I took delivery of one geriatric lame white peking duck and his smaller but sweet young wife, plus a male and female pair of enormous geese last night. My English smallholder neighbours were leaving our quiet little village in the Northwest of Hungary to work in Sweden and they did not have the heart to turn the above parts of their menagerie into ‘stew pot fodder’ which is what the locals would have done. I already have three black hens with white stripes and two enormous cockerels that are white with black stripes. (Yes, I know it sounds similar but its not when you actually see them)

Add to the above my large black Alsatian/Doberman cross doggie called Lazi and you have the sum total of my little family.

The geese are very beautiful but very stupid. They had a pen of about five square metres at my friend’s house. Now they have about eight hundred square yards of green and apple fall covered field to live in. I think they have agoraphobia! This morning they didn’t want to come out of their little nesting house. The door opens outwards and covers half of the gap to freedom so after waiting about five minutes of calling and cajoling, we were happy to see the white female’s head peer gingerly around the door as if to say “helloooo, Peek-a-boo! where the hell are we? And where are we supposed to go?” The next minute she got a hefty kick up the caboose by her hubby who pushed her out first and then followed behind her hooting up a storm and flapping his wings, being very manly and brave… as long as she was in front of him!!!!

Success, Hurrah, they are out. They spent the rest of the day two centimetres away from the side of my enormous chicken pen (which I think is visible from space and could be used for illegal immigrants if the government runs out of space) as though they were caged in.  I kept going to the other side of the chicken pen and calling out to them “Turn around, you have a lovely big space now” but I don’t think they got it. So pace up and down they did. About lunch time I gave up waiting for them to explore and brought them a bucket of water, because they definitely weren’t going to go and look for the one they already had near their bedroom, sorry nesting house – box – barn uhm! I don’t know the right word, must look it up on the net.

The cockerels are a little upset. They used to be the ‘biggest birds in town’ and now they have this enormous male goose poking his head through the wire fence if they so much as sneeze.

September 11^th.

Well I managed to get them to bed last night, by using the ‘air traffic control method’ which entails holding your arms out as though you are holding those silly lollipop things, and moving left, right and up and down while slowly advancing on the geese, at the same time sending calm, soothing thoughts their way. With this method if you are really lucky they mimic your smallest move and you can kind of carefully and calmly direct them in to their house - box – nest. Oh you know what I mean. However, if it is a NEW house and there are two holes (even if one of them has lots of firewood sticks poking dangerously through the door) then you have confused geese who will always choose the wrong door. This time she pushed him into the wrong door and he was not happy. Shows who really wears the goosy trousers in the relationship though.  Today I will put a barrier across so that they don’t do it again. I thought Geese were supposed to be intelligent, but I’m not so sure now!!!

September 12^th

Today we had a game of “ok so just how fast can you run Tania” when I let the geese out.  I am a little overweight and quite frankly try not to run whenever possible as the wobbling takes a while to calm down. But this morning they decided to test their very long wings and did a kind of parabolic jump-swoop-glide-thump down heavily movement towards the bucket of water I barely had time to let go of before I nipped quickly into the chicken pen. It was, I have to say very beautiful but a little scary. They did this manoeuvre in perfect formation and it was quite stunning. I am sure I would have enjoyed it immensely at a distance of more than 3 feet and not looking back over my shoulder whilst running.  I am looking forward to tomorrow morning with trepidation! Oh and by the way, I have finally named them George and Mildred.

On the chicken and duck front, I am extremely proud of my geriatric disabled duck today.   I decided to do a little ‘bird watching’ just because quite frankly there is always something more interesting going on in the coop than on the TV. so I threw over some grass and dandelions because I know they like them. (of course the geese who are in about half an acre of lush, green, weedy field decided to hassle me, which was ridiculous) The chickens immediately went for all the green stuff and I made sure that I threw some directly in front of Lilly, yes, I know it’s a girls name, but they didn’t know that when they named him.  He didn’t like the stuff he had right in front of him so he waddled and struggled over to the biggest juiciest patch and sat down on half of it. I thought that the chickens would go ape. Well not actually ape, because that would be silly, but you know, flapping and chickeny angry stuff.  But no! if a chicken so much as looked sideways at his hoard he smartly rapped them in the side with his beak. I was very proud because he had been a bullied duck most of his life. And NOW he was getting his own back. Even the bolshie cockerels avoided him in the end and found other patches to peck at. He went to bed very happy with a full belly and I could definitely see a hint of a grin on his beak.

September 13^th.

Had a major breakthrough today.  Everyone behaved themselves, and everyone is getting used to my evening routine. The geese actually started towards their .. ok I’m gonna call it their nest, before I even opened the first chicken coop gate. The cockerels didn’t go for me as I went through to ‘air traffic control’ the geese, and by the time the geese were nice and cosy in their nest the head cockerel had herded his citizens in to the chicken house and was just standing guard waiting for me. 

Since I have had the geese, I have tried to develop a method of getting the chickens in without waiting until it is pitch black. I know, I’m a sissy but I don’t like the dark.  But the cockerels had a habit of running back out if I tried to put them to bed too early and quite frankly I know I weigh about 100 times what they do but they are pretty scary when they want to be. So, when I got the geese, I realised that I could approach the chicken house door from the other side so that they couldn’t see me coming and then sneak up on them quickly and close the door firmly but gently before they realised what was happening and shot out of it like they were fired from a cannon. Oh, tip here for anyone newly keeping chickens. They do this regularly, especially in the morning. DO NOT stand in front of your chicken house door when you let them out. They come out like ballistic missiles, and definitely have CPGS (chicken programmed guidance systems), straight for your legs. Oh, and I also find it useful to be carrying a bucket. metal, not plastic, no reason, it just feels heavier for emergencies.

So I am very pleased that I seem to be getting all my winged beasties into a routine. Mind you, they are extremely stupid and probably won’t remember ‘the Tania method’ tomorrow. Who knows what will happen? I will let you know. Night night.

14^th September

Diary abandoned due to partying at neighbouring Hungarian house. It was her birthday and much food, drinking, hilarity and general unruliness turned into 5 hours of fun for the Goose Keeper. Did you know that Hungarians celebrate their birthdays but even more of a party is held on their ‘name day’.  Some arbitrary person (actually I think it might be the Pope because everyone here is Roman Catholic, so please don’t tell him I called him an ‘arbitrary person’ because he might take offence and I won’t get good brownie points with ‘him upstairs’ if I go around dissin’ his rep. dude, (I hope you speak American Pop video too, Geese keepers RULE JA).  Ok, one day of trying to speak Hungarian and I forget how to speak ENGLISH and go into some weird not cool U.S. pigeon rap language. I do apologise. I am back now.

Anyhow, back to the name day thingy they do here.  You get a calendar and if your name is for instance Steven (Istvan in Hungarian I think??) then on St. Steven’s day you get to celebrate your name day, whether it is your actual birthday or not. It’s cool, because effectively you get two birthdays or more.  The Hungarians are extremely unimaginative when it comes to naming their children and have been for many generations, so you can pretty much count 99% of the population names on one hand for girls and one hand for boys. Of course the MOST common name here for girls is Maria, so to account for the fact that you may be called Maria, your mother, your grandmother, probably both of your aunts and your first daughter will also all be called Maria, the Pope has kindly provided about 5 different name days throughout the year for the name Maria so that it doesn’t get too crowed at your house with all the Maria’s celebrating on the same day. Very considerate. The other really common one here is Gyórgy or George, and generation after generation will name their son after their father. It does cause a small problem here though because the officials also know this, so even if you want to get a fishing licence you have to give your mother’s maiden name and your dates and places of birth about three generations back. Of course if your name is Mary Smith – Kovacs Maria or George Taylor – Szabó Gyórgy then you are in trouble because every fifth house probably has one. So I think they use the welsh thing, like, Jones the tailor, or Jones the butcher, or Jones the spy. Of course everyone knows everyone here and is related too. When I told my friend Iren that there was a lovely young lady in the little shop in the slightly bigger village of Báza Kerettye who spoke English, I could tell she was saying to her daughter. “you know, the one with the gammy leg, his wife’s, cousin’s, friend’s daughter”.

So I am probably, “you know …. the English woman, not Maria the one with the Hungarian father, not the one that moved next to Maria who used to work in the hospital. The one that moved in opposite Maria who used to be married to the bus driver, she has two huge geese.” C’est la vie! Maybe I should have called the female goose Maria!!!!

Oh and Geese, chickens and ducks are fine. No eggs today. Probably upset I was out for most of the day so went on strike.

15^th September

This morning it was dull and wet and I got up a bit earlier.  So the ‘flight of the geese’ didn’t happen this morning and altogether getting everyone up was a calmer experience. They all came out looking up at the sky with the ‘skip’ missing from their step as if to say. “oh dear, looks like rain” but I soon restored their spirits with a nice little pile of fresh golden corn to focus on.  George gave a half hearted morning honk and then kind of hopped and waddled at the same time straight to the feeding tray. Finally he is hungry which is excellent. Mrs Goose – Mildred went on a little side shopping expedition on the way, as women usually do in the supermarket, to find any particularly fresh vegetable that may have been delivered overnight in the weed patch. She glanced and mooched around for about a minute before her husband took his head out of the water bucket and hooted to her to come and have breakfast, accompanied by a slight gurgling. I don’t quite know why he has to stick his head and about half of his neck in the water? Obviously he likes a quick wash-and-brush up in the mornings. Needs to keep his smart grey suit in ship shape condition in case of visitors or invading armies I suppose.

Chicken pen was the usual inter-continental ballistic missile silo but only for the cockerels, the hens looked positively moody about the weather change and didn’t appreciate being chased immediately at high speed around the compound by Mr. I’m-So-Hot-How-Can-You-Resist-me. The ducks of course came out glowing in anticipation at lovely muddy pools to puddle in and Miss duck immediately played the nodding ‘good morning’ game with me for a full two minutes, so I could tell she was very happy.   Eventually all the orgies, fun and games subsided and I soon had a row of chicken bottoms gaily bobbing up and down jostling for position at the feed trough.  By the way, does anyone know if chickens actually have elbows? Because if you saw them trying to gain and maintain the best feeding position in the mornings, you could swear that there was some elbow action going on. Especially when the one on the end gets shoved off the concrete plinth into the muddy bit looking very indignant.

Sports News:  I think today’s score board is something like this.

Geese 2 v Mum 2        Score Draw     No problems, no winners today.

Chickens 3 v Eggs 2               Mum League up 2.  Post match comments. Good end result,

                                                2 eggs is impressive for this little minor league young                                               team, although match was hampered by failing light,                                                occasional stops for rain and mad, horny cockerels                                                       running onto the pitch. 

Cockerels 2 v chickens 3 =     Post match quote from Flopsy (egg forward) “Gerrrof                                              and leave me alone until I’ve eaten you brute”.

Oh, and lastly Medical news today.  The Geese keeper reports that the mysterious itchy, spotty rash on the chin should clear up nicely with the cream now that the cause has been discovered. When spending hours studying the populace of ones little domain, It is NOT advisable to rest ones chin on the top of the old, rusty metal gate to the chicken pen. Particularly if said ‘one’ is highly allergic to metal. And now on to the weather report…………….

16^th September

Today started off too well. I didn’t have any actual paying work today, so I thought I would have a relaxing day doing nothing. Got up early and everyone was very civilised and well behaved, and it wasn’t raining. So I stayed and watched the coop for a while. After about twenty minutes, the chickens stopped taking any notice of me standing there and went off to mooch around. Then I realised they were having a meeting of the escape committee on the south corner.  It seems that they have been planning an escape attempt from Stalag 19. (pet name when we were building it, it has 2mtr high posts, a little overkill for 5 little chickens and 2 ducks)

After much nodding of heads at each other and clucking and talking, the cockerels and one chicken started digging in the corner while the other two hens took sentry duty at the east and west corners of the patch, standing far too still for chickens, but never the less trying to look nonchalant. I’m sure they were both trying to whistle and find pockets for their hands.  They are definitely planning a tunnel. I think they may be in cahoots with the moles which means it’s a conspiracy. The ground in that corner is very lumpy and has pits and troughs much deeper than anywhere else. Obviously this is not the first attempt! I watched sustained digging for at least ten minutes and I swear that the fluffy pouches on the cockerel’s legs looked heavier when they had finished. The ducks were assigned guard distraction duty and duly tried to keep my focus away from the tunnelling by deliberately walking in to things and trying to stand on each others heads.  Hmmm. I will have to keep an eye out for forged documents and night time disguise making. Zey vill not ezcape on my vatch!

17th

It is definitely the week of escape bids and shenanigans.  I couldn’t find the geese when I went to put them away for the night. I looked around the entire field, behind and between the out houses and barns, over the fence to my top meadow, across the my other garden, all the time calling out GEORGEY, MILDRED, PEEEPS, COME ON! WHERE ARE YOU? Well after 15 minutes of searching with not a honk to be heard I was very anxious that they might have flown south. I had only been indoors for half an hour, and I could swear that if that had happened I would have heard lots of honking during the calling, running, take off etc. Well I heard nothing. Eventually it was getting too dark so I thought I would just walk down past my neighbours, to the open field with the entire hillside visible to see if they had got out hoping that I could spot Mildred who is pure white in the fading light, but nothing, just a flapping plastic bag on a fence post. Feeling very sad, I was walking back home and I saw my neighbour come home so I asked him to check his yard. He gestured for me to come in and there they were. Crowded up in a little corner between the back of my chicken house and his fence. NOT MAKING A SOUND. I know I checked down there, so they must have been playing hide-and-seek with me, because when I was at the front they must have been at the back and visa versa. Well, honestly. Fancy frightening me like that. It’s downright sneaky. They are always noisy so I know they were doing it deliberately. I organised tactical reinforcements but by the time we got all the way around and back down to their field they were almost at their nesting house and waiting for me to guide them calmly the last two metres. They did try a quick ‘pop the head back around the door’ peek-a-boo manoeuvre before they calmly walked into their house without so much as a peep. I think I heard whispering and giggling after I closed the door.

18^th September

Chicken soup day. This is definitely a first written warning for cockerel number 2. I carry two long wooden poles through the chicken pen to aid my ‘air traffic control’ of the geese when getting them to bed. A few days ago I inadvertently pointed it at one of the lady chickens and nearly jumped out of my skin when the number 2 cockerel attacked my sticks. ‘OK, fair enough’ I said to him, he thought I was going to hurt his lady friend. Weeeell. Tonight, I went through with the sticks as usual. The bigger cockerel got out of my path but the smaller one ‘Zebra’ stood his ground, so being a big softie and a little bit apprehensive about cockerels in general, I went around him. I was leaning down to open the farther gate to the field where the geese are and he went for my sticks again. TWICE. Well, he made me jump alright. I told him “this is your chicken soup warning number 1, any more shenanigans and I will be having a nice supper” He cocked his head and pinned me down with one beady eye, stuck his proud red crown straight up, turned his beak up at me and stepped sideways to line up again. 1. I didn’t even know they could step sideways. 2. I’m beginning to think that maybe they are far more intelligent than I have previously given them credit for and 3. I got the hell through that gate as fast as I could. I think that maybe I should have said ‘chicken soup’ in Hungarian, maybe that will scare him more!!! 

The goosies are lovely. They are so majestic. George and Mildred kind of ‘sail’ across the field, tacking left and right in a nautical zig zag as I guide them in to their nest. Their long necks acting like wind socks and masts at the same time. Their boom beaks following the prevailing winds and directions from mum and their slow progress forward with these huge webbed feet, which don’t seem to make them waddle like ducks but definitely stride and glide forwards.  It is a joy to watch.

19^th September

The sky was clear blue with a gusty breeze from the east. All was quiet in the valley, gentle sounds of long grass swishing in the wind, the occasional dog barking, happy chirruping of numerous little birds going about their morning business. Suddenly the peace was broken by frantic honking, the sound of large wings flapping, chickens shrieking and ducks bawling out a warning. I rushed to the coop, my heart beating a tattoo against my chest. What could have happened? A dog was attacking my winged family?  A hungry cat was scaling the walls of Stalag 19 in search of an easy meal? In the 30 paces it took me to reach the chicken pen, twenty separate panic scenarios raced through my adrenaline fuelled brain. When I got there however, it was the the surprised look on the faces of all the usual inhabitants and the extra visitor that dissipated my fear.  Mildred was standing quite still with her beautiful wings extended, looking around her with a confused expression on her pretty face, right in the middle of the chicken pen. Somehow during her morning exercises she had inadvertently flown over the six foot fence and landed in chicken central square.  I entered the affray with not a little nervous tension, but also amusement, and quite calmly and quickly managed to persuade her back through the far gate to a very grateful hubby who showed his appreciation by doing the heart shaped neck rubbing mating dance with her. It was a joy to see that he missed her so much in the eternity of the three minutes they were separated.

Chicken score – 3 eggs today. Hmm, maybe like many stock brokers, they perform better under pressure?

20^th September

Today was a very traumatic day. I was awoken by the earth tremor of the enormous tractor and trailer combo that serves as the cesspit emptying man trundling to a stop outside my house. Frantically I donned sufficient clothing to be able to tear back the heavy lace net curtain and wave enthusiastically at him in his nine foot high cab, hoping he would see me and realize I was desperate for his services.  I have – by proxy with the linguistic skills of my Hungarian friends – called him a total of three times in the last month trying to get his attendance to my needs.  It is a fact that here in Hungary there is nothing as urgent as the Spanish Manana (tomorrow) and I may have told you this before, but when requesting services here the patience of Job is required or a very good blood pressure specialist.  He waved back.

Eureka! Or rather less-reeking I hoped very soon. I duly threw on my shoes and ran (yes I know I said I don’t run, but sometimes you have too) to the front gate to see him disappear into the morning mist shrouding the first turn in to the forested area on our one road town. Being English of course I ran out into the middle of the road, waving my arms and jumping up and down hoping he would see me in his rear view mirror. A little foolish I know, as Hungarian men do not care what is behind them as they hurtle around the countryside doing a very good impression of Michael Schumacher on an F1 circuit.  Devastated I as the mist enveloped him, leaving behind only the distant rumbling sound of his passage to the other half of the village I turned to go when my, usually very reticent opposite neighbour began talking loudly at me in Hungarian.  From her tone I surmised that she wasn’t saying “Get out of the road you stupid English woman you are going to get run over” but reassuring me that he would return. At least the one word I understood (and looked up in the dictionary later) said this was a possibility. Ok, so he is possibly, maybe, probably, could be, at some point be coming back.  (That is about as definite a promise you will get from a Hungarian even for ready money)

Next problem. Do I have time to eat breakfast before he comes back? Do I want to eat breakfast before he comes back? Knowing my reaction to the miasma of methane that will permeate everything when or if he does come back, should I forget the breakfast idea altogether?  I went for option three. A cup of tea later I realised that I had an even bigger problem.  We built the chicken pen around the cesspit this summer!

It was a hot day and quite frankly I wasn’t to happy about shutting the chickens in. Also I was pretty apprehensive that I could get all of them in, with geriatric duck and Ms pretty duck with the centre forward rugby tackle techniques of the two large cockerels, during the middle of the day.  Then it hit me like an audible slap on the forehead. FOOD. They will all do anything for food. So I gathered the most juicy ripe thick dandelion leaves, roots, flowers and any grass that got in the way that I could. A great big armful of chicken caviar and rushed in through the gate hoping not to get mobbed before my plan materialised. I threw the grass in to the chicken house and stood back waiting for the rush. ………………….. Nothing.  Ah! I thought. They know my plan. Nope. They just didn’t see me put it in there. I was too quick for chicken eye-stomach co-ordination. So I opened the door wide, grabbed a handful and waved it at Lilly, he is always hungry. His head came up like a mere Kat and he swung round with impressive speed considering his bulk and disability. The next second he is honking his happy food song and bearing down on me with the greatest speed he can manage.  That got the attention of the reticent clan. And soon they were all heading quickly up the little step to the yummy food store, some of them straight over Lilly in their urgency, completely unaware that I am hiding behind the door waiting to trap them. As the last cockerel tail feather twitched over the threshold SLAM! I shut them in. AHA, I HAVE THE POWER.

Needless to say.  Mr cesspit man did NOT turn up. Ah well. Usual Hungarian service. The cockerels came out mid afternoon thinking it was morning again and chasing the chickens for their morning ‘release’ but the hens knew better and fended them off telling them they had headaches.

21^st September

Today the goose keeper (me just in case you were confused) decided to go swimming for the first time in about fifteen years.  An invitation had been extended by a beautiful young mum English student, blonde, with perfect skin and slim voluptuous figure. So the goose keeper spent many nights on the internet with her fashion guru (Mum) discussing options for swimming attire, whilst containing as much skin within coverings as possible, without wearing full winceyette pyjamas and a yashmak.  Finally a swimming costume with a knee length sundress was decided on.  The only compulsory wear being a swimming hat.

The swimming pool itself was beautifully kept, clean and bright with windows all around. The joy of floating, suspended with no gravity in warm water was wonderful. Then the icing on the cake. I was lead suspiciously through an outside enclosed corridor to what can only be described as a cathedral timbered ceiling over a circular thermal mineral spar pool, with one circle of the figure of eight shape enclosed in a circular masterpiece of wooden beamed roof and one half outside in a park. It was 38 degrees and absolutely wonderful. Suddenly this woman became encased in a torrent of ragging bubbles. I made a bad joke about her having eaten too much cabbage, but it became apparent that intermittently they turned on strong jets in the floor. Though none of us had a go because she seemed to know the routine and would sit directly over the next one to gush. Maybe next time.

The down side for the winged and tail wagging menagerie at home was that it was getting pretty dark when I left to go home. I had the most picturesque drive home. The sun was deep ruby red, and all the gaps between crimson tinted forests were mystical worlds with no ground. Swirls of fog drifting across the causeway of road separating thick bottomless candy floss fields. The ethereal feeling of drifting weightless through silent clouds of pink mist was amazing.  The depth of the ground evaporation intensified by the second. Every time I came out of the forest into another open field area it became higher and thicker, sometimes completely obliterating the road ahead for a few precious seconds.  I carefully drove home as quickly as I could thinking of my cowardly black Doberman cross Alsatian and of course, George, not the bravest of geese put on the planet.  So I parked the car and stopped to pat my dog Lazi briefly as I sprinted past towards the winged beasts with assurances that I would be back shortly, I was rather pleased to see that the chicks and ducks were already in bed and that George and Mildred were over half way to their nest house and pointing the right way. I grabbed the low solar powered garden light I have on the gate post and advanced on the geese carefully, aware that the mist was indeed thickly creeping towards me from the meadow beyond the field and starting to curl over the fence from next door and encircle the trunks of the stand of twenty foot pine trees I have marching down the right side of the field.  Despite the fact that by this time all hint of colour had drained from the scene leaving only indistinct and eerie greys, George and Mildred calmly walked to the entrance of their nest and Mildred walked in. George unfortunately has the same problem that I do. He is afraid of the dark and would not go in.  So eventually I had to stretch my arm as far as I could without taking another step forward and angle the dim solar glow into his nest before he would deign to go to bed.  Bless him.  I am beginning to feel very protective of the poor boy. He obviously has many hang-ups from a misspent youth.

22^nd September

This morning I was feeling very lazy and lacklustre. Apparently my moods affect my animals too. They were all slow to rise this morning, even the manic cockerels took their time and had a good stretch before they came flitting off the perch.  George and Mildred took a leisurely stroll towards the apple tree where their bucket of water and feed tray sit in mortal danger of being dive bombed by falling fruit. So for a change I didn’t have to do the backward glancing fox trot towards the relative safety of the chicken pen in awe of their morning wing exercising speed and strength.  They politely waited until I was caged before engaging in a half hearted honking and stretching, session saying good morning to the world in general and letting the neighbourhood that they were up and open for guard duty business.  I do wish I could take nice pictures of them, the sun was low and glowing golden through the trees turning the blades of grass to stripes of yellow and green. There was still ground mist rising in some hollow shaded areas and all in all it would be very pretty as a screen saver.  Unfortunately my camera is not very good and my camera-man-ship is even worse, so I have only achieved fuzzy non distinct distant shots of all of the animals. Maybe I should try and draw them. I used to be good at drawing.

The rest of the day went quite peacefully because I banged my head on the bottom of my 50ltr water tank whilst having a shower and then again on an open kitchen cabinet cupboard and spilt a bottle of 350 vitamin tablets all over my kitchen, so I spent the rest of the day rearranging student lessons, nursing a headache and finding vitamin tablets in some very odd places. I think I might be coming down with something.

I did some relaxing bird watching which always cheers me up.  Mildred was taking off about ten feet further away from the chicken pen than usual, so I guess her brush with captivity was by accident and she has worked out the maths of her parabolic flight path and realised that she needs to move her virtual runway back a bit to avoid doing it again.  She did a beautiful swoop and came gently to land right next to the feed tray under the apple tree, fluffed her wings at her hubby looking pleased with herself and indulged in a congratulatory snack.  2 eggs today.

23^rd September

Lots of housework today.  Trying to pretend I feel a bit better. Of course being allergic to dust and only doing the housework intermittently probably doesn’t help, but I think life is too short to wash floors every day.  The goosies are fine. The chickens behaved. I did take my neighbour and her elderly visitor around my parents hobby purchase, the ancient cob house next door. I gathered slowly with my bad Hungarian that the visiting old lady used to know the occupants as we bought it off of my neighbour’s family.  It turned out that she was actually my neighbour’s aunt and that her parents and another aunt lived in the cob house until the last one died in 2000. So when the lovely old ladies insisted I come back to their house for some lunch having Ah’ed and Oh’ed at the renovated exterior, new electricity, floors, windows, doors, pipe work, hot water and toilet etc. in the house, I thought I would take around to them the old documents we found in amongst the tons and tons of furniture, clothes, straw beds, pickled vegetables, bottles, pate tins, bits of wire, used orthopaedic stockings, nylon dresses, hundreds of discarded iron horseshoes for work boots and mouse eaten goodness knows what, that we cleared out of the house in the last two years.

It was quite amusing watching the two of them because my neighbour is in her sixties and is generally called ‘Auntie’ or ‘grandma’ by most of the village population, however, her Aunt was well into her seventies, so Gisella my neighbour was trying to explain to her aunt which room was which because she had trouble recognising the house with so much stuff cleared out and doors where there were walls, and windows where there had been doors etc.  So when she got to the two front rooms and recognised the original traditional folk art decoration on the walls, she laughed and looked at me and gushed Hungarian and pointed and smiled and I think she was trying to tell me that she had helped to do the decoration. She grinned broadly when she realised that we were not intending to knock it down and build new, but would like to preserve some of the old workmanship wherever possible.

It turned out that the beautifully hand written in calligraphy papers were in fact as old as the dates on them. There were about six sheets of thick A4 paper with beautiful ink writing on them, some stamped and some not with dates from 1881 and upwards. They were I think, what passed for birth certificates. There were health insurance books from the 1930’s. Exercise books with spellings and card collections in them from the 1960’s and ration books from the 1940’s. . I did tell them repeatedly that I think that the documents should be in a museum.  There was a folk song, learn to sing, school book that the old auntie had learned from herself and she started to recite and try and remember the tunes for some of them. This book even cartoon instructions on breathing correctly when singing, which impressed me very much as I have been a vocal coach in the past and this was designed for young school children so they obviously took singing very seriously in the pre war schools. It became apparent that the documents all belonged to the ancestors of this lovely old auntie so I gave them to her, along with a couple of small black and white photographs of three old ladies.

We had tried to find out who these ladies were.  From the outfits it was difficult to tell because many of the old ladies here still wear the panelled knee length skirts with head scarves and aprons. But there was also a young man in the doorway with very narrow trousers on and a military style suit jacket and a flat cap, so we had estimated about 1950’s or 60’s.  The old auntie recognised them, one was her mother and another was my neighbours mother, we had realised they were not taken at the cob house because of the surroundings and the lack of width for a window, but it looked so similar we were baffled, so I was grateful when she told me that they were taken at the hill house next to their vineyard where they make the wine. It is on the top slope of the valley behind my plot and toward the east and still used now by my neighbours’ husband and anyone he can persuade to join him each afternoon for a drink. I have seen it at a distance nearly every day, but not visited it, so I was unaware that it is a small replica of the cob house next door to me with just two rooms whereas our house has six rooms plus a large open barn on the end. The rest of the construction details are however identical. White painted exterior, low roof, two to three foot thick cob walls and deep cut windows. Wooden ceilings with mud insulation on top which also creates a floor for the roof space which is used for all manner of things here, storage, drying sausage and crops, even keeping chickens, pigeons and rabbits during the communist times to keep them out of sight of the requisitioning squads.  My house was build in 1948 and apparently completed on the day the Russians marched into the village, but even this house has a mud insulated/floored huge loft space with wooden pens demarking areas in the front where chickens were hatched and rabbits kept.  I am not sure I have mentioned yet that I also have a cellar and a Well which I use daily for my animal family’s water.

I can see the row of pincer (cellar) houses from the bottom of my garden. I am in the base of the valley between the road and the creek that takes the spring water down and away through the village. You can always find the same picturesque brightly painted rows of cellar houses near most villages on a hillside. There are neatly planted vine rows on the eastern most slope of our valley. Perversely the rows here are planted down the hill and not sideways as is far more common in hilly vineyards. I am familiar with Spanish and French vineyards which are made into small terraces and planted transversely which is much more sensible on a steep hill.  I think it says something about the Hungarian psyche that they plant their vines up and down the hill in extremely neat but very hard to work rows on steep slippery hillsides with no steps or terraces to prevent spills. If they can find a more difficult way to do something, they will!  Each vineyard is punctuated at some point by a small one or two roomed house in a line along an old track road. Very pretty. The condition of the these little houses varies from raw hand made brick with caved in wood beamed roofs’ to miniature mansions with white picket fences, satellite dishes with generators, verandas, swing seats and bright purple and orange paint. Of course one of our younger community members – Attila – likes to play Hungarian Rap and techno-disco music loudly from his cellar house sometimes, which drifts across the valley on particularly drunken weekends. Times certainly move on.

26^th September

Mission: Describe dawn morning mist walk in the most lyrical, emotive way possible.

The valley awakening. The silence complete and penetrating. Grass blue with not-quite-frozen dew. Crisp and humid, cold steam, breathing deeply and exhaling visibly. Crunchy footfalls from fallen apples and snapping extra strong Hungarian weeds and grass. Resistance to the sole of my wellingtons on each step, giving almost a sprung dance floor effect and spurring me on towards the next adventure. Lungs bolstered by each breath of fresh, clean, chemical free air. Better than any inhaler or nebulizer the scientists could ever invent. The sense of wellbeing associated with the rich oxygen finally getting to all the tiny capillaries that had been starved and shrunken with disappointment for the last few days, now awakening to the sharp, cold, intense stimulation, opening like Chinese paper flowers dropped into fragrant scented water, flushing crimson with the joy of renewed chemical reaction and sending pleasure and relief signals at the speed of electrical impulses flying through the universe of connections to the brain. 

Leaning on the fence between the goose paddock and the meadow, watching the thick mist roll back up the hills and creep out of the hollows like a silent 1920’s monochrome Dracula movie played backwards in slow motion, the solitude was interrupted by a mechanical small tapping sound. I strained to pinpoint the direction of this contrapuntal sound.  Steeped in the organic stew of this spectacular morning, feeling keenly the connection between man and earth from where we came and where we will return. A flush of irritation passed behind my eyes at having this special moment interrupted by rude mechanical sounds, produced by hard cold metal. My eyes flashed annoyance trying to pierce the foliage and mist beyond the creek to the farm on the brow of the hill to the south. My silent speech centres preparing suitable expletives to fire at any activity of humanoid inorganic early morning origin.  I noticed in the indistinct foreground that the huge fan trunked tree dividing my land with my parents’ reed bed had snapped a large branch which lay incongruously angled upside down, still attached high up at its joint and limply waiting to be released. Refocusing my retina to assess the extent of help the wounded beast might need to prevent further damage, the tapping stopped and a tiny movement flitted almost beyond my ability to detect between the branches.  The stream of exhaled vapour suspended instantly as I held my breath and stood as still as I was able.  The tapping resumed, its tiny rhythm regular and with purpose, the now minutely detectable sound waves drawing the vocal picture of this tiny delicate native woodpecker, it’s determination to create a small haven for the day in the decaying Amazon of the enormous tree.  My relief was palpable. And with a reluctant sigh I left him to his task and turned to awaken my own little macrocosm as the sun peeked tentatively over the eastern forest, gently extending long gold and pink fingers of light. To seer by its delicate touch the last of the mist into the ground, to wait silently until released by nightfall to again creep and crawl across the land, and dominate its domain for the brief hours of darkness.

Ok that’s then end of my flight of fantasy. Though I did feel much better and the wheezing stopped for a full hour which was a relief.  Geese fine, ducks fine, chickens fine, cockerel no. 2 is gonna be soup soon if he doesn’t stop eying me up. Eggs 2.  Right if I’m quick enough I can get back into the warm dent left by my bum on the sofa before it cools and heals. Damn this cold.

27^th September

Health News Bulletin. : Today the Goose Keeper announced her official return to duty as diarist extraordinaire of the ongoing tales of drama and intrigue in the winged world of domesticated fowl.  The cough continues, but the overall symptoms are much relieved.

ER day! Oh what a terrible day it’s been.  Firstly, goose keeper has had NO sleep due to sleeping many, many hours over the last few days in her sick bed and on her sick sofa, so Internet called and then wayward son joined post Canada and USA friend’s conversations at 3.00am. So trying to go to sleep at 5.30am was not going to happen because the curtains were brightening and Goose keepers dog Lazido thought it was time to get up, and definitely time for a wee wee, a biscuit, a play, a bark and the rest of his usual morning regime.  Goosekeeper gave up at 7am rather than suffer permanent injury from the ever increasing intensity of ‘get up mum’ methods thought up by a now busting bladder big black boisterous dog. Although it was rather cold for the first time, Goose keeper began work. Slowly drawing Well water for feathered friends. Nighty duly tucked in to work trousers and extra warm lumber jack tartan padded shirt over the top. Completed by battered Indiana Jones type hat with complimentary splurges of dried mud. Attractively accessorised by pockets full of tissues and black cut-off-at-the-ankle-wellingtons because Lazi didn’t like the shape and decided to redesign them last winter.  Bags under the eyes optional for this look. Fashion Editors note: Lazido redesigned garments are only available on back order, speciality items in stock.  Toeless slippers, shredded shoes of most types, fingerless gloves and rimless hats on special offer. Holy socks sold out, sorry.

Struggling with buckets of water, buckets of ground corn, tissues etc. and trying not to cough (I noticed yesterday whilst engaged in chicken yard research, that every time I cough they all jump about four inches in to the air) I made my way through the fallen apples to the goose paddock, stopping to remove an old roof tile so that they didn’t hurt themselves walking on it and let them out. I had made it slowly back to the chicken pen when I realised that Mildred had hardly taken a step forward. And that George was actually staying with her, rather than standing behind her. She had one foot up and I could see red splotches. I instantly turned back calmly and approached, he also had blood on his feet.  “KARCHY, KARCHY” (its not actually spelt like that but that’s how it sounds in English) I called loudly for my neighbour. He didn’t respond and I couldn’t see him, so I tried not to panic and made my way up and down our neighbouring border trying not to look like a pacing tiger, peering through the gaps in various outbuildings and barns to see where he was. Finally I spotted him, bottle of uhm….. grape juice, in his hand, and called him loudly until he noticed me. I told him in my best Hungarian that – roughly translated “Helping, goose, leg, blood AAAAH!” and he came straight round.

He inspected them carefully from a distance and agreed with my tentative diagnosis that Rats had gotten at them in the night. HOW AWFUL IS THAT!  Maria (previous owner) had warned me this could happen with birds but my beautiful Mildred had been bitten alive in her sleep, I was really upset. Of course Karchy bless him, put the rat bait stuff out for me appropriately, and I tried to say to him that I really wanted to doctor the geese and wash their wounds and put bromide on them, but I know that the stress of me catching them and treating them to triage could also kill them. He reassured me that they would be better in two days and that I did not need the ‘Doctor’ yes, he did actually say ‘Doctor’ not ‘VET’ bless him. So I have braved the cockerels (and had a real fight with them) to gently clean out the geese bed and put lovely fresh straw down for them.  I also inspected much of the ground around the pen entrance for sharp objects, bits of wire, glass, spiky wood etc. but I couldn’t see any. I swept their entrance hall and some of the field as well.  I did feel soo guilty at putting them back in there tonight though.

ER moment number 2. Following many hours of painstaking orthopaedic observation of Lilly’s mobility special needs. I have come to the observed diagnosis that geriatric duck has definitely broken his leg at some point, though it is completely healed now.  One leg has a bulbous sort of knuckle that shouldn’t be there. And the reason he is so clumsy is that his wide orange webbed feet now overlap wrongly and he trips himself up every other step. Bless him. Maybe I should rename him Norman Wisdom. Prognosis - Excellent as long as he stops trying to run.

ER moment number 3. Actually it’s more gynaecological.  Pretty Miss Duck has completely gone off me and no longer does the nodding mating dance with me. I think she could at least have written me a ‘dear John’ letter, rather than just ignore me. It’s very hurtful. I have noticed that she has all of a sudden grown up and is no longer a teenager but is filling out nicely standing up straighter and taller than last week. Honestly kids reach puberty sooo quickly these days, it’s just impossible to keep up. Oh and of course she might be a boy! I am not sure! Apparently it’s all about the size of the bum with large white Peking ducks. She doesn’t seem to have the overhung, overdeveloped booty that I’ve seen on other ducks. But whether that means she’s a he or he’s a she, I’m not really sure.

ER moment Number 4. ME. Damned cockerels used a pincer movement on me when I was collecting an egg from the nesting box and trying to remove the ladder which I had insisted on at the ‘planning and design’ stage of the Stalag 19 construction, but now realise I’m just making it easier for the rats to steal the eggs as observation of the hens reveal that they ignore it completely and jump up for their egg laying sessions. Cockerel attack lasted about 15 seconds but felt like a slow-mo black and white war movie.  I got a good couple of swift kicks in to the oh-so-puffed-up breasts but one of them did ‘draw first blood’ and I have a little scratch on my leg.  I am expecting him to be wearing a head band in the morning and insisting the other chickens call him Rambo.  He’s very vain. Having said that I got so angry with them when they went for me that I shouted and swore at them and used the extracted ladder as convenient battlements, so that for the rest of the day, they have been walking rapidly away from me which is good as it has traditionally been the other way around. Only problem is that chicken brains recycle at night, so I have doctored my long, pink, flower covered wellies so that they fit properly, which should give me sufficient protection until I can secure Boycotts old England Cricket Club shin pads.  I did consider researching Kung Chuck, but decided that a big long strong metal handled, yellow plastic teethed yard brush was probably a better solution and much more in keeping with my couch potato philosophy on life.

Hope Mildred feels better tomorrow. I might let her borrow my pink plastic baby bath so that she can bathe her foot and keep it clean for a few days, and hope that she doesn’t pooh in it too much.  Love her to bits. Upset for her today.

28^th September

Well I woke up with trepidation this morning hoping that Mildred was O.K. I have been so worried about her that I didn’t sleep much and had terrible nightmares about her. I also had some bizarre ones where the geese were herding flocks of rats!  I hope that there are no more problems with this. And I will definitely be putting down some rat poison at regular intervals.  I don’t like using chemicals usually, like weed killer or poison but when it comes to rats and my lovely birds I am not taking any chances.

So, I took the baby bath out with me and pulled the extra two buckets of well water to give it a good depth for her, which absolutely knackered me (I still have this bad chest cough) but I was determined to do anything I could to help her.  It took me a while to decide where to put it, hoping for a depression in the ground because I didn’t want her to step on it and end up with the whole thing flipping over her head and capsizing on her. That definitely wouldn’t help her recovery.  I was a little concerned about the height of the sides of the baby bath, but I have noticed that both George and Mildred have been trying to get IN to the bucket of water lately and that is a lot higher so I hoped it would O.K. I did sensibly put the baby bath in situ first and then brought the water, because I had other nightmares last night about lil’ old me trying to lift a big, skin pink baby bath full of water. That was not going to happen.  Finally, I let George and Mildred out and stayed in the chicken pen to watch them for a while, despite destroying duck Lilly trying to knock the chicken coop door down from the inside. 

Well, what a relief, I was very happy to see that Mildred was much better this morning, no limping or blood and five minutes later she made her lovely swoop exercise and landed with only a little hoppity hop on landing.  For the rest of the day, I surreptitiously (I have to sneak a peek at them from the house door now because every time I go and check on the birds and they all see me, they come running to the gates and start making lots of noise waiting for me to throw some grass and dandelions in to the chicken pen.  The geese join in the excitement, although I don’t throw anything to them because they have the huge ‘eat all you can’ buffet behind them) kept an eye on the bird bath.  But they didn’t use it today, in fact I can honestly say that they ignored it completely which was a bit weird. I mean, a bright pink baby bath full of water sitting in a lush, green, tree lined field is a little conspicuous to say the least. Maybe they are colour blind like dogs and cant see the colour pink?

Anyhow, good news, she is going to be alright.

29^th September

HEADLINE: Fowl Flight Foiled, Funnel Filled!   It was reported today from Stalag 19 that the escape attempt had been foiled.  The commanding officer RAMBO threw down his bandana with disgust and walked away with a flick of his crop clucking “I cannot work with these hens!”  Later interview of his Cluck of the Works, Mrs Duck admitted that there had been workforce problems, in-fighting over unearthed treasures, strut-outs and now the icing on the cake, she admitted that this morning the hens had completely ignored pointed and clucked instructions and had actually managed to FILL IN the old excavations by scratching and pecking at the wrong bit. 

A spokes hen said “Management just don’t understand the pressure we are under.  We have an egg laying schedule, corn eating schedule, a scratching schedule and a resting schedule to fulfil every day. It’s just too much to ask to add in these extra shifts.  We are putting in a petition for more corn or there will be strikes. We are considering seriously the possibility of Strut Action and a ban on morning nooky” The excavations are planned to continue once the egos have cooled down.

Mrs Duck was content to sit under the nettle bush for most of the day and watch the proceedings with a scornful eye.  Lilly bless him made it right the way across the pen with hops, slides, pushes and determination so that he could sit next to her. I was very proud of him.  The geese are still ignoring the baby bath, not even a feather in it from drinking, so I will remove it tonight after bed time.  Otherwise its just something else to clean.

30^th September

It was my Dads birthday today so I was up early so that I could call him and wish him a happy day.  I hope that he will come online with my mum tonight during our internet video call. We talk every night. She is in her lovely Victorian house on the south coast of England and I am in Hungary in my little war time bungalow in the middle of the countryside, but it’s just like sitting opposite one another at the kitchen table for a chinwag. Yey! For technology. I really enjoy it and hope Dad isn’t too camera shy. He is 81 today. Congratulations!

I decided to chop down some of the nettle bushes in the chicken pen this morning. They were taking over and now up to my waist. I was not brave enough to do this whilst being eyed up by the cockerel SAS so I did it quickly before I let them out. I had my long wellies on so I stomped on them but you get a very tough breed of weed in Hungary.  Then I wished I had bought that machete I saw a few months ago because they were so woody that the stems would not break, so instead I got my small axe and just hacked my way through them. I only stung myself once so not too bad.  It was quite cold this morning and the dew was some way towards frozen (it was about 7degrees at 7am) so the stems wilted very quickly.  I had been told that ducks like nettles, but I was astonished to see that these three big bushes had completely gone in just one hour.  Not only that but the clock dial of hard stems I had left poking out of the ground were also gone and dug up and cleared as though they had never existed.  I have to say that chickens and ducks really could be used to clear urban sites. They are brilliant at demolition.

On the goose front, I was very excited this morning because about fifteen minutes after Mildred got up, she went back into her nest box. This is a complete first and may mean that she is getting broody.  At least it meant that she is not frightened of the nest, so I was very happy.  I had a nice sit in the sun for half an hour.  By 9.30am it was in the 20’s and warm and bright. Brilliant golden light morning.  The old, drying corn stalks in the field of the old man two doors down were glowing orange and red on all the tips of the downward bent, long thick leaves this morning like they were on fire. Very pretty.  Later on I had to close all the windows and carry my inhaler around all afternoon, because they were on fire.