Monday, August 15, 2011
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
Friday, July 29, 2011
Can't sleep. Up at sparrow's fluff, timed it for a second hot flash so I could race to the loo and then into the bathroom before the sweat had dried. Heater on, bathmat against the door, where Natalia tries to pull it through, while washing and getting dressed. Then back into the cold where three expectant cat faces, one, Natalia mewing piteously, while I get their breakfast. Natalia in the laundry room with her CD, Matisse on the fridge and Nairobi on the floor with their Science Optimal. Coffee made, bird dishes set out and woodburner fueled and flickering.
Sky turning grey. There's a cow lowing to the north but not even the kookaburras have called yet. The willie wagtails sing through the night but the kookaburra is Australia's version of the cockcrow. We have several living around here. The kurrajongs have come down from the mountains for the winter. No, wait I'm wrong. Just heard the first bird. Not a kookaburra but a butcherbird, the warbler of the woods. It and the gerygone have the best songs. The gerygone is the prettiest but the butcherbird is the more ethereal.
Sky turning grey. There's a cow lowing to the north but not even the kookaburras have called yet. The willie wagtails sing through the night but the kookaburra is Australia's version of the cockcrow. We have several living around here. The kurrajongs have come down from the mountains for the winter. No, wait I'm wrong. Just heard the first bird. Not a kookaburra but a butcherbird, the warbler of the woods. It and the gerygone have the best songs. The gerygone is the prettiest but the butcherbird is the more ethereal.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
The Annihilation of Buddhism
Have been reading up on Buddhism, the person, the history, the various forms and the art. I've been interested in Buddhism for many years but have always had a problem with its tenets. It makes sense in some ways but there is one fundamental flaw. The extent to which non-attachment is taken. No desire; for things, people, emotions (including the desire to feel joy), ideas, even to have a spirit or soul. Complete annihilation of everything. Nihilism equals nirvana.
There was a program on telly the other night which explored the life and death of the universe. In trillions upon trillions of years the stars will all dissolve, there will be no light only photons diffused through a space empty of all mass, even I suppose of time, for nothing will change. And, the presenter, said, from that point nothing will change. There would be no time for there would be no changes to mark time. I thought it must be something like dissolving ink in a glass of water. When the drop first hits the water it would evolve into strings and spirals and shapes. With time the ink would be equally dispersed into the water and from that point, like the dead stars, it would not, could not, resume its former shapes and of course never coalesce into that first drop. There would only be dead, faintly tinted water.
So there's part of the problem for me. I don't want to be dissolved into a dead universe with no time, no change, no light. And it seems wrong to want it so. This earth, a bright blue ball, the only living thing that we know of, is a jewel. It's like going to a party where the hostesss has gone to great lengths to decorate the room, has spent hours in the kitchen cooking my favourite foods, has found special unique gifts that are sure to delight me yet when I arrive I go sit in a corner, do not acknowledge the effort that has gone into the party, and worse, act and believe it was all a cruel illusion on the hostess' part to keep me from my true destiny which is the death of everything, including me. I don't mean just physical death but death of my soul as well.
I often experience that 'oceanic feeling' that Jung wrote about. It's not hard. I only have to look at Nature with an awareness of its beauty, its majesty, its miraculousness to get that lift in my heart. Trees do it for me as does the sky or the stars at night. Being alive is a blessing. And death? Death will be a release for one does get tired. I get foreshadowings of that but it's not a bad thing. It's all part of the deal. Light and dark. Beauty and wretchedness. It's the Package Deal of Life. I'm willing to play. Perhaps there will come a time, when I've had my one millionth reincarnation, that the warbling of a white throated gerygone no longer means anything but background noise. If that happens then I will welcome annhilation. When beauty eludes me I will already be dead.
There was a program on telly the other night which explored the life and death of the universe. In trillions upon trillions of years the stars will all dissolve, there will be no light only photons diffused through a space empty of all mass, even I suppose of time, for nothing will change. And, the presenter, said, from that point nothing will change. There would be no time for there would be no changes to mark time. I thought it must be something like dissolving ink in a glass of water. When the drop first hits the water it would evolve into strings and spirals and shapes. With time the ink would be equally dispersed into the water and from that point, like the dead stars, it would not, could not, resume its former shapes and of course never coalesce into that first drop. There would only be dead, faintly tinted water.
So there's part of the problem for me. I don't want to be dissolved into a dead universe with no time, no change, no light. And it seems wrong to want it so. This earth, a bright blue ball, the only living thing that we know of, is a jewel. It's like going to a party where the hostesss has gone to great lengths to decorate the room, has spent hours in the kitchen cooking my favourite foods, has found special unique gifts that are sure to delight me yet when I arrive I go sit in a corner, do not acknowledge the effort that has gone into the party, and worse, act and believe it was all a cruel illusion on the hostess' part to keep me from my true destiny which is the death of everything, including me. I don't mean just physical death but death of my soul as well.
I often experience that 'oceanic feeling' that Jung wrote about. It's not hard. I only have to look at Nature with an awareness of its beauty, its majesty, its miraculousness to get that lift in my heart. Trees do it for me as does the sky or the stars at night. Being alive is a blessing. And death? Death will be a release for one does get tired. I get foreshadowings of that but it's not a bad thing. It's all part of the deal. Light and dark. Beauty and wretchedness. It's the Package Deal of Life. I'm willing to play. Perhaps there will come a time, when I've had my one millionth reincarnation, that the warbling of a white throated gerygone no longer means anything but background noise. If that happens then I will welcome annhilation. When beauty eludes me I will already be dead.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Almost a month since writing here. Computer disaster. Lost everything, including my novel, as I didn't back up (lesson learned!). With hours of phone calls and a visit from Dell tech support (the first time), I got back online with a computer system as new as a recently unpacked computer. Have learned alot which is a good thing.
Missed entering a couple of drawings into the local exhibition as I couldn't get the photos from camera onto computer. I thought at the time that maybe that was a good thing as the drawing should be an end in itself rather than a competition. I can be optimistic about most anything! Anyway, since then I've done a couple of paintings with oil pastel. One is finished and so colourful. Beautiful vivid colours. Not complicated but I like looking at it which is the point of the exercise. The second one is almost finished. They are learning exercises. Oil pastels are different than chalk pastels and require a different approach.
Have started sugar soaping the walls in the living room. The quarry court case has been delayed until September. Either way the living room will be repainted. A safe blue-grey if we sell and a deep dark red if we stay. R is a bit worried about the red but I don't feel like playing safe anymore. Yes, it might make us feel hotter in summer but it will help us feel warmer in winter. With a worm hole skylight in the living room (another thing we'll do if we stay) the space won't look like a puncture wound. Big plans if we stay and rather exciting to think about. New aviaries for the birds, skylights, new decks, a safe outdoor cat area in the fernery, insulation; these are just a few things that spring to mind. But if the quarry goes ahead, it's full steam ahead to move. Either way life will be busy.
Meditating after yoga. Although I don't get to do it every day I do notice a subtle change. Practice, although not making perfect, does help. Of course the more I do it the more I am amazed at how easily I am distracted. The trick is realising quickly that I'm thinking. I am better at catching myself. Maybe that's the only true improvement of these past few months. Amazing that yoga has made such a difference to my life. I notice the days that I miss the mat. My health is better, my flexibility vastly improved, my breathing, despite still being a smoker, improved. Yes, I know, terrible thing to do yada yada yada. Believe me, I have the entire non smoking dialogue on repeat in my head. Nevertheless, I smoke and I like it.
Amy Winehouse died yesterday. Prayed for her to be at peace. Everything in her favour, talent, quirky beauty, great jazz voice, youth and lost it all in a vein. Got a residual feeling like I did at eight years old when Marilyn Monroe was found dead, thinking, arrogantly no doubt, that if only she'd had a friend who could help. But that is an arrogant attitude for someone has to want to be helped and Amy and MM didn't. Must be a terrible burden to have all this fame and feel, deep in your innermost self, that you're a fraud. Don't we all feel that way sometimes? I know I do. Alcoholics and addicts beat their disease all the time but they have to love themselves enough to feel they deserve to be well.
The people in Norway didn't have a choice. Such a good looking young man, with opportunity and education, the world as his oyster and he threw it away along with 92 others. He may have couched his murdering spree in rhetoric but he is just mad. And famous. Was that his point? Fame at any price? He was eager to confess. Norway's maximum sentence is 25 years. Perhaps that's a small price to pay for notoriety.
Dimitri is now taking seed and corn segments from my hand through the penthouse cage (his safe perch reached via a ladder through an old compost bin). He's also taking seed from my fingers while I'm seated on the floor. Plan to use the target stick to get him to step up onto my hand. Not that I can ever stand with him. He takes fright too easily and would plummet to the ground but it would be nice to have him perched on my arm while I feed him treats. Would like to train him to allow me to scratch his head but as that is a 'dead man' behaviour it would be difficult. Just know that once he was comfortable with head scritches he'd love it, especially when he's got those new porcupine feathers in.
Missed entering a couple of drawings into the local exhibition as I couldn't get the photos from camera onto computer. I thought at the time that maybe that was a good thing as the drawing should be an end in itself rather than a competition. I can be optimistic about most anything! Anyway, since then I've done a couple of paintings with oil pastel. One is finished and so colourful. Beautiful vivid colours. Not complicated but I like looking at it which is the point of the exercise. The second one is almost finished. They are learning exercises. Oil pastels are different than chalk pastels and require a different approach.
Have started sugar soaping the walls in the living room. The quarry court case has been delayed until September. Either way the living room will be repainted. A safe blue-grey if we sell and a deep dark red if we stay. R is a bit worried about the red but I don't feel like playing safe anymore. Yes, it might make us feel hotter in summer but it will help us feel warmer in winter. With a worm hole skylight in the living room (another thing we'll do if we stay) the space won't look like a puncture wound. Big plans if we stay and rather exciting to think about. New aviaries for the birds, skylights, new decks, a safe outdoor cat area in the fernery, insulation; these are just a few things that spring to mind. But if the quarry goes ahead, it's full steam ahead to move. Either way life will be busy.
Meditating after yoga. Although I don't get to do it every day I do notice a subtle change. Practice, although not making perfect, does help. Of course the more I do it the more I am amazed at how easily I am distracted. The trick is realising quickly that I'm thinking. I am better at catching myself. Maybe that's the only true improvement of these past few months. Amazing that yoga has made such a difference to my life. I notice the days that I miss the mat. My health is better, my flexibility vastly improved, my breathing, despite still being a smoker, improved. Yes, I know, terrible thing to do yada yada yada. Believe me, I have the entire non smoking dialogue on repeat in my head. Nevertheless, I smoke and I like it.
Amy Winehouse died yesterday. Prayed for her to be at peace. Everything in her favour, talent, quirky beauty, great jazz voice, youth and lost it all in a vein. Got a residual feeling like I did at eight years old when Marilyn Monroe was found dead, thinking, arrogantly no doubt, that if only she'd had a friend who could help. But that is an arrogant attitude for someone has to want to be helped and Amy and MM didn't. Must be a terrible burden to have all this fame and feel, deep in your innermost self, that you're a fraud. Don't we all feel that way sometimes? I know I do. Alcoholics and addicts beat their disease all the time but they have to love themselves enough to feel they deserve to be well.
The people in Norway didn't have a choice. Such a good looking young man, with opportunity and education, the world as his oyster and he threw it away along with 92 others. He may have couched his murdering spree in rhetoric but he is just mad. And famous. Was that his point? Fame at any price? He was eager to confess. Norway's maximum sentence is 25 years. Perhaps that's a small price to pay for notoriety.
Dimitri is now taking seed and corn segments from my hand through the penthouse cage (his safe perch reached via a ladder through an old compost bin). He's also taking seed from my fingers while I'm seated on the floor. Plan to use the target stick to get him to step up onto my hand. Not that I can ever stand with him. He takes fright too easily and would plummet to the ground but it would be nice to have him perched on my arm while I feed him treats. Would like to train him to allow me to scratch his head but as that is a 'dead man' behaviour it would be difficult. Just know that once he was comfortable with head scritches he'd love it, especially when he's got those new porcupine feathers in.
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