they couldn't be bothered. Notice tiny weight gains. Ribs not quite so sharp as before. Lights in their eyes brighter. Radar even thought he might go for a walk with us in the afternoon. At least he looked interested.
It's just after six. Coffee and cigarette to hand but am torn because the birds, wild and domestic, are starting to call/sing/squawk and I should start the catering. Three days ago I released Felicity. Suki, her beloved (and his name also means beloved) was released months ago. He returned in July, left again and then came back. The bond was so strong that I coaxed him into the aviary for a night of love. The next day I thought, what if? Felicity has tried to fly in the aviary but I was unsure whether she could gain height. Thought if I let her out we'd eventually catch her if she couldn't fly. That first flight was long and low but at the end, with great effort, she did gain a little height and flew into lower branches of the bahinia tree. Since then she's been in the veggie garden silky oak and yesterday in the poinciana where she came down and ate and ate and ate. Suki joined her and also ate. Then they tried to attack poor Byron through the mesh. The fighting and screaming was fierce. Byron gave up and plopped to the ground (he will never fly and with his deformed beak, even if he could fly he couldn't be released). So it's all good. It won't take long before Felicity is as strong a flier as any wild greenie. The first few days of release are always the most dangerous as they might get unwanted attention from a passing hawk - and we've got lots of passing hawks. Just have to find a friend for Byron who looks very lonely in that big aviary.
Meditation. Read an article on it in a yoga magazine and was reassured. Felt that I wasn't really getting any further along with it, that I must be especially ditzy because of thinking so much and reaching a certain level *sometimes* and not progressing any further. But it's not just me. It's normal. The mind might be recalled from thinking thousands of times before it can be retrained.
A few days ago I was having a good meditation, sort of, but I reached the place where I come to a halt. I'm focussed and at a level that is not quite daily consciousness, perhaps Kindy Meditation, and then I'm stuck. I don't think I'm thinking but perhaps I'm thinking because I'm aware of the 'barrier'. I feel focussed but also a little unfocussed as though my eyes are slightly crossed and the image is not quite sharp. And I'm antsy. 'Pushing through' isn't something that I associate with meditation as it is a state of relaxation but there's that feeling of something to be pushed *through*. And the unsettled antsy feeling finally halts my attempt and I come out, slightly frustrated, which is a feeling very conducive to meditation! Another problem I'm encountering is the difficulty in staying with it for more than 10 minutes. Set a goal of 15 minutes and made it to 13. Seems impossible that people meditate for an hour or longer. I'm aiming for twenty.
During our morning coffee on the deck yesterday we heard a woman screaming, screaming as though she was being attacked. Ran over to the dam paddock to see and it was someone, not Kylie, yelling at one of the dogs! I would've bet good money that she was being murdered. Don't know what the dog did but it was obviously a very bad dog. Brought a memory back of living in Port Douglas when I heard a woman screaming in the night, one of those still airless nights when sound carries. I did nothing. Neither did anyone else. Found later that she'd been beaten by her husband and hospitalized. Still feel guilty. Should've found a phone box and rung the police at least.
It's just after six. Coffee and cigarette to hand but am torn because the birds, wild and domestic, are starting to call/sing/squawk and I should start the catering. Three days ago I released Felicity. Suki, her beloved (and his name also means beloved) was released months ago. He returned in July, left again and then came back. The bond was so strong that I coaxed him into the aviary for a night of love. The next day I thought, what if? Felicity has tried to fly in the aviary but I was unsure whether she could gain height. Thought if I let her out we'd eventually catch her if she couldn't fly. That first flight was long and low but at the end, with great effort, she did gain a little height and flew into lower branches of the bahinia tree. Since then she's been in the veggie garden silky oak and yesterday in the poinciana where she came down and ate and ate and ate. Suki joined her and also ate. Then they tried to attack poor Byron through the mesh. The fighting and screaming was fierce. Byron gave up and plopped to the ground (he will never fly and with his deformed beak, even if he could fly he couldn't be released). So it's all good. It won't take long before Felicity is as strong a flier as any wild greenie. The first few days of release are always the most dangerous as they might get unwanted attention from a passing hawk - and we've got lots of passing hawks. Just have to find a friend for Byron who looks very lonely in that big aviary.
Meditation. Read an article on it in a yoga magazine and was reassured. Felt that I wasn't really getting any further along with it, that I must be especially ditzy because of thinking so much and reaching a certain level *sometimes* and not progressing any further. But it's not just me. It's normal. The mind might be recalled from thinking thousands of times before it can be retrained.
A few days ago I was having a good meditation, sort of, but I reached the place where I come to a halt. I'm focussed and at a level that is not quite daily consciousness, perhaps Kindy Meditation, and then I'm stuck. I don't think I'm thinking but perhaps I'm thinking because I'm aware of the 'barrier'. I feel focussed but also a little unfocussed as though my eyes are slightly crossed and the image is not quite sharp. And I'm antsy. 'Pushing through' isn't something that I associate with meditation as it is a state of relaxation but there's that feeling of something to be pushed *through*. And the unsettled antsy feeling finally halts my attempt and I come out, slightly frustrated, which is a feeling very conducive to meditation! Another problem I'm encountering is the difficulty in staying with it for more than 10 minutes. Set a goal of 15 minutes and made it to 13. Seems impossible that people meditate for an hour or longer. I'm aiming for twenty.
During our morning coffee on the deck yesterday we heard a woman screaming, screaming as though she was being attacked. Ran over to the dam paddock to see and it was someone, not Kylie, yelling at one of the dogs! I would've bet good money that she was being murdered. Don't know what the dog did but it was obviously a very bad dog. Brought a memory back of living in Port Douglas when I heard a woman screaming in the night, one of those still airless nights when sound carries. I did nothing. Neither did anyone else. Found later that she'd been beaten by her husband and hospitalized. Still feel guilty. Should've found a phone box and rung the police at least.
Monday, August 22, 2011
Dark Energy and Other Big Bang Anomalies
Have already posted about the puppies but wanted to write about a couple of other things which, considering the importance attached to the dog and people reunion, needed a separate post.
A while ago I commented about a program I'd seen on the future of the universe, how the universe would wind down, the stars would go out and everything would revert to this amorphous nothingness in which not one atom would exist, not even a photon. That program depressed me. There is something intangibly holy about the fact of Life, whether it's a one-celled diatom or a multi-brained octopus. There's also something miraculous and holy about the mind. It is beyond the scope of words, and I refuse to use the word, 'awesome', that we can make a picture in our mind and then bring that image into reality, whether it's a macaroni and cheese dinner or a Mona Lisa. First it's not there and then it is. If that's not brilliance than what is? So this idea that all ideas just wink out at the end of time didn't sit well, nor did it 'feel' true.
Well, last night I kept my weary eyes open to watch a program about what we DON'T know about the universe. There are some anomalies in the cosmology which don't fit, the first of which is the Inflation Theory of the Big Bang. This, as I understand it, postulates that after the initial bang, in less than a second, there was a hesitation while all the 'stuff' heated evenly. Normally in an explosion the spreading out of material is lumpy, ditto the temperature variants which are significant. So to make the Big Bang theory work, a mathematical theory was constructed which allows that during inflation it all kind of hesitated while everything had a chance to heat evenly before carrying on in a more or less normal manner. Hmmm.
Then there are The Darks; Dark Matter, Dark Energy and Dark Flow. In our normal solar system the graviational pull is such that planets closest to the sun orbit faster than planets further out. This gravitational law should be true for galaxies as well. But it isn't. Cosmologists found that stars on the outer edges of galaxies orbited at the same rate as stars closer to the center. To account for this there had to be 'dark matter' which had a heavier mass than normal matter, 5kg of dark matter for every 2kg of normal matter in fact. The odd thing is, although it works mathematically to account for the weird orbiting of stars and galaxies, it can't be found. Not with the most sensitive expensive instruments although theoretically dark matter is streaming through us and the planet continuously.
Now the best part, Dark Energy. After the initial explosion of the Big Bang, with all that energy and force, the universe should eventually start to slow down its rate of expansion. But it isn't. It's speeding up! To account for this theorists have come up with Dark Energy. They don't know how it works or what it is and they, to a scientist, wish it would go away but in order for their BB theory to hold together they have to write it into their mathematical theory.
"It turns out that roughly 70% of the Universe is dark energy. Dark matter makes up about 25%. The rest - everything on Earth, everything ever observed with all of our instruments, all normal matter - adds up to less than 5% of the Universe. Come to think of it, maybe it shouldn't be called "normal" matter at all, since it is such a small fraction of the Universe." http://science.nasa.gov/astrophysics/focus-areas/what-is-dark-energy/
Doesn't that just warm the cockles of your heart? It does me. With more answers come even more mysterious questions.
And finally we have Dark Flow, another gate crasher who has to be catered to despite its uncouth and uncivilized manner. A scientist noticed that some galaxies were trotting along faster than their neighbours. Galaxies should all be moving at the same rate. Why are some galaxies bucking the trend and dancing to a different drummer? Dark Flow of course.
"The dark flow is controversial because the distribution of matter in the observed universe cannot account for it. Its existence suggests that some structure beyond the visible universe -- outside our "horizon" -- is pulling on matter in our vicinity." (ScienceDaily March 11, 2010).
"There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
And Thank the Universe for that!
A while ago I commented about a program I'd seen on the future of the universe, how the universe would wind down, the stars would go out and everything would revert to this amorphous nothingness in which not one atom would exist, not even a photon. That program depressed me. There is something intangibly holy about the fact of Life, whether it's a one-celled diatom or a multi-brained octopus. There's also something miraculous and holy about the mind. It is beyond the scope of words, and I refuse to use the word, 'awesome', that we can make a picture in our mind and then bring that image into reality, whether it's a macaroni and cheese dinner or a Mona Lisa. First it's not there and then it is. If that's not brilliance than what is? So this idea that all ideas just wink out at the end of time didn't sit well, nor did it 'feel' true.
Well, last night I kept my weary eyes open to watch a program about what we DON'T know about the universe. There are some anomalies in the cosmology which don't fit, the first of which is the Inflation Theory of the Big Bang. This, as I understand it, postulates that after the initial bang, in less than a second, there was a hesitation while all the 'stuff' heated evenly. Normally in an explosion the spreading out of material is lumpy, ditto the temperature variants which are significant. So to make the Big Bang theory work, a mathematical theory was constructed which allows that during inflation it all kind of hesitated while everything had a chance to heat evenly before carrying on in a more or less normal manner. Hmmm.
Then there are The Darks; Dark Matter, Dark Energy and Dark Flow. In our normal solar system the graviational pull is such that planets closest to the sun orbit faster than planets further out. This gravitational law should be true for galaxies as well. But it isn't. Cosmologists found that stars on the outer edges of galaxies orbited at the same rate as stars closer to the center. To account for this there had to be 'dark matter' which had a heavier mass than normal matter, 5kg of dark matter for every 2kg of normal matter in fact. The odd thing is, although it works mathematically to account for the weird orbiting of stars and galaxies, it can't be found. Not with the most sensitive expensive instruments although theoretically dark matter is streaming through us and the planet continuously.
Now the best part, Dark Energy. After the initial explosion of the Big Bang, with all that energy and force, the universe should eventually start to slow down its rate of expansion. But it isn't. It's speeding up! To account for this theorists have come up with Dark Energy. They don't know how it works or what it is and they, to a scientist, wish it would go away but in order for their BB theory to hold together they have to write it into their mathematical theory.
"It turns out that roughly 70% of the Universe is dark energy. Dark matter makes up about 25%. The rest - everything on Earth, everything ever observed with all of our instruments, all normal matter - adds up to less than 5% of the Universe. Come to think of it, maybe it shouldn't be called "normal" matter at all, since it is such a small fraction of the Universe." http://science.nasa.gov/astrophysics/focus-areas/what-is-dark-energy/
Doesn't that just warm the cockles of your heart? It does me. With more answers come even more mysterious questions.
And finally we have Dark Flow, another gate crasher who has to be catered to despite its uncouth and uncivilized manner. A scientist noticed that some galaxies were trotting along faster than their neighbours. Galaxies should all be moving at the same rate. Why are some galaxies bucking the trend and dancing to a different drummer? Dark Flow of course.
"The dark flow is controversial because the distribution of matter in the observed universe cannot account for it. Its existence suggests that some structure beyond the visible universe -- outside our "horizon" -- is pulling on matter in our vicinity." (ScienceDaily March 11, 2010).
"There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
And Thank the Universe for that!
It's a Bloody Miracle
The dogs have returned. On Saturday morning Rick was driving down DGR near David's and saw what he thought was a rumpled cardigan on the side of the road. That cardigan was Radar. Jamaica was hiding in the bushes nearby. Rick loaded them into the passenger seat of his truck and drove straight here. Not only did he want to reunite us but I suspect he wanted to get them out of his airspace as they both had been into carrion and stunk. When I opened the door Radar wagged his tail just once. I kissed his head finding too late that he had a putrid reek. Had to help them both to the ground. Once I saw them outside I realised why. They were walking skeletons. Very emaciated, tucked up, every rib and bone protruding. I don't think they'd eaten for ten days. Perhaps gnawed on dead things but that's not a meal.
Both of them are very footsore, especially Radar who has meat instead of paw pads in some places. He was still bleeding from one foot when he arrived. Now they just seep. At least they aren't infected. I put their coats on and gave them dry food, was wary of giving them anything rich as I didn't want to upset their stomachs. They ate and crashed. Slept solidly all afternoon. They'd get up and eat a little and then sleep some more which has been the pattern even to today, two days after they returned. The first night I didn't even disturb them for potty walks before we went to bed. They were too exhausted. Figured when they had to go they'd get up and do so which they did. Pooping has been a signficant part of their recovery. Because food is on offer ad lib they've been dumping four and five big loads daily. At least we know everything works.
Was worried about both of them but especially Radar. Thought Jamaica would be most at risk as he's the more sensitive and weaker of the two and although I think he was thinner, Radar looked the worse. He had pus in his eyes, especially the right one. But there was something else about his eyes, the light had gone out. David said it reminded him of a cow that was going to die, even after being successfully pulled from a bog. I don't think they would've lasted much longer in the wild.
We will never know where they went and what happened to them. We suspect that they did leave the valley, judging by the state of their paw pads, and that they realised they had to get home if they were going to live. Have pulled a few small grass ticks from Radar plus found a few fleas. Gave them each a Capstar tablet yesterday which should do the trick. The only thing we can do now is feed them, keep them warm and wait for them to recover their strength. It's a bloody miracle.
Both of them are very footsore, especially Radar who has meat instead of paw pads in some places. He was still bleeding from one foot when he arrived. Now they just seep. At least they aren't infected. I put their coats on and gave them dry food, was wary of giving them anything rich as I didn't want to upset their stomachs. They ate and crashed. Slept solidly all afternoon. They'd get up and eat a little and then sleep some more which has been the pattern even to today, two days after they returned. The first night I didn't even disturb them for potty walks before we went to bed. They were too exhausted. Figured when they had to go they'd get up and do so which they did. Pooping has been a signficant part of their recovery. Because food is on offer ad lib they've been dumping four and five big loads daily. At least we know everything works.
Was worried about both of them but especially Radar. Thought Jamaica would be most at risk as he's the more sensitive and weaker of the two and although I think he was thinner, Radar looked the worse. He had pus in his eyes, especially the right one. But there was something else about his eyes, the light had gone out. David said it reminded him of a cow that was going to die, even after being successfully pulled from a bog. I don't think they would've lasted much longer in the wild.
We will never know where they went and what happened to them. We suspect that they did leave the valley, judging by the state of their paw pads, and that they realised they had to get home if they were going to live. Have pulled a few small grass ticks from Radar plus found a few fleas. Gave them each a Capstar tablet yesterday which should do the trick. The only thing we can do now is feed them, keep them warm and wait for them to recover their strength. It's a bloody miracle.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
False Lead
It's 6am. R has just left for a day of doorkeeping at his cousin's massive garage sale. So am a bit late and can't spend too much time here as the birds need to be fed and the horses let through to the 'new' paddock.
Dogs not home yet. Had a phone call from Karen who said Elaine, who put us in touch with Radar's previous owners, had seen two whippets for sale at the Fernvale Markets. Rang Elaine but it wasn't her but someone called Val. Rang Val, yes it was a black dog and a brindle one. Heart racing. Sold for $100 each. Did the brindle dog have white on it? She couldn't remember. With more questioning it turns out they were puppies.
Elaine suggested I try some internet sites which I will this morning. We've also called people over in West Haldon in case the dogs went over Paradise, following the tracks to the other side. Am also going to try a country radio station out of Toowoomba to see if I can get something put over the airwaves.
R and I talk endlessly of how, why, where and if. There are no answers but I suppose it helps to discuss it. Their dog beds, blankets, coats and stuffed toys are all waiting on the deck for them. Finally emptied and put away Radar's water bucket as it was looking rather icky but Jamaica's is still full in case when they return they want a drink.
Radar has a bit of hybrid vigour and extra weight. Jamaica has no fat reserves and has always been the more delicate of the two. How is he coping with life on the road? He doesn't cope well with cold or rain. We've had both. We can't stop and grieve because we don't know if they're just having a big adventure and will eventually return or if they are dead. But both of them wouldn't be dead at the same time. Is one injured and the other staying with him? Were they shot for chasing cattle? Did they pick up paralysis ticks? Take baits meant for dingoes and wild dogs? The answer is we don't know and may never know. What if they never return?
Dogs not home yet. Had a phone call from Karen who said Elaine, who put us in touch with Radar's previous owners, had seen two whippets for sale at the Fernvale Markets. Rang Elaine but it wasn't her but someone called Val. Rang Val, yes it was a black dog and a brindle one. Heart racing. Sold for $100 each. Did the brindle dog have white on it? She couldn't remember. With more questioning it turns out they were puppies.
Elaine suggested I try some internet sites which I will this morning. We've also called people over in West Haldon in case the dogs went over Paradise, following the tracks to the other side. Am also going to try a country radio station out of Toowoomba to see if I can get something put over the airwaves.
R and I talk endlessly of how, why, where and if. There are no answers but I suppose it helps to discuss it. Their dog beds, blankets, coats and stuffed toys are all waiting on the deck for them. Finally emptied and put away Radar's water bucket as it was looking rather icky but Jamaica's is still full in case when they return they want a drink.
Radar has a bit of hybrid vigour and extra weight. Jamaica has no fat reserves and has always been the more delicate of the two. How is he coping with life on the road? He doesn't cope well with cold or rain. We've had both. We can't stop and grieve because we don't know if they're just having a big adventure and will eventually return or if they are dead. But both of them wouldn't be dead at the same time. Is one injured and the other staying with him? Were they shot for chasing cattle? Did they pick up paralysis ticks? Take baits meant for dingoes and wild dogs? The answer is we don't know and may never know. What if they never return?
Friday, August 19, 2011
Yesterday was not a good day. No dogs still and then to make matters worse, I read the expert reports about the proposed quarry. I am an optimist and I do think thoughts are things but I also think we're stuffed. The judge, who has never been here and who is the same judge, if memory serves, who approved it the first time, will approve it. Hell, after reading the mediation reports, I'd approve it.
What they plan to do is use an "Offset Property" to replace the area destroyed by the quarry. The land they have in mind is a little bit similar. It's in the same shire. It has a little bit of remnant vegetation not, to quote them, with the high richness in flora and fauna, and oh, the rv is far younger with no mature trees but hey, it's going to be the same in perhaps 60 years with ongoing management to protect it from cattle, fire and intrusive weeds. And just to further enhance the similarity, this OP is on flat land.
I could cry.
But I didn't. Instead I moped around all day doing very little. Yoga made me feel better but also brought me near to tears. I worked on the oil pastel a bit and did the housework but otherwise I just moped. Not good. In the afternoon went for a walk with R and did the animal chores and immediately felt better. A truth I forgot, that depression feeds on inactivity. Do something, anything physical, preferably outside and your spirits will rally.
So, today is another day. Woke at 5 and thought don't lie in bed, get up and start the day. Had a bad dream of a giant crocodile barely visible with its jaws agape beneath a bridge. It was waiting for me. The water was murky yet it knew I was there. I rescued some rats but they weren't the morsel it was hunting. Assume that crocodile is the quarry. It goes to court next month (postponed from March, May and August). Got on the computer last night and looked at properties in Montville, an area I hadn't considered before. Have been there once and remembered it as lush and arty and small with cafes clinging to the side of the, for want of the real name, Maleny ridge. Maleny is far too expensive but there are some affordable properties in Montville - and it's only half an hour from the coast.
Someone else is missing from our family. Algernon. We haven't seen him for over a month. We hope it's because he is looking for or has found a companion. The galahs are nest building. Pablo and Yasi, the rainbows, have been billing and cooing. Felicity is in such a flap about her absent Suki, who comes and goes, that she hunts Byron who has had to be removed to a cage and live with us on the deck. So it's that time of the year when bird's thoughts turn to love. Selfishly I'd just like to sight Algernon to know he's okay. At what point, however, do you cut the ties and really let released birds go? Algernon has been living free for several years now and has shown he can survive in the wild. He doesn't owe us anything, least of all 'checking in'.
What they plan to do is use an "Offset Property" to replace the area destroyed by the quarry. The land they have in mind is a little bit similar. It's in the same shire. It has a little bit of remnant vegetation not, to quote them, with the high richness in flora and fauna, and oh, the rv is far younger with no mature trees but hey, it's going to be the same in perhaps 60 years with ongoing management to protect it from cattle, fire and intrusive weeds. And just to further enhance the similarity, this OP is on flat land.
I could cry.
But I didn't. Instead I moped around all day doing very little. Yoga made me feel better but also brought me near to tears. I worked on the oil pastel a bit and did the housework but otherwise I just moped. Not good. In the afternoon went for a walk with R and did the animal chores and immediately felt better. A truth I forgot, that depression feeds on inactivity. Do something, anything physical, preferably outside and your spirits will rally.
So, today is another day. Woke at 5 and thought don't lie in bed, get up and start the day. Had a bad dream of a giant crocodile barely visible with its jaws agape beneath a bridge. It was waiting for me. The water was murky yet it knew I was there. I rescued some rats but they weren't the morsel it was hunting. Assume that crocodile is the quarry. It goes to court next month (postponed from March, May and August). Got on the computer last night and looked at properties in Montville, an area I hadn't considered before. Have been there once and remembered it as lush and arty and small with cafes clinging to the side of the, for want of the real name, Maleny ridge. Maleny is far too expensive but there are some affordable properties in Montville - and it's only half an hour from the coast.
Someone else is missing from our family. Algernon. We haven't seen him for over a month. We hope it's because he is looking for or has found a companion. The galahs are nest building. Pablo and Yasi, the rainbows, have been billing and cooing. Felicity is in such a flap about her absent Suki, who comes and goes, that she hunts Byron who has had to be removed to a cage and live with us on the deck. So it's that time of the year when bird's thoughts turn to love. Selfishly I'd just like to sight Algernon to know he's okay. At what point, however, do you cut the ties and really let released birds go? Algernon has been living free for several years now and has shown he can survive in the wild. He doesn't owe us anything, least of all 'checking in'.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
A Doggone Week
The dogs have been gone a week today. Ads came out in the Lost section of the two local newspapers yesterday. It's getting more difficult to be upbeat. Coincidentally, when checking that our notice was in the Star saw an ad for three male whippet puppies, $250 each. We have decided not to get another dog if Radar and Jamaica don't return.
After getting the computer up after the crash I downloaded yWriter again. Have a couple of projects in mind. One of which is to tell the story of the cats I have known. That idea came after reading about Norton, the Scottish Fold that turned a cat hating man into a felinophile. Unfortunately, as usual, the name of the book and author are forgotten. Gave the book to someone else. Anyway, some amazing cat characters have shared my life since I was literally in the cot. They deserve to be recorded, if only for my benefit. The other idea is an article for yoga magazine about cats and yoga but I'm not so keen on that. Then discovered that yWriter wouldn't work. Don't know why. The cursor is there fluttering away but nothing writes. Went to the instruction page, can't see what I'm doing wrong.
So here I am finally hot to trot and haven't the means to start writing. Of course I could use the office software but it just isn't the same. Did a search for free writing software and found WriteMonkey. It's the zen writing software, very little in the way of bells and whistles and when you write, it's full screen so it's just you and your thoughts. A nice lime green script on a black background. So I've started writing.
I hope that because I'm writing about cats for me that I won't get bogged down in the writing itself. I sabotage myself to the point of catatonia because something I'm working on isn't perfect (or as near as I can make it). It's a sad trait to have for rather than do something that isn't good, I'll reserve my high opinion of myself and do nothing at all.
Speaking of which, the latest drawing project is crap. Started with this amazing dream image and wound up with something that is so far removed from it in scope and detail as to be laughable. Want to draw something because I feel good when I'm drawing but I want it to be from my imagination, not copying photos from a book. I know that's crap too as anything worked on will teach me something but it's a quirk I kind of cherish. I have copied things from books, have quite a nice drawing of a hyacinth parrot that I copied from a parrot magazine - but it's still someone else's idea and work that I'm drawing (?) from. Sometimes when I'm drawing I can clearly see the image in my mind and so the drawing itself comes along. Other times I need a model, it's there but it's not there.
Up early this morning, now it's light enough to feed the birds and do the chores. It's rained a little overnight and another light shower just passed over. With every turn of the weather I think of the dogs. Jamaica feels the cold and hates the rain. Radar is a bit more rugged. I hope they are okay. I wish they'd come home.
After getting the computer up after the crash I downloaded yWriter again. Have a couple of projects in mind. One of which is to tell the story of the cats I have known. That idea came after reading about Norton, the Scottish Fold that turned a cat hating man into a felinophile. Unfortunately, as usual, the name of the book and author are forgotten. Gave the book to someone else. Anyway, some amazing cat characters have shared my life since I was literally in the cot. They deserve to be recorded, if only for my benefit. The other idea is an article for yoga magazine about cats and yoga but I'm not so keen on that. Then discovered that yWriter wouldn't work. Don't know why. The cursor is there fluttering away but nothing writes. Went to the instruction page, can't see what I'm doing wrong.
So here I am finally hot to trot and haven't the means to start writing. Of course I could use the office software but it just isn't the same. Did a search for free writing software and found WriteMonkey. It's the zen writing software, very little in the way of bells and whistles and when you write, it's full screen so it's just you and your thoughts. A nice lime green script on a black background. So I've started writing.
I hope that because I'm writing about cats for me that I won't get bogged down in the writing itself. I sabotage myself to the point of catatonia because something I'm working on isn't perfect (or as near as I can make it). It's a sad trait to have for rather than do something that isn't good, I'll reserve my high opinion of myself and do nothing at all.
Speaking of which, the latest drawing project is crap. Started with this amazing dream image and wound up with something that is so far removed from it in scope and detail as to be laughable. Want to draw something because I feel good when I'm drawing but I want it to be from my imagination, not copying photos from a book. I know that's crap too as anything worked on will teach me something but it's a quirk I kind of cherish. I have copied things from books, have quite a nice drawing of a hyacinth parrot that I copied from a parrot magazine - but it's still someone else's idea and work that I'm drawing (?) from. Sometimes when I'm drawing I can clearly see the image in my mind and so the drawing itself comes along. Other times I need a model, it's there but it's not there.
Up early this morning, now it's light enough to feed the birds and do the chores. It's rained a little overnight and another light shower just passed over. With every turn of the weather I think of the dogs. Jamaica feels the cold and hates the rain. Radar is a bit more rugged. I hope they are okay. I wish they'd come home.
Monday, August 15, 2011
The dogs are still gone. Five days today. Talk to people who have missed pets for 3 to 7 days with a happy ending. I'm starting to wonder whether someone has picked them up. There's a chance someone has but doesn't know who to contact until they trace Jamaica's dog tag number through the council. Today was a public holiday so with luck we'll get that phone call tomorrow. We've got posters up at the Ma Ma Creek and Tenthill shops. Tomorrow posters will go to the vet surgery and the school and I'll get an ad in the local rag's Lost and Found section. Surely someone somewhere will know what's become of them.
Hiked up Mt. Whitestone yesterday. Got soaked with a passing shower (which unfortunately bypassed our dry and dusty property). Was on the path which follows the base of the summit. Not too many people go there so the birds and animals are less wary. Stood about 3 feet from two red backed fairy wrens with their twittering jittering females. Diamond drops were falling from the leaves and those tiny birds were revelling in the unexpected bath. Diminutive wings made gossamer by the sunlight were held out to be groomed with tiny beaks. They watched me with as much interest as I watched them.
I get this feeling of life shared at moments like that. My big thunky heart going boom boom boom while theirs is thrumming along at a sizzling vibrato. Yet it's the same, that urge to Life. My ponderous intelligence and their bright knowingness. The local farmers burn their paddocks every year - and unfortunately we are on the cusp of the burning times. I think of these little birds every year who, although they can fly away, lose their homes, their nests, their matted understory which gives them predator cover. It seems so unfair that we sacrifice them, I was going to say with a cavalier attitude, but there is no attitude. They are not given a passing thought. The only reason humans are superior to animals is because we have the means to destroy them. We are connected by blood and bone and spirit but we have forgotten.
But I am an optimist. Twenty years ago no one would have considered banning live export. It's on again but it has happened once and will happen again. Permanently. More and more people choose to live a meat free life. Animal shows abound on television whether it's of the calibre of David Attenborough or a child narrated half hour on a local network. Our neighbour came yesterday morning in a flap because he'd hit a wallaby. We followed him back. It was a female with a joey. We took her to P and G's. Unfortunately she died on the way but the joey, named Polanski to go with Roman who I took to P last Tuesday, is thriving. This neighbour is a guy's guy, nothing airy fairy about him. But he stopped, he got help. Our awareness of our fellow beings whether they are furred or feathered, whether they have backbones or not, increases all the time. I have hope.
Had a dream last night, such an obvious dream that I could interpret it. I dreamed of a cluttered make-up drawer, somewhat like the make-up drawer in the bathroom in which resides all the accumulated detritus of feminine 'stuff'. In the dream I was made to return to the drawer, to rummage through it until I cried out I don't want to play with make-up. How glaring is that? I don't want to play with make-up, made up, make believe - and of course make-up exists to disguise the faults and imperfections of the outward appearance.
Hiked up Mt. Whitestone yesterday. Got soaked with a passing shower (which unfortunately bypassed our dry and dusty property). Was on the path which follows the base of the summit. Not too many people go there so the birds and animals are less wary. Stood about 3 feet from two red backed fairy wrens with their twittering jittering females. Diamond drops were falling from the leaves and those tiny birds were revelling in the unexpected bath. Diminutive wings made gossamer by the sunlight were held out to be groomed with tiny beaks. They watched me with as much interest as I watched them.
I get this feeling of life shared at moments like that. My big thunky heart going boom boom boom while theirs is thrumming along at a sizzling vibrato. Yet it's the same, that urge to Life. My ponderous intelligence and their bright knowingness. The local farmers burn their paddocks every year - and unfortunately we are on the cusp of the burning times. I think of these little birds every year who, although they can fly away, lose their homes, their nests, their matted understory which gives them predator cover. It seems so unfair that we sacrifice them, I was going to say with a cavalier attitude, but there is no attitude. They are not given a passing thought. The only reason humans are superior to animals is because we have the means to destroy them. We are connected by blood and bone and spirit but we have forgotten.
But I am an optimist. Twenty years ago no one would have considered banning live export. It's on again but it has happened once and will happen again. Permanently. More and more people choose to live a meat free life. Animal shows abound on television whether it's of the calibre of David Attenborough or a child narrated half hour on a local network. Our neighbour came yesterday morning in a flap because he'd hit a wallaby. We followed him back. It was a female with a joey. We took her to P and G's. Unfortunately she died on the way but the joey, named Polanski to go with Roman who I took to P last Tuesday, is thriving. This neighbour is a guy's guy, nothing airy fairy about him. But he stopped, he got help. Our awareness of our fellow beings whether they are furred or feathered, whether they have backbones or not, increases all the time. I have hope.
Had a dream last night, such an obvious dream that I could interpret it. I dreamed of a cluttered make-up drawer, somewhat like the make-up drawer in the bathroom in which resides all the accumulated detritus of feminine 'stuff'. In the dream I was made to return to the drawer, to rummage through it until I cried out I don't want to play with make-up. How glaring is that? I don't want to play with make-up, made up, make believe - and of course make-up exists to disguise the faults and imperfections of the outward appearance.
The puppies are still gone. Hiked up around the side of Mt. Whitestone yesterday. Was thoroughly soaked by a passing shower which unfortunately did not extend to our dusty property. Although the hike was for an unfortate reason it had its benefits. Birds there so seldom see people they are relatively unafraid. I stood
Friday, August 12, 2011
Dog Gone
Rather dogs gone. Radar and Jamaica have been missing over 24 hours now. I suspect they bolted because of thunder. We had a brief shower yesterday and during it I thought I heard thunder but thought it was the stereo. Should have investigated. We've been up and down the road on foot and in the truck many times but no sign. Yesterday afternoon, one of the neighbours, who lives high on a ridge, said she'd just seen them so we drove up there, were probably there in less than 15 minutes but they were already gone.
Last night was cold, 2 degrees Celcius. Jamaica feelsl the cold more than Radar. He has a fine thin coat. There is a dead wallaby up the road, the same one I rescued the joey from on Tuesday and took to P for raising (joey doing very well). It hasn't been touched. While walking around the property this morning I found another dead wallaby on the dam bank. It is untouched but looks as though it may have been in the water as its fur is matted. There are dog prints all around it which are of a size that could be a whippets but there is no way of knowing. There's alot of water about so that's not a problem. Food is. They are city dogs at heart, used to having dinner served up morning and night. Not sure they'd eat a wallaby or anything else for that matter unless it was in their dog bowl with gravy and kibbles.
I've rung the local council and the surgery to put in missing dog reports. The neighbours the entire length of the road know they're missing and will ring us if they see anything. I can't think what's happened to them. Can't think of what else to do either.
I do know one thing. The radio collar business is a curse. It hasn't worked. Radar bolted just a few days ago after a wallaby and bruised his front leg severely. He's bolted a few times. He's okay if he sees a wallaby that's far away but if its close he can't resist and as he's so fast the shock he gets from the fence is a fleeting one and a small price to pay for the joy of the chase. If we didn't have the fence I suspect they'd be home by now but with it's inbuilt discouragement they aren't game to chance it. There's a difference between ambling and dashing through. Humans would think it through and decide the pain was worth the payoff of food and a warm bed. But not the whippets.
Last night was cold, 2 degrees Celcius. Jamaica feelsl the cold more than Radar. He has a fine thin coat. There is a dead wallaby up the road, the same one I rescued the joey from on Tuesday and took to P for raising (joey doing very well). It hasn't been touched. While walking around the property this morning I found another dead wallaby on the dam bank. It is untouched but looks as though it may have been in the water as its fur is matted. There are dog prints all around it which are of a size that could be a whippets but there is no way of knowing. There's alot of water about so that's not a problem. Food is. They are city dogs at heart, used to having dinner served up morning and night. Not sure they'd eat a wallaby or anything else for that matter unless it was in their dog bowl with gravy and kibbles.
I've rung the local council and the surgery to put in missing dog reports. The neighbours the entire length of the road know they're missing and will ring us if they see anything. I can't think what's happened to them. Can't think of what else to do either.
I do know one thing. The radio collar business is a curse. It hasn't worked. Radar bolted just a few days ago after a wallaby and bruised his front leg severely. He's bolted a few times. He's okay if he sees a wallaby that's far away but if its close he can't resist and as he's so fast the shock he gets from the fence is a fleeting one and a small price to pay for the joy of the chase. If we didn't have the fence I suspect they'd be home by now but with it's inbuilt discouragement they aren't game to chance it. There's a difference between ambling and dashing through. Humans would think it through and decide the pain was worth the payoff of food and a warm bed. But not the whippets.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
The Galah, the Whippet and the Collared Sparrowhawk
Galah background story. Casuarina and Grevillea, two mature females, came to us a few years ago when it became obvious they would never fly. Grevillea is a friendly soul who especially likes R. Otherwise the two girls were very close. Bonded, allo preening and even pseudo sex. Sad in a way as there aren't enough males to go around but they seemed happy enough. The relationship was steady and uneventful.
Fern has been with me for 8 or 9 years. She was my first permanent galah. She is an opinionated girl, does not like head scratches but quite likes being carried about and, strangely enough, 'laddering', when one hand is placed above the over while she climbs to a non-existent top. When Obama came, the last galah to arrive, and he matured, he and Fern became friends. Not lovers, just friends although I did see some mutual preening going on.
All seemed well until last week. I'd noticed some friction amongst the birds but as squabbles occur on a regular basis I hadn't given it much thought. Then one morning I heard cries from the aviary. They were angry screams threaded with a kind of moaning. When I went out I saw that Casuarina and Obama had bloody right legs. It looked as though they had had each other in a galah style wrestling grip which neither was willing to break to the point where they'd ringbarked each other's leg..
Although the wounds looked about the same in severity, by galah rules Casuarina had won. She has forsaken Grevillea in favour of Fern. Obama is hunted away from Fern when he tries to come near. Fern doesn't dislike Casuarina but she isn't impressed either. Fern is heterosexual. For years she carried a torch for Marvin, who because of his aggressiveness lives in his own aviary, but Marvin met her with advances with attack. Grevillea seems nonplussed by the change in galah dynamics. Obama is sad and Fern philosophical. Casuarina is relentless.
Casuarina has always looked rather frowsy. She's the one that lays eggs every year and is the first to come down with coccidiosis in the summer. This latest imbroglio has not improved her appearance except when she's on the hunt and her feathers are slicked in anger. She has taken an active dislike to me and attacks if given a chance. I came very close to removing her from the aviary and putting her in a cocky cage (the only available housing as I have no empty aviaries) but as Obama is alert and stays out of her way I've been able to avoid that extreme measure.
Yesterday Radar disappeared sometime before 9am. I didn't worry too much as after he'd exhausted himself and torn his pads hunting wallaby he'd come home sheepish and limping. Except he didn't. Two hours went by. I put a leash in my pocket and walked DGR hoping I'd meet him on the way. But no sign. Returned home, had a coffee and a snack then climbed Mt. Whitestone. Followed the new north south track below the summit. It was green and rich and quiet and just what I needed. I would've enjoyed it more if I hadn't been worried about Radar.
Two hours later I returned home to find R had found Radar in the creek at the bottom of the property. His left foreleg was swollen and scraped and has a ringbark purple bruise above the dew claw. His chest was bloody, blood dripped down his leg and he was very lame. But safe and relatively sound. We suspect he came a cropper amongst the rocks in the creek. Whippets travel so fast they leave their brains behind. And Radar, a hunter extraordinaire in his imagination, is the worst. He becomes completely unglued. So he's a sad and sorry dog this morning but he's eating well and the swelling has subsided a little.
Walking the dogs home a couple of days ago I saw what I first thought to be an owl hanging upside down in a dense thicket of cats claw creeper. It flew off, somewhat nonchalantly considering our proximity, and started to tear at its feet. I thought perhaps it had string tangled around its legs. I brought the dogs home and returned with a pair of binoculars. The bird wasn't frightened of me and continued tearing at its feet. But it didn't have string wrapped around its legs. It was eating a small bird. I looked the bird up and discovered it was a silent hunter of small birds in forested areas, the Collared Sparrowhawk. Something had killed and dismembered a bar shouldered dove right in front of the aviaries the day before while we were walking the dogs. It may have been the same bird. I saw him again yesterday. The galahs are nervous.
Fern has been with me for 8 or 9 years. She was my first permanent galah. She is an opinionated girl, does not like head scratches but quite likes being carried about and, strangely enough, 'laddering', when one hand is placed above the over while she climbs to a non-existent top. When Obama came, the last galah to arrive, and he matured, he and Fern became friends. Not lovers, just friends although I did see some mutual preening going on.
All seemed well until last week. I'd noticed some friction amongst the birds but as squabbles occur on a regular basis I hadn't given it much thought. Then one morning I heard cries from the aviary. They were angry screams threaded with a kind of moaning. When I went out I saw that Casuarina and Obama had bloody right legs. It looked as though they had had each other in a galah style wrestling grip which neither was willing to break to the point where they'd ringbarked each other's leg..
Although the wounds looked about the same in severity, by galah rules Casuarina had won. She has forsaken Grevillea in favour of Fern. Obama is hunted away from Fern when he tries to come near. Fern doesn't dislike Casuarina but she isn't impressed either. Fern is heterosexual. For years she carried a torch for Marvin, who because of his aggressiveness lives in his own aviary, but Marvin met her with advances with attack. Grevillea seems nonplussed by the change in galah dynamics. Obama is sad and Fern philosophical. Casuarina is relentless.
Casuarina has always looked rather frowsy. She's the one that lays eggs every year and is the first to come down with coccidiosis in the summer. This latest imbroglio has not improved her appearance except when she's on the hunt and her feathers are slicked in anger. She has taken an active dislike to me and attacks if given a chance. I came very close to removing her from the aviary and putting her in a cocky cage (the only available housing as I have no empty aviaries) but as Obama is alert and stays out of her way I've been able to avoid that extreme measure.
Yesterday Radar disappeared sometime before 9am. I didn't worry too much as after he'd exhausted himself and torn his pads hunting wallaby he'd come home sheepish and limping. Except he didn't. Two hours went by. I put a leash in my pocket and walked DGR hoping I'd meet him on the way. But no sign. Returned home, had a coffee and a snack then climbed Mt. Whitestone. Followed the new north south track below the summit. It was green and rich and quiet and just what I needed. I would've enjoyed it more if I hadn't been worried about Radar.
Two hours later I returned home to find R had found Radar in the creek at the bottom of the property. His left foreleg was swollen and scraped and has a ringbark purple bruise above the dew claw. His chest was bloody, blood dripped down his leg and he was very lame. But safe and relatively sound. We suspect he came a cropper amongst the rocks in the creek. Whippets travel so fast they leave their brains behind. And Radar, a hunter extraordinaire in his imagination, is the worst. He becomes completely unglued. So he's a sad and sorry dog this morning but he's eating well and the swelling has subsided a little.
Walking the dogs home a couple of days ago I saw what I first thought to be an owl hanging upside down in a dense thicket of cats claw creeper. It flew off, somewhat nonchalantly considering our proximity, and started to tear at its feet. I thought perhaps it had string tangled around its legs. I brought the dogs home and returned with a pair of binoculars. The bird wasn't frightened of me and continued tearing at its feet. But it didn't have string wrapped around its legs. It was eating a small bird. I looked the bird up and discovered it was a silent hunter of small birds in forested areas, the Collared Sparrowhawk. Something had killed and dismembered a bar shouldered dove right in front of the aviaries the day before while we were walking the dogs. It may have been the same bird. I saw him again yesterday. The galahs are nervous.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
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