October

October 1^st 2009

 

Today has been an interesting day in the chicken pen.  Firstly, poor Lilly could hardly get out of the bedroom.  He had rolled onto his bad foot overnight and it was stuck together, so I put him into the white enamel basin that I use for a duck pond and moved it next to his little tray of corn soaked in water.  He liked it and had a good splash about. I thought it would be good to soak the foot, clean it and also to confine him a bit for a few hours to make him rest. Anyhow, I pointed him at the food and got out of the way. Well! The chickens immediately rushed over and started to eat his food, so I shooed them away. They came back, Lilly turned right around to face the other way, silly boy so, I shooed them again, Lilly ignored them. Usually if they go near his food he pecks at them with his beak and they leave the food and him alone. But he was so confused at being in a bit of water and enjoying his paddle that he would end up starving. So, I rushed in to the pen, shouted at the chickens and spun him round in the bowl to face the right way.  He looked like he had been shot! But eventually he did eat something. I left him in there for the morning and he came out with a lovely clean foot and bottom. But he couldn’t walk on it today. It’s a shame, he was doing so well last week. However, I realised that no matter how ill I was feeling (still got this horrid cold), I really needed to scrape out the chicken box and pen so that he was on clean straw by tonight.

 

I put all the tools over the fence first to give Rambo and Zebra the cockerels the hint that I was going to be in the pen for a while and I didn’t want any nonsense.  Then I fetched the wheelbarrow. You should have seen their faces. At some points I couldn’t see any chickens at all, they had squeezed themselves into a tiny gap between a nettle bush and the fence. All five of them!  So I have today discovered the ultimate chicken frightener is in fact a wheelbarrow.  Cool.   I even managed to wheel the barrow through the goose field without getting charged by a nervous George and come back with fresh straw.  Lilly is older and has more experience with farm tools so he just sensibly stayed put and eyed the chickens with contempt and tried to ignore me.

 

I was ably assisted in my scraping, shovelling and sweeping my Mrs Duck. Every spade full I lifted she inspected carefully as I put it in the wheelbarrow, of which she was not in the least afraid.  Every new patch I cleaned she came behind me to scratch and check that I hadn’t left some tasty morsel behind and basically she was two inches from my pink floral wellies at all times.  When I came back with the new straw, she also made sure that I put it in the chicken coop correctly by rushing in there first and quacking loudly at me if I put the next handful in the wrong place.  I felt very nagged by the time I had finished. But between us we got the job done.  She definitely has earned her stripes as official Cluck of the Works for the coop.  The chickens staged their own protest and went on strike. No eggs today for the first time in two months.

 

Karchi my neighbour came round today to check the rat poison. I thought he was very brave. Luckily it was late afternoon and he is usually pretty well…uhhmmm…. ‘anaesthetised’ by then, because as he is leaning in to the sheds to see if the little pink parcels have been taken, George was honking, hissing, snarling and had his beak about five inches from Karchi’s backside.  I did try and warn him, but I don’t know how to say, “Watch out mate, you’re about to get goosed” in Hungarian. So I just left him to it.  Eventually of course George fulfilled his usual characteristics and ran away honking when Karchi moved a little too quickly for him.  But I have to say it was funny to watch. I wish I had thought to take the video camera out with me. Oh! And great news. I am training everyone. When I walked down the path calling “Bedtime everyone, bed, bed, bed” Even the chickens headed for their coop.  I was very pleasantly surprised to be presented with bird bottoms waddling and strutting away from me toward their respective slumberlands in all directions. It was only Mrs Duck who completely ignored me and poor Lilly who needed help to get up the ramp I have put there for him in the form of a nice round smooth log.  I do hope he is better tomorrow, he was up on both feet for two days last week.

 

 

2^nd October

The strike has officially ended.  It was obvious this morning that the arbitration committee were up into the wee hours last night negotiating a settlement. The hens have settled on a sensible division of labour, Flopsy (the one with the Elvis bent quiff) was set to scratching, and the other two divided up the tasks of pecking corn and tunnelling between them.  I thought this was a very sensible solution and applauded Mrs duck as the Cluck of Works regularly inspected the work and chivvied them along to keep them on task.  The only worry I have is that with this particular labour rotation there appears to be one essential element missing. Namely laying eggs for me.  We will see what transpires in the nursery tonight. 

 

The Cockerels, as usual no help with anything practical, retired to the top of the Luxury Chick gymnasium penthouse to carry out their morning exercises, flexing their crops and looking manly, crowing their prowess to the world and eye up the chicks from the advantage point of being able to jump down on top of them whenever they were not paying attention or got out of the way quick enough.  Not, I have to say the most subtle pick up technique but it works sometimes.

 

The Luxury Chick gymnasium consists of apple tree logs artistically reminiscent of an organic sculpture, but actually left there because we buggered up two chain saws taking down the rotten old apple tree that turned out to have lots of wire imbedded in it and grown over and around the trunk for some years.  The chicken pen actually got built around these huge logs. I have added the Jacobs ladder Step Aerobics area this week because I removed it from the egg laying box and didn’t know where else to put it.  So far no one has signed up for this class yet, but I will do some marketing next week and hope that Flopsy can organise the appropriate groups taking into account the varying fitness levels in the coop.  I think that Mrs Duck would be able to keep the beat going very well with her nodding act, accompanied by Lilly quacking in counterpoint.  Actually I am not making that up.  Yesterday Mrs Duck and I had a nice nodding session through the fence and Lilly was actually quacking in perfect time between each nod. It was very sweet.

 

Mr Lilly duck still unable to stand up, but he kind of bum shuffled forward to sit on his pile of fresh greenery to prevent thievery by the chickens of his hoard. The only problem is, he can’t reach it himself if it is underneath him, but it certainly didn’t get pinched by the chickens so I suppose it was an efficient plan in a way.  I hope he recovers soon I don’t know why he can’t stand up now.  I gave him more hydrotherapy in the duck bath this morning.

 

 

Oh and the chickens are back in production but working to rule.  Only one egg tonight.

 

3^rd October

George and Mildred were lovely and calm getting up this morning.  They didn’t hiss at me when I stayed long enough to give the nest box a quick eyeball check and say good morning to them.  Usually I get out of the way pretty quickly but the other day I found it really hard to close the door and realised that at some point I was going to have to sweep their doorstep of excess straw.  I thought of asking Mildred to do her own housework, but having hurt my wrist trying to get the bolt across the other night, I knew that in the end she would be too busy looking pretty and keeping a beady eye on her domain.  It takes a lot of preening to stay completely snow white.  So anyhow, I knew that I would have to do this particular task either in the morning or at night when I put them away, both of which required being much nearer to them than I advise any potential goose keeper to get to their majestic charges.  Those wings are pretty strong and their short beaks are in fact slightly serrated.  Maria, their previous owner, got hit on the nose by George’s wing when she was trying to get Mildred back in to their old pen because she had escaped and was freaking out the chickens.  She thought her nose was broken but luckily it was just the ‘watery eyed, excruciating agony’ type of injury.  If you have ever bashed your nose you will know what I am talking about.  I have done this many times over the years, but last winter was the first time I actually broke my nose and it feels completely different.  Actually when I say I broke my nose, it was in fact my beautiful, boisterous, black dog Lazi who did the deed.  I was playing with him, which has always been a bit risky.  I was sat on a higher bed and he was next to me on a lower chair and he decided to leap from a sitting position, straight across my lap and on to the bed beside me.  Unfortunately my nose was in the way of his breast bone as he sailed across in front of me, landing with a perfect triple salco and a cheeky expression.  I was pleased in the end though, because I have always had a strange indentation down the centre of the bridge of my nose, and when the swelling went down the indentation was no longer there, so I think that maybe I could hire Lazi out as an alternative to plastic surgery for nose straightening.  It could be a whole new career for us.

 

Anyhow, I got side tracked so I apologise.  Back to the goose door step.  I decided that the chicken frightening broom, you know, the one with bright yellow teeth and a metal handle, might work well in this situation too, because I was pretty convinced that George and Mildred would get upset with me mucking about with their nest when they were actually in it.  But marginally less upset than they get if I muck about with their nest when they are not in it. So, I decided on bed time to do the deed and as gently as possible walked them to their nest, broom in hand but in a no-threatening, ‘I’m just a broom out for a stroll with mum’ kind of way.  I kept chatting to them in a soft, bright, cheery voice and complementing them on how good they were being and how beautiful they were etc. to reassure them. (Flannel always works with Geese, they are incredibly vain)  When they finally moseyed around the bend and through the doorway I gingerly peeked over the door to check they were in safely and out of the way.  Then I gently lifted the broom around the door and with two quick flicks the deed was done. Just one slightly surprised honk from George and a tiny hiss from Mildred.  So now the door shuts nicely, until they move some more straw that is.  But at least I have the method down. You really have to be a calm and soothing and as gentle as you can with geese. It’s very good for my blood pressure.

 

Back to today’s news.  Lilly can’t walk again today. I picked him up and checked his feet but they seem to be fine.  I hate to watch him struggle.  I did pick him up and put him to bed last night, but this morning he stayed in the middle of the nest in the straw bed when all of the rest of the flock had rushed off to their various tasks.  I thought about lifting him again, but it does him no good if I don’t make him try and exercise, so I patiently waited outside the gate and called him and called him to encourage him to make his way to the food.  It is awful to watch him struggle, but he is such a nice chap.  He wags his tail with so much enthusiasm when he is eating or when you talk to him, and he really cocks his head and listens and quite often replies.  He is a very intelligent duck, so a bit of aqua pool therapy is the least I can do for him.  It certainly helped me when I had problems walking a few years ago. I do hope he recovers again soon. I think I will give him a swim this afternoon. That usually helps.

 

 

4^th October

The chicken division of labour continues, except they are forgetting egg duty, so I have given them a lecture on the correct reason for their existence, other than a source of endless amusement and work. Mrs Flopsy (aka Elvis) looked positively contrite and came up to the gate to listen to my speech.  I think that if she could, she would lay me a nice egg, but all this militant action has obviously upset the natural rhythms in the hen house.  Hopefully they will get back to their task soon.

 

Rambo and Zebra the cockerels were magnificent this morning.  They have developed a new double act.  I call it ‘The Sentinels’.  Whilst the rest of the coop go about their business at ground level, the two cockerels find a suitable high point, either on top of the concrete trough which I have rolled on its side for their corn, so that the ground corn doesn’t turn to mush if it rains, and it also prevents them poohing in their food, because quite frankly the toilet training of all of my winged beasties leaves much to be desired. Or they go to the top of the gymnasium and stand side by side, very still, playing statues.  Their plumage is growing well and they are both pretty big now.  Where their back meets the tail there are long feathers growing with a checkerboard of alternating black and white which loosely drape around their bodies and hang down like a feather boa on a beautiful dancer.  They stand still for long periods keeping a watchful eye on the ladies and decorating the pen with their statuesque beauty.  I am sure that they are aware of the elegant effect of a breeze gently waving their magnificent plumage.  They seem to stand just a little bit taller and prouder when this happens and it puts me in mind of models and wind machines.  Obviously, they both have budding ambitions to be catalogue models and are practicing the poses.  Perhaps I should make a portfolio and submit it to an agency?

 

 

 

 

 

 

5^th October

My friend Iren came around this afternoon and we have arranged the ‘pruning’ of George and Mildred’s wing plumage tomorrow.  I am very nervous.  At first I thought she said it was going to be just her and me, so I asked her if her husband Feri could come too.  George and Mildred can be pretty powerful and I really don’t know how they do this wing clipping business.  I had mentioned to her before that I was a little afraid that if a majestic V of wild geese passes by when the weather gets colder, George and Mildred might decided to defect to Africa or somewhere now that they have all this room for a suitable take of runway. Iren also saw them do the lovely hop-skip and launch display one day, so she knows that they can fly and are beginning to realise that their pen is no longer too small for take off and landing.  Also, don’t forget that Mildred has cleared the Stalag 19 fortifications twice, so she can get quite a height going in a very small distance.  It has been colder for a few days so Iren obviously remembered this. The most surprising thing is that she understood my Hungarian enough to realise that I needed help with clipping their wings.  Oh, my, I am very nervous.

 

Feri, Iren’s husband and also the former owner of my bungalow (he was brought up here) is a macho guy with brown smooth skin, short bowed legs and muscles well defined from years of hard work. He is 61 but has the body of a 30 year old, however he is shorter than me at about 4 feet 10 inches with flat, pale grey hair, with a fringe, beard and a cheeky grin.  I have to say he is a really nice guy but whenever I see him I want to sew a red waistcoat and green felt hat because he really does resemble a life sized muscle-bound garden gnome.  We shall see what happens tomorrow.

 

6^th October

Iren and Feri turned up early, I was half way through drawing the first bucket of water from the Well.  The whole experience has been very traumatic.  They raced through the garden and the chicken pen and Feri, ciggy in hand, just grabbed poor George out of his bed and held him at the base of his wings while Iren spread out his beautiful dove grey, black and white plumage and began cutting off the last row of sleek black feathers from the bottom of his wings.  They really do know about animals these Hungarians.  Feri and Iren and in fact most of my neighbours not only keep chickens and ducks but they also raise at least one pig each year, which they try and grow to over 200 kilos before Christmas when they slaughter it themselves in a big family gathering where everyone, even the friends, neighbours and children have to work.  The men do the slaughtering a butchering on huge long low trestle tables. The children get to scrape the fat off the skin and the women work all day ferrying large plastic buckets and pails of meat to and fro from the yard to the indoor house kitchen or the outhouse wood stove to process into Kolbazs, Hurka and about nine other varieties of cold or hot, spicy paprika infused sausages, or into the thin slices of pork for their version of a schnitzel, all to be frozen or dried in their attics, cellars and out houses.  The fat is boiled down in a huge outside metal basin on a wood fire in a sort of boiler type frame and the skin is eaten raw or dried into strips.  I am not kidding when I say that ALL the parts of the poor pig are used for something.  I have cooked liver and onions fresh and still warm from the animal in the past, but once was definitely enough.  I prefer my meat cellophane wrapped by the supermarket.  Of course much sampling of the latest wine crop has to accompany this event, and being as they sensibly do it all outside in the farm yard or rather the back garden of the house in December, when it is always minus something degrees and quite often snowing, the wine is essential to keep warm but the meat keeps nice and fresh as the whole of the garden is one huge outside refrigerated meat locker.  At least that is the excuse for getting suitably pickled.  So in comparison to that, a little goose wing trimming I suppose is quite mild, but they are obviously not used to being gentle with animals here, so I was very stressed and traumatized by the whole thing.  I thought that George would attack them when they were doing Mildred, but true to form (all honks and tail feathers) he made a lot of noise from a good safe distance away as they gave his wife a hair cut.  

 

The whole thing only took a few moments, but I thought I was going to have a myocardial infarction!   When they finally let go of Mildred and she rushed off to join George some fifteen feet away, there was a lot of indignant honking and whole body rattling to shake off the horrid humans.  Poor things.  Though I do think it is better than them trying to fly to Africa and getting as far as Bucharest before they collapse because they are not used to the exercise. At least they will be safe with me, even if they do get cold feet in the snow, bless them.  I asked Iren if I should put a light in their hut and the chicken hut for warmth in the winter and she laughed. “These are Hungarian animals, they don’t need you to treat them like English ones, they are fine in the snow” she said.  I told her I had had nightmares of finding frozen shop wrapped chickens dotted all over my chicken yard with ‘Bernard Matthews’ stamped on their bottoms when it gets to minus fifteen or less. She laughed and said they will stay indoors when it is that cold. Just give them extra straw.

 

Next Feri started checking for rats in the chicken pen in the old unused pig house next door to the birds house.  As I have described he is a major tough guy. Battling with 200 kilo pigs no problem. BUT when Rambo raised his crop and went for him he RAN out of the chicken pen as fast as his little strong legs could carry him.  I laughed my head off and so did Iren (from the safety of the other side of the gate).I couldn’t believe it. He had just grabbed a huge goose out of its nest, but a fifth of the sized cockerel went for him and he ran. It was very funny.  So, I grabbed the yellow teethed ‘chicken frightener’ broom and rushed at the cockerels shouting obscenities, at which point both Rambo and Zebra backed off and hid in the stinging nettle bush pretending to protect the girls, so Feri came back in whilst I put the broom on my shoulder and patrolled the width of Stalag 19 keeping the inmates in the exercise yard whilst the visiting commandant did his inspection of the accommodations block.

 

The whole thing was very exhausting I must say. Finally they left and I tried to lift a bucket of water from the Well for the animals, because I had not had a chance to give them food or water yet.  In the process, I banged my head, twice, once on Well door frame, bearing in mind that I do this bucket filling thing four or five times every day of my life and should know how high the door frame is, and then again whilst trying to undo Lazi who had wound himself around his tree until he was on two inches of lead whilst trying to keep an eye on his human friends as they mucked about with the feathered ones.  On the first circuit around the tree I walked straight into a branch which I didn’t see because I was wearing my favourite denim peeked cap in case I bumped my head! I also bashed my knee during the affray but I don’t even remember how.  As you can imagine, everyone in the homestead is traumatized by the events of the day.  So I have no doubt that the egg draught will continue.

 

 

7^th October

I am very happy today.  The hydrotherapy treatments for Lilly seem to be helping.  He put his feet on the bottom of the basin when I put him in it and by the time he had finished his swim he was standing up and raising himself right up out of the water and standing up straight with his proud white fluffy chest in the air.  I took him out of the pool all clean and excited and gave him some of his favourite treats, dandelion leaves and he wagged his tail and did another straight up lift on land, so he is definitely getting stronger today.  A couple of days ago I thought I was going to loose him, but boy oh boy is he a fighter.  At one point he was dragging himself forward by digging in his beak and using it as a lever.  I call that a gutsy duck.  Well done Lilly!  I am sure that my fingers will recover soon from the stinging nettles I grabbed with the dandelion leaves in my excitement to encourage and feed him his treat.  I think I will use gloves next time to harvest them. 

 

George and Mildred are fine. They are still a little confused by their lack of lift when doing their morning keep fit regime of:-

                        1.stretch

                        2.flap

                        3.run,

                        4.try and stop (preferably before hitting either the water bucket, the tree or Mum in her hurried retreat to the chicken pen)

The whole process is still pretty and I am very grateful to Iren and Feri for making a nice job of it instead of just cutting out random chunks which is what I thought they would do. Basically they have removed the ‘flaps’ equivalent. So George and Mildred can’t extend them for take off or angle them for landing brakes. I have the cut feathers in an old orange coloured polka dot glass I found in the house, sitting on one of my kitchen surfaces, wondering how I can use them for something artistic.  I did in fact leave them where they fell yesterday, but both George and Mildred nearly freaked out at the thought of walking over them, I had big problems getting them to bed because they were just outside the goose front yard.  I didn’t think about it, but they obviously know they had feather surgery. Bless. I have as I say collected them all up now. So hopefully there won’t be any further problems.

 

8^th October

Fantastic surprise on opening the cell door this morning. Lilly is standing up! Hurrahhhhh. He could take a couple of steps too before he toppled forward onto his well cushioned, downy white chest. He was very pleased with himself and kept vibrating his fluffy white tail very fast. It was too fast to be called a wag. I am sure I saw him wink at me at one point. And he did the head nodding conversation with me a couple of times too. Bless him. I am so happy that he is up and about. Hopefully tomorrow he will be even stronger.

 

Iren my friend came over this afternoon.  We went all the way to the big town Nagykanisza (a 90km round trip) today to find some nice winter plants to posh the place up a bit. My son and his girlfriend are visiting soon so I wanted to make the place look pretty. Last year I had tubs full of flowers on all the window sills, but this year I had the house repaired and painted so there was no point in making the effort, plus we had the most amazing ice storms in June which would have destroyed them anyway. The ice storms were incredible. I did manage to get a rather wobbly video of it.  It was the 16^th June. One minute it was hot and sunny the next we had a curtain of ice ranging in size from a pea to a golf ball, hammering straight down on us.  The accompanying wind drove it in to the front of my house and actually punched holes in my outside shutters, which now look like Swiss cheese.  I did have a few broken windows to.  Many people needed new roofs and all of the crops of grapes, corn and vegetables were ruined.  The storm lasted about 10 minutes but the damage was incredible.  My garden turned white in about 2 minutes flat and it took about 4 hours for all the ice to melt because weirdly, within seconds of the storm passing it was back up over 30degrees.  Apart from the damaged windows and shutters, the hail chipped and knocked over a strong four legged plastic table which, up ended and sticking out of this torrent of water and hail that turned the path to the chicken pen into canoeing rapids, looked like some alien drowned animal. It was all very exciting but a disaster for my neighbours who still exist in an agrarian society and rely on their crops for food all year round, not to mention the many, many men crying with grief at the loss of their wine grape crops!  Anyhow the weather is still very warm for the middle of October and in fact it was about 29 or 30 degrees today, so I thought that it would be nice to have a few flowers around as the ones in my garden have all gone now.  I did have a hedge of pink and white passion flowers along one length of the chicken pen, but they are all gone to seed now.  And my fifteen foot stand of rose bushes is looking very scraggy and sparse now.  Just a few determined blooms struggling their way through the colder nights to enjoy the daytime warmth and heat from the low late season sun.  The water table is very low too. It takes over six turns of the hand cartwheel on my Well to get to the water at the moment.  Of course it doesn’t stop the weeds growing! Which actually is good because it would deprive Lilly, Mrs Duck and chickens of their favourite daily treat – Dandelion leaves.

 

Anyhow, I now have some lovely yellow, red, white and pink winter pansies on all my windowsills and down the edge of the five corner steps from my front door (which is at the back of the house).  All I have to do is water them. More Well work. Ah, well its better than aerobics for tightening up the stomach muscles.

 

9^th October

Lovely hot day. Went to Letenye, smaller country border town with Croatia about 20 km away. My usual shot of civilization once a week for Post office, banking, supermarket, coffee shop and pizza place.

 

Geese report,

General George Goose (promoted from Colonel for alliteration purposes) has begun work on the wooden box preventing him from going through the gaps between the various sheds and playing hide and seek with me. He is obviously a budding sculptor and bites it all around the edge to remodel it. I think he just doesn’t appreciate the hard work that went into making that box and wants to decorate it with a lace edge.  I will keep you apprised of progress on his carving.  Mildred, bless her heart seems to have recovered fully from her injuries, but I have noticed that she stays closer to George than she used to. It’s such a shame when the wife looses her confidence and independence. But maybe this is a new era of love and respect which may mean the patter of tiny little webbed feet in the future. As we all know a marriage that lasts goes through many stages, and they certainly are making the lovely heart shape with their necks more often and even do the ‘Raise up, dip bottom, spread wings and flap’ dance in complete unison.  I love it when they complete it with a ‘Dosy-doh’ circle on the spot with their wings out. There is obviously much harmony in the goose couples world at the moment.

 

Chickens playing tag this morning to confuse the cockerels, 1 fall two submissions to the hens.

Lily continues to improve. Mrs Duck put out at lack of my attention.

Found a builder THAT SPEAKS ENGLISH, Amazing. Turns out to be the older brother of the girl I tutor at the local hotel.  I’ve been teaching her for 2 months and she didn’t mention she had an older brother who actually speaks OK English and knows how to do building. They are like gold dust around here! Her father is an architect I think.  

Post Script.  The builder is her Uncle. The way they express the relationships in Hungarian is very confusing.

 

10^th October

No time today so reporting in ‘IM or Telegram’ mode.

 

Gas convector service man coming.

Missed him AGAIN.

Found leaflet

Managed to ring him.

Amazingly understood my terrible Hungarian!

Also actually came.

Very un Hungarian.

On the right day at the right time.

Nice chap about 50ish,

Very Germanic looking.

Called Janos.

Fixed it in double quick time

About 10 mins.

Cost 3500Ft about £13.

Checked that I knew how to light it

Actually put it back together properly leaving it finished and tidy.

Again very un-Hungarian as he actually finished the job.  

Geese fine, chickens amusing, ducks lovely, no eggs today.

 

11^th October

The weather has changed. Not so warm today, cloudy and a little windy. Mildred and George are still doing their lovely display and trying out the morning parabolic flight, but it involves a lot more running action with a little lift.  It reminds me of a child who has just started walking and is wearing reigns like they used to.  They go up on their toes and just run, with power assist from Mum on the reigns, in this case George and Mildred’s trimmed wings.  Of course toddlers haven’t learned to stop yet at this stage in their perambulation development and the same force is acting on the geese. So now they are tending to overshoot their landings and do a kind of slingshot, curved, race track run around the apple tree leaning sharply to the right in an attempt to use up all the kinetic energy and forward motion they have created and not crash into the various ramshackle wooden sheds that line the field.  Due to this new development, I am back to running for the chicken pen before they brake by using me as a nice soft crash pad!   They do look very pleased with themselves when they finally come to a stop and there is usually some necking (I am almost positive this expression for kissing and rubbing of neck and shoulders between sweethearts originated with goose love observations) and pretty displaying by George with Mildred cutely putting her head to one side as if to say “Aw, even with a few feathers missing, isn’t my man handsome this morning”. Bless them both. 

 

Later in the afternoon, they had a lovely snooze and they look so cute all wrapped up into a feathery ball.  They can do this standing up on one or both legs, but when they cosy down onto the ground, in perfect diagonal formation with their left sides facing me and their legs neatly tucked underneath they look so cuddly, like a pair of fluffy rugby balls. They have their heads turned right around and resting in the recess between wings along their backs so that unless they open an eye you can’t see where the wings stop and their heads start.  They end up looking like beautiful, big fluffy lozenge shapes with just a little extra lump for the top of their heads.  Back in my day (80’s) in the best culinary kitchen ware shops, you used to be able to get these printed, quilted pot holders and tea pot cosies with various curled up animals on them. Usually cats, dogs or ducks.  When George and Mildred do their curl up for an afternoon siesta thingy, from this side of the chicken pen they look two dimensional and would made fantastic tea pot cosies.

 

 

12^th October

Spoke to my son on the internet this morning. Now that sounds like it should be as easy as pie. But believe me it is not.  First of all there is the problem of communication with each other, when we can be online to communicate with each other!  So the first step is a long series of Facebook messages, Emails, texts and missed phone call messages, until finally one of us actually responds.  The ratio is about seven=to=one for my messages sent to him and him actually having time to reply.  I am sure this is fairly standard throughout the young adult world.  Secondly there is the problem of my octogenarian style memory (which has always been an advanced pensioner my entire life, no matter what my actual physical age) which insists that an hour, an afternoon, a day or even a week late is OK to remember this important event. Now you could say “why don’t you make a note of it, keep a diary, have a notice board, blackboard…….?” well I have, but no matter how many handkerchiefs you put a knot in, you still have to remember to look at the handkerchief! My son, bless his heart is used to this, and if it is on one of the days where he has actually gotten up early enough on his day off to remember that he is supposed to be talking to me on IM (instant messaging) chat, he is inheriting a mild version of the terrible memory condition, he will usually ring me within a suitable ‘Ok, I’ve made my coffee and bacon sandwich, eaten it, drunk it and had two cigarettes, popped to the shop for a fresh banana. Now I am bored and she is still not online’ - time frame.  So we almost always begin with the “Oh I’m so sorry I forgot/am late/can’t do it/double booked you and am not by my computer right now….” “Its ok, I know you have a busy life and a rubbish memory” conversation, in which roles we are flexible as to who is the apologise -ee and who is the apologise -er. But I have to say that the internet and mobile phones have really revolutionised the variety of ways that you can communicate internationally.  These days parents and children can miss communicate on a truly global scale. It’s marvellous.

 

Then of course there are the standard interruptions, “Sorry BRB” = Be Right Back in IM speak - at which point I get this stick man madly dashing off the conversation window and then returning with speed markings back onto the line from the other direction that I down loaded from a 14 year old friends son - which are of course;

            A. a courtesy toilet break.

            B.  food break

            C. drink break

            D. got to let the dog out break

            E. got to let the dog in break

            F. got to pop out for a ciggy break. 

 

Then there are the Hungarian style interruptions, usually;

1. The dog is barking madly at a mouse turning over in the next village but I have to check in case it is the post lady or someone at my gate who doesn’t realise that my dog barks all day so he is a very inefficient door bell, which I had to remove because my neighbour kept breaking it.

2. The geese are honking loudly and I just have to check they are OK.

or as happened today,

3. I can hear an Ice cream van version of ‘greensleeves’ which could be the lorry with the animal feed and I have run out of chicken corn so I will have to chase him down the road and hope he has some today, BRB!

 

All of which, assist in foiling the attempts to have a sensible continuous conversation, but which are an inevitable part of life.  Gone are the days when a phone call was so spectacularly special that we would mouth “go away I’m on the phone” to all and sundry who dared to interrupt.  Now it is “I am not serving you when you are on your mobile phone” or glaring looks from people in library’s or on trains as you try and scurry into a corner to shout into the tiny box almost permanently attached to your ear for this extremely important phone call about work, family or ‘what am I going to wear tonight?’ ‘Shall we meet at the Dog and Duck or the Rose and Crown?’.   We live in a world where visitors are shunned with words such as ‘I will be with you in a minute, I’m just talking on Facebook with my friend from Hawaii about her last Tweet and her new hot tub in Yoville’.  Its all a bit strange, but I do love the internet.  It’s a whole new language but no one has thought to write a dictionary for it yet!

 

13^th October

Rambo and Zebra theme today, I observed some interesting behaviour this morning.  They were both standing on the feeder very absorbed in their morning ablutions’.  Taking it in turns to preen and watch the coop.  Then all of a sudden Rambo sang a lyrical Cock-a-doodle-do whilst Zebra raised his plumage to stand straight up in a fan pattern across his back and cleaned underneath it.  This went on for some time in a rhythmic kind of choreography.  Rambo sang, Zebra displayed, Rambo sang, Zebra displayed. It was rather surprising as I was not aware that chickens had rhythm?

Maybe I should start playing the sound track of West Coop Story or O’Cluckhoma to them?

 

The temperature wasn’t too bad but we had intermittent rain today and it has been very dull and dark all day.  Though I am quite glad it is raining because it will soften the ground.

 

OK. I didn’t quite want the ground in the chicken pen quite that soft.  At bird bed time I did my usual and donned my wellies, inexplicably choosing the short black Lazi remodelled ones, my Crocodile Dundee hat and my padded tartan work shirt and determinedly walked down the garden path.  Lazi being more vocal than usual as it was still drizzling and he is stupid when it comes to rain because he stands in it getting wet and looking pathetic rather than sheltering in his kennel or in the house doorway. When I got to the chicken pen it was a mushy sea of mud.  The ducks were extremely happy and wagging their tails enthusiastically but no longer white, rather a speckled, mud stained, brown smeared version of the snow white pretty things they usually are.  The chickens also looked pretty pathetic and bedraggled as well, but they, like Lazi, don’t get out of the rain, but I think its more because they are just plain dumb than any deliberate penchant for getting wet.  

 

Two steps into the pen I slipped, regained my balance and went a few paces further in. Two more steps and I’m sliding like a novice ice skater rapidly heading for the cheese wire encased second gate to the goose field. I managed to grab a sturdy support post and remain upright.  Obviously I need to excavate the now buried by much scratching and overgrowth, paved path that used to exist between the two gates. Otherwise when the snow comes I am going to have to start wearing the ski’s I’m looking after for my neighbours who are now in Sweden, to go and muck out the chickens or put the geese in and out.  As I don’t ski and have notoriously bad balance this could end up in my sampling Hungarian hospital food, so not the best plan. 

 

I did go back indoors first to change into my long pink floral wellington boots. The short ones were definitely inadequate for the depth of mud.  It took me about half an hour of scraping, digging and sliding, but I did reveal most of the pavement.  It was very cold and dark by the time I had finished and I was completely knackered.  Hopefully won’t have to do that again. I did put the animals away before I began the archaeological dig, so I wasn’t bothered by Mrs Duck and her very close inspection of such works. I am always afraid I am going to step on her. She really is very nosy.

 

14^th October

It was 7 degrees at 7am this morning. 11 degrees during the day.  Winter is definitely being switched rapidly on. Brrrrrh!  George and Mildred took a little longer to emerge from their bed this morning. Hungarian winter brings with it a lethargy born of working incredibly hard all summer and having their houses at about 30 degrees centigrade in the winter, very hot, which makes all the men sleepy and the women get out the sewing and knitting baskets. Obviously Mildred is a Hungarian goose and thus wanted to stay in doors and get on with her embroidery whilst sending George out to do the manly guarding and grass cropping.  But they came out eventually.

 

The chickens were very curious about the path I had excavated last night and this new, grey, hard, air strip that had appeared overnight in their kingdom immediately required inspection of the edges, for any unearthed morsels that took their fancy.  Actually that is another job that chickens would be very good at - archaeology.  They have systematically unearthed every pâté tin, bit of plastic, wire, twig and paper that was buried long ago in the ground where they now scratch for a living.  All of it picked clean and discarded as non-edible.  Maybe I will write to the Archaeological Society and offer them out for hire.

 

I DON’T BELIEVE IT. All my hard work last night and it took the brood only one hour to completely cover the path again.  This is going to be a war. I can see it coming. I will clear it every night, and they will cover it every morning. I will have to think of a way to make sure that they have insufficient material to do this, or edge it in some chicken feet friendly way that won’t harm them. In the end I was lucky that it did not rain today, so I managed to clear most of the loose debris with the tough yellow toothed broom.  I did this when they were still out and then scraped up the loose bundles of dried greenery and dirt and shovelled them away from the path as far as I could.  The cockerels predictably ran for cover, but the ducks and hens inspected every new pile I threw towards them.  Mrs Duck nearly got buried, because as usual she was Cluck of the Works, closely inspecting my efforts and wouldn’t get out of the way. Not even when there were flying spade full’s of debris coursing through the air in her direction.  Lilly by the way is walking now. I even caught him napping with his head laid along his back, whilst standing up. I am so happy for him. My hydrotherapy certainly seems to be working well.  He still has problems with his ‘pigeon toes’ rather odd for a duck to have ‘Pigeon’ toes, but there you go. But he manages a few steps now before he trips himself up with his Norman Wisdom – Gerry Lewis technique. I hope he still keeps improving. I can definitely see the concentration and determination in his little eyes when he wants to go somewhere.

 

15^th October

Yep, getting colder by the day. 5 degrees last night. Only 10 during the day. Though we are getting some nice sun today, and it still has some heat in it.  My new sun lounge windows are doing a great job of heating up the room when the sun is on them which will help with my gas bill.

 

George and Mildred made a pathetic effort at flying this morning. They actually walked to the apple tree, and then kind of remembered what they were supposed to do because I was still in the chicken pen and did a half hearted flap, honk, skip.   About an hour later, they did do it properly.  I wonder what made them change their routine?

 

Everyone is very busy preparing for the winter.  George has now created a lovely fluted lace edge to the upturned box by the chicken pen with his sculpturing efforts, so I think I will put some straw in there for them to shelter in as it is getting very cold and he has done his best to make it pretty for Mildred.  The chickens are taking bits of straw and transferring them into the smaller box next to their bed nest because they can all huddle in the back of it when it is cold.  The ducks are puddling frantically in the muddy bits I make when I turn out their old water every morning because they have heard that it is difficult to puddle in ice.  So they want to get as much done now as possible as the puddling season is nearly over.  Lazi is making sure I know that if he goes out he wants to go on the house lead so that he can come straight back in again, and not wait until I feel like releasing him from the tree.  He trills pathetically at me with his feet on the bottom step if I leave him on the garden lead for more than a few minutes if I am in the house and not working in the garden.  He may look like a big black Doberman devil dog, but he has the heart of a miniature poodle.

 

I had gotten all ready to go on my emergency chicken corn run to Letenye this morning when Feri turned up. His wife Iren had volunteered him to get the 40 kilo sack of chicken food (that I bought from the mobile animal food lorry yesterday) out of the boot of my car this morning.  The big ‘Greensleaves’ lorry didn’t have any corn, only this extruded cylindrical stuff. I did try it on the chickens yesterday. I threw some in for them to see what they would do, and although they rushed over in excitement, they skidded to a disappointed stop when they looked at it, I don’t think they were too impressed.  Obviously they know they are organic chickens and don’t like processed food!  So today I had to do an emergency run and get some corn because I have used up the last bit. 

 

Feri didn’t even want the wheelbarrow, he just swung the heavy sack up onto his strong short shoulders and I ran ahead trying to get gates open and clear space for it in my outside kitchen house.  By the way I call it that, because it has a very old wood stove in it, and was originally used as a summer kitchen, because it is too hot to cook indoors on a wood stove here in the summer, and the owners would have used the free wood everywhere rather than paying for gas or electricity whenever possible. My neighbours still do this, she has a wood stove in her husband’s garage-come store house and I see her traipsing up and down the path all day carrying tiny, red, ceramic covered, double handled saucepans all day long during the summer. But basically I use mine as a dry glorified shed.    Anyhow, The next thing I know, Feri is trying to extricate my big petrol lawn mower, lifting it bodily over various bicycles, corn buckets, garden furniture and detritus I have thrown into the shed as the rapid approach of winter made me mistakenly think that I had finished with grass cutting.  He wanted to cut my grass for me and make the grounds and garden look nice for my son’s visit in eleven days.  How nice it’s that!  Bless Iren for sending him over.  So now I have to put my emergency run plans on hold and hope I can escape by 11am because the corn store will close by midday and I think they are closed tomorrow.  So, I set too moving all the stuff that was in Feri’s way on the lawns as well as clearing out the shed so that he would have no problems putting the lawn mower away. In two hours flat he was done and wouldn’t take anything but one of my hand rolled ciggys. I also got a lot of work done and was pleased with the fact that he had inadvertently forced me to organise the shed better. I even gave it a quick sweep with the YTB. I put my bicycle in my parent’s house barn next door, because you never know I might actually use it sometime during the winter.  Needless to say, I managed to get my corn from Letenye fifteen minutes before closing time. And with the help of my mums old grey tartan shopping trolley and a concrete splattered wheelbarrow with a loudly squeaking wheel,  I got the 47 kilos of it into the barn and ground some ready for tomorrow morning too.  I mixed in some of the processed stuff because I know it has vitamins and is good for the animals, but I expect them to peck all around it.  We shall see tomorrow.  Lilly is still doing very well.

 

 

16^th October

I got up extra early today so that I could move the left over paint out of the shed in George and Mildred’s field, because it was 3 degrees this morning and the paint will freeze.  I have only done half of my front fence.  One layer (almost complete) of the grey undercoat, and one coat of white on my big gates, but there is about another 10mtrs to do and the other gate, not to mention the inside.  I will try and do it some time before the sun is too weak and it’s too cold to paint. I probably will have to do it this week. I hate the bending, it really does my back in, and I’m allergic to the smell of metal paint, but it has to be done.  So I will gird my loins and get on with it.

 

I was looking back at my diary entries for this month and remember telling you last month that Hungary doesn’t really have spring or autumn.  Well, it is true.  I noticed that less than a week ago, I was saying how warm it was during the day.  Now the winter switch has been thrown.  In a few short days it has gone from 29 degrees during the day to less than 10 degrees. And it was only 3 degrees last night.  I am sleeping in my socks and dressing gown now so it must be winter.  There is something very nice about being cosy and warm in your bed when the room is crisp and fresh.  But I think I will have to put ALL the heaters on when my son comes with his girlfriend. They are used to central heating, and not used to these low temperatures. It rarely gets below freezing in the south of England.  Personally I find these extremes in temperature very healthy, because all the bugs and virus get killed off very effectively during the big freeze of winter here.

 

 

17^th October

Pig killing Day.  I know that I said earlier that I would never join in a family pig killing day again. BUT.  My friends Feri and Iren are so kind to me and do so much for me that it was only polite of me to offer to help on their pig killing day when Iren visited me last night and told me about it, because they won’t let me help them any other way and never let me pay them. So I found myself once again joining in with the family, standing in wellies in their garage whilst the professional hunter they had hired butchered the pig they had slaughtered early that morning. (That’s the bit I won’t watch no matter how Hungarian I get.) So I spent the day cutting up big chunks of fat, or helping to stir the large metal basins and kettles sitting on big rusty fire drums rendering down the gobbets of pig fat. Also helping to hand mix large, brightly coloured, plastic washing up bowls full of minced pork with lots of paprika, garlic and herbs, ready to make into Hungarian air dried, boiled, smoked and matured sausages. I also helped to actually make the sausages with what can only be described as a large metal syringe, with a ratchet and handle mechanism to push out the mixture, clamped to the work bench.  The occasional sneaky sip of wine with Feri helped me through the day, and I was there to help Iren when she was ignored by her husband, daughter or son-in-law when they thought they knew how to do something better than she did, but of course she has many, many years experience and knows better than anyone else. For example; exactly what size to cut this or that piece of meat,  exactly how much pepper to put in that sausage mix, how long to cook the fat or boil the long strings of fresh sausages.  Bless her. It was a good family day, they did all the usual things. Argued about politics, told each other off for doing things wrong, went on to religion and sometimes even talked about sex. So all the bases were covered eventually.  It was very hard work, and I finally left about five o’clock in the evening having started at nine in the morning, some two hours after everyone else. I could barely stand. I am not used to such labour intensive work, but I did at least not make a complete fool of myself, and actually did show them that I knew a little about the work they were doing.  Luckily, I got away with not spending hours scraping fat off of skin, which they then pop into their mouths in small strips raw! Yeuuuk.  So, that was my Hungarian helping day.  I am glad it is only once or twice a year. And I feel good that I was able to help out.  And I didn’t feel half so queasy as the last time I attended one of these traditional feasting days. Though I do still have a problem with eating the lunch provided which is always some pork that only a few hours ago was waiting for its next meal, with no idea that it had already eaten its last supper!

 

 

18^th October

It was cold, dull and dew frosted this morning even at the late hour of 8.15 a.m.  I was a little later than normal this morning because

            1. It is Sunday and even the Confused Hungarian Geese Keeper deserves a little lay in sometimes.              And

            2. It was cold last night and I wanted to wait until it warmed up a bit before I let out the birdies. 

 

I had decided to make this a restful, bird watching day after yesterdays’ exertions, so I drew the Well water as normal, and swished out the old muddy water from the chicken/duck bowls, put down the corn mixture and went to get out George and Mildred.  The grass and fields were still steeped in a steely gray, misty shadow as I said good morning to them and hopped out of the way of George who had completed his curved honking morning run a little faster than I anticipated, much faster than I am capable of this morning anyhow.  I stood in the gateway to the chicken pen with the door ajar, because I am slowly testing the beautiful but rather unpredictable pair as to how much loyalty or respect they can accumulate for ‘the hand that feeds them’.  For some reason this morning I have a penchant for a little risk, so I decided to leave the gooseworld/chicken, duckworld boundary gate open a few centimetres, to see if the chickens and ducks would venture out into the big wide world of ‘Field’.  I was subconsciously betting on Mrs Duck and Flopsy (Elvis) to be the adventurous or rather ‘nosy’ ones first, and the macho but cowardly Rambo and Elvis to be the last, in the guise of ‘protecting’ the chicken pen until all had left. I didn’t worry about Lilly because their previous owners used to regularly let the ducks, chickens and geese out together.  I could not have been more wrong if I had tried really hard.

 

Nothing happened as I took a few minutes to put away food buckets etc, so I thought I would set up an observation post next to my wood pile in the corrugated iron covered area adjoining my shed and flanked by my pathetic attempt at grapevines.  There is a nice corner there which is sheltered from the wind with a good view through the bird areas.  So I grabbed a deck chair, which was soaking wet, so I was delayed drying it off, and then settled myself in for a little quiet observation. 

 

As I sat there the gloom was suddenly shattered by jagged streaks of shining contrast as the morning sun, fresh and hot with excitement at the new day, turned on like a light switch obliterating the gloom in lightning bolts of brightness, turning the grass emerald green where it landed and beautifying the scene by illuminating bright strings of scattered diamonds of dew all the way down the field underneath the still darkened undersides of the fir stand and apple trees.  In contrast the rest of the shadowed field turned blue grey, still misty and cold.  The dull greying husks of old corn plants in the old man’s field became bright sentinels standing to attention, their leaves shining like polished brass buttons and steam began to drift slowly upward in swirls, dancing their way skyward as the sun’s heat evaporated the night’s blanket of fog. 

 

Distracted from my bird watching task by this beautiful morning, I began to realise that the three foot distance between my chair and the fence had been sufficient that the chickens and ducks were completely ignoring me, when usually they would all be crowded around in front of me whenever I approach the pen, waiting for me to throw them some tasty morsel.  However, on the far side of the second fence, George was eyeing me up with considerable malice twinkling in his black beady eyes.  Mildred was hanging about a few feet further away looking almost embarrassed at his aggressive attitude, peering down at her feet and kind of shuffling nervously on the spot.  He slowly paced the distance to the now open gate, put his head down and extended his neck so that he was horizontal and with Mildred mirroring his actions, walked steadily into the chicken pen, pushing the gate open with sheer brute force as he came.  Angling first towards me he hissed and strode stroppily forwards with deliberate purpose in his step.  He made his way down the path, swinging this way and that hissing at all four points of the compass.  All five chickens were in and around the big bird feeder having their breakfast and minding their own business. Lilly and Mrs Duck rapidly exited stage right at the approach of these monster rivals to their water, Lilly trying out a new two-step-run, shuffle-fall, stand up and try again method, built up quite a speed.

 

I patiently stopped myself from interfering although I was heart thumpingly nervous, hoping that George would settle down if I stayed still.  Mildred, although mirroring George’s aggressive stance and actions was doing so half heartedly and was not hissing, her eyes showing no aggression to these miniature winged cousins.  George sampled the water in the ceramic bath, then he took a gulp from the oven pan with the soaked corn.  I thought that he would like that and stay there to eat, but NO. He swung round in a centrifugal arc, feet at the centre and extended longitudinal neck ending in the ultimate weapon of his head and plucked a big mouthful of tail feathers out of poor Rambo’s tail, at which point all of the chickens immediately ran to the safety of their stinging nettle/fence hidey hole.  But George was not content with that, he ran after them on the opposite side of the gymnasium sculpture hoping to ‘head them off at the pass’ as it were, Mildred trying to keep up and looking confused by his behaviour but loyal to the last stand. Unfortunately Mrs Duck and Lilly were in the way, so he chased them around the apple logs having lost sight of the chickens who were sufficiently camouflaged amongst the nettles.  Mrs Duck executed an excellent escape manoeuvre and ducked under the bottom arched log, far too small a gap for General George to negotiate.  This left poor Lilly in an indefensible position, completely exposed to the enemy with no distractions, fox holes or bunkers to dive into or reserve army to rescue him, as the chickens had squeezed tightly into their safety zone by this time and Mrs Duck was standing behind the gymnasium, head down and concentrating, working out her next strategy.  I stood up and ran to the gate, hoping that George would indeed be true to form and just back off at the last minute all hissing threats and tail feathers.  But he started to peck at Lilly who had gotten stuck in the ‘shuffle-fall’ portion of his exit. I was going to rush in, when I realised I was unarmed, which is a bad thing to do with an aggressive twenty pound goose on the rampage in a confined area. So I regrettably had to take a few seconds to grab the yellow teethed broom.  It only took me milliseconds to activate my flanking, relief column charge at George and get him off of Lilly. I stormed in as the cavalry, the flag replaced by the stiff yellow bristles of my broom, shouting loudly at George to get off Lilly.  In the confusion, and with obvious double panic at the sight of the dreaded yellow toothed broom, far more terrifying than George and Mildred, some of the chickens broke ranks and charged around the geese along the fence and raced for the safety of the chicken feeder straight past George, who, now realising he had been out manoeuvred by superior forces (i.e. ME) was racing away in the same direction, Mildred close beside him.  The deserter chickens having reached their destination where then presented with the panicking pair of giants bearing down on them the moment they thought they had escaped the ‘Wrath of Broom’ scenario.  So now I had to save the chickens from being trampled.  With a hop-skip-jump and lunge of the broom, worthy of the Olympics, (you try it in wellingtons, not easy!) I managed to stop the momentum of the geese in time to prevent crush injuries to Flopsy and Rambo. Phew!

 

I did get my Goose General back to his garrison fairly quickly and firmly closed the gate, vowing never to try that experiment again.  It is a shame though because I was hoping that they could all live in Birdworld peace together for the long cold winter. Safe from hungry foxes, dogs, wild pigs etc. during the cold snowy months.  This is not meant to be. And I won’t risk Lilly being hurt.  He was OK by the way. A few more shortened feathers on his back, and tired out from the unaccustomed effort of trying to run, but he was asleep with his head curved over his back within about ten minutes. So he can’t be that stressed. I will try and find his favourite treat in my next door garden this afternoon to cheer him up. My garden is all cut now.  Right now, I need a lay down myself after all that excitement with a hot strong cup of tea for my nerves.

 

19^th October

Nothing much happened so no entry today. I like it when the Chinese curse occasionally is not in full operation and I get a day off from life. This was one of those.  In case you aren’t familiar with the curse, its one of those you have to think about a bit.  “May you live in interesting times”.  My Dad taught me that one when I was a teenager, when every day was a drama.

 

20^th October.

I think that George is still feeling flushed with machismo after his very naughty rampage around the coop.  And Rambo will have to pull in his hormones or there is going to be trouble.  After he had finished guarding the girls having their breakfast this morning and actually was pushed out of the breakfast bar que, Rambo went all bullish and very stupidly approached George on the other side of the fence.  There was some manly and aggressive showing off at first.  George took a purposeful one step forward towards the fence. Rambo shook his head and fluffed up his feathers and then pecked at the other side of the fence.  At which point George put his head down level with his back, hissed and to Rambo’s great surprise, tried to stick his head right through the chain link fence.  Now, I know that George can do this, his head is almost exactly the right size to fit through the angular holes in the wire fence. After which his neck narrows for some distance before it thickens again to join his shoulders.  I have seen him stick his head through for at least six inches.  Rambo was extremely lucky this morning. Because he was gesturing and macho-ing only three inches from the perimeter, so when George lunged, I held my breath, expecting in the next moment that Rambo’s head would be firmly inside George’s mouth.

 

It was not Rambo’s day to die today. George actually got so excited that he miscalculated and his beak was stopped by a glancing blow from the wire, as he lunged two inches to the left of the hole he was aiming for.  This fortunately made him draw back, neck arched and hissing. Rambo looked extremely pleased with himself. Obviously too stupid to realise that he had not just defeated the great giant bird warrior, (who had yesterday deprived him of half of his pride and joy manly tail plumage), in a battle of macho posturing, but had actually narrowly escaped becoming goose food, by the breadth of a piece of wire.  He strutted around in a circle, ‘buck bucking’ loudly, then he hopped up onto the bird feeder, drew himself up to full height, filled out his breast with air, fluffed up his entire coat and crowed a victory crow.  Zebra, entirely a calmer more studious cockerel answered his friend from the top of the gymnasium.  So Rambo jumped lightly down and went to join his friend on the high point ridge.  They gossiped about this for most of the day.   The hens just shook their heads with a cluck-cluck-tutt at such dangerous stupidity of the male species and continued scratching. 

 

George, I don’t think, actually realised that he had lost. So he wasn’t upset. He did quite a lot of chest baring and wing stretching this afternoon, like a prize fighter flexing his muscles on camera and showing his prize belts, inviting the next challenger to the ring. I would advertise the WWFL (Wossy Winged Fight-a-rama League) but I don’t want to encourage them. 

 

21^st October

I have been extremely preoccupied this week, preparing for my son’s visit from England, and I have had little time for bird observation or to notate any observations I have made.  Other than the constant round of cleaning in my house, chicken pen or goose house, I seemed have turned into Mrs Mop and have a broom or a mop permanently attached to me along with a duster.  However, as you already are aware, I believe I have mentioned this before, housekeeping is not something I am very good at and having worked very hard for most of the week and all weekend, it appears that the kitchen and my bedroom are a mess again. There are mud balls rolling around the sun lounge floor, along with four different shopping bags containing things I have no idea how they got there or where to put them and the bathroom mats are a disgrace.  I am baffled as to how this happens.  I think that there is a subconscious wispy creature inside of me that hovers around the house when I am asleep, NOT vacuuming, and systematically dropping dirty socks, dog hair, used dishes, empty toilet rolls etc, all over the house, giggling and waiting for me to wake up and try and work out why I can never keep the house tidy.  Of course living in the countryside, there is the ever present traipsing in and out of muddy shoes, of which there is always an impressive array hanging about near doors waiting to be slipped into at the appropriate time and with the appropriate weather.  I do aim to change in and out of my outdoor shoes when I come in and out, but it doesn’t always seem to work!

 

At the moment there are three pairs of wellingtons hovering by the front door jam. My long pink floral ones for very rainy, wet, muddy days, or when I feel I need extra padding to protect me from untoward advances from George, Rambo or Zebra because Mr Botham never did send me an old pair of his cricket shin pads.  Then there are the short black wellingtons for the, ‘I’m feeling confident that the boys will behave today, and its not too wet, and I’m not doing particularly dirty work today’ days.  Then I have added the man sized green wellingtons that I bought for my dad last year, just in case my son wants to go out in them. Though as he is a towny, he probably wouldn’t be seen dead in them and is probably bringing the latest wet weather man fashions from Dolce and Gabbana. But at least I have thought of his country needs. 

 

Next there are the rubber shoes.  There are three pairs of these. Two by the front door and one hanging around in the middle of my bedroom carpet in case I have a shoe emergency when I am rushing through the room.  These really are the fast getaway variety of shoe. There are the closed in baby pink ones, which are sturdy and easy to slip into if I am not wearing socks, because I got them in the sale in the UK before I came out here and they are a size to small really.  Then there are the red rubbery ones that are all the rage at the moment, these were brought over last year from Spain for me by my mum.  They are extremely comfortable and have large air holes all around the front.  They are also a size to big, so they fit fine with very thick socks.  Being low cut at the back, they are fling off-able when entering the house at speed to rush to the loo, avoid the intoxicated neighbour, get out of the rain quickly, or answer the phone. I have managed quite a good height when flinging them directly across the sun lounge before now, but of course with safety in mind, they are made of a bouncy, soft rubber that really can’t harm anything, even if they inadvertently sail through the air and deliver a glancing blow to the very old pottery vase we found in the mud house that is displayed on the 1950’s Russian made treadle sewing machine box in my sunlounge. Though the holes do make them a little impractical for sudden rain, or uncoordinated mornings when I dump the Well water all over my feet and miss the bucket.

 

Next there are the variety of winter and summer smart shoes, essential for going into town. These tend to hang about in various rooms underneath chairs and tables trying to avoid the country dust, mud and dog hair, attempting to stay clean so that they are appropriately ready to be donned in a hurry, peeking out occasionally waiting to be noticed.  They like rides in the car.  And lastly there are a variety of slippers and flip flops.  Most of the flip flops are now safely tucked up nice and warm in their winter home, the shoe cupboard. Oh, yes, I do have a shoe cupboard, but if firstly if I try and put ALL the shoes in it they wouldn’t fit and secondly, every time I tidy them up, that wispy woman comes out and spreads them all over the house again. So it is a constant battle. The slippers tend to like to cower near sofas and chairs, ready and waiting to slip surreptitiously underneath them, leaving one lonely partner to trip me up as I walk by and to remind me that they were ever in that room and causing many hours of searching, sometimes years before I actually manage to find both of the pair and marry them back together.  Usually its spring or autumn furniture shifting that reveals the hiding places, by which time I have put away, lost or abandoned the other slipper.  I have noticed actually that all Hungarian houses have a variety of shoes around the doorway. Even the smart houses. I now understand why old country houses in the UK used to have a ‘boot room’.  Very sensible if you ask me.  Oh on a last quick note.

 

If you can avoid red or pink shoes or clothes when thinking about becoming a goose keeper, this is advisable. My neighbour and resident bird expert Iren told me that all animals go for red or pink.  Of course I have only just found this out. I am not buying new wellingtons and rubber shoes, now that I know it aggravates them. They will just have to get used to it. Anyhow, I have ample protection from my friends, YTB - Yellow Toothed Broom and Wheelbarrow.  But it does explain why in the last two winters my neighbours Maria and Richard had cockerels that always attacked me. I have a salmon pink padded winter coat and of course the famous pink floral wellingtons. Psycho Sid, the last one, lives next door now, but Karchi has clipped his talons and his beak, after I saw him jump on Karchi’s head one day.

 

 

 

 

 

22^nd October

I think that Rambo and Zebra are having a little cultural exchange with the birds flying south for the winter.  I have noticed recently that first Rambo and then this morning Zebra as well have started shaking their head from side to side, not it a ‘no’ gesture but more in an imitation of an Indian man expressing his ‘I don’t know’ frustration at a naughty child, or a question to which he does not know the answer.  It is very odd on a large fluffy, feather filled, black and white cockerel.  Every time they do it I can’t help imagining them voicing in my head, with a strong Deli accent ‘No, no, no, no, I said Bombay Duck, not corn popadoms’  The hens completely ignore the gesture so its nothing to do with any mating behaviour that I am aware of.  But then the hens are very fickle and would eye the boys up with contempt, extend a manicured wing, tip feathers angled vertically upwards and say with a Californian accent ‘What-ev-er!” if they could.

 

It has been surprisingly warm today. Having told you that winter had been ‘switched’ on. It is about 24 degrees and sunny.  I have taken advantage of the nice weather and painted some more of my metal front fence.  I am half way through the first coat of white paint. I already did the undercoat on most of it back in August.  It is very hard work and very fiddly.  I have an eighteen metre length of front facing U profile metal bars, making up my front fence, so there are four separate planes and lots of fiddly bits to get in to with the paint.  I am cheating at the moment and doing just the bits facing forward. At least it will look nice from the road.

 

Surprisingly it rained this evening, which as usual killed my satellite t.v. signal, but I was on the internet, which wasn’t affected, talking to my friend in Canada and video calling with my mother in England. It would be nice if the warm weather continues past Sunday so that it is good holiday weather for my son. I will cross my fingers and toes.  

 

 

23^rd October

I woke up this morning to a dull grey mysterious world, full of inconsequential shapes, wispy thick fog shrouding the garden into a perfect Hollywood set for a Hungarian vampire movie.  The fog has the eerie effect of muting any sounds trying to push through the static solidified air.  The usual dawn chorus of hundreds of tiny birds chirping in a soprano chorus of delight at a new day, full of the opportunity to play, love, eat and fly was conspicuous in its absence.  Mrs Duck’s usual loud protestations from behind the chicken house door, angrily quacking and trying to bash open the door in her rush to meet the world and as much corn as possible, was also missing.  Even George and Mildred were as quiet as could be.  There was no colour. All was grey.  My practical mind knew that vampires don’t exist, anyway they originate in Romania, Transylvania, not here. But, I also know that the werewolf legends all hail from Hungary.  So I decided to wait until there was a little more light to dispel some of the deeper shading of the fog.  After all, the animals didn’t seem in a hurry to come out, and even Lazido my big black brave dog hesitated when I let him out onto the lead by the front door.  He kind of looked at me as if to say “well I thought I wanted to go out, but if you are not coming out too, I’m not sure that I really want to stay out here” and he took one step back into the house.  But his need to bark and to empty his bladder won in the end. 

 

About half an hour later it was light enough that I could see through the fog a little, and next door’s ducks were quacking merrily away, which immediately dispelled the atmosphere of ghostly gloom.  As soon as Mrs Duck heard me drawing water from the Well she started up her protestations at being indoors. So all was normal again and the apparitions of vampires and wolves dispelled.  Still no eggs from the hens. I am getting very despondent about it.

 

 

24^th October

I have been reminded today by my mum that a nickname for your family in German is your Eierstock.  Which according to my miniature Oxford Popular German Dictionary for school girls circa 1974 actually means Ovary although Eier is egg. I think that is a perfect name for my family here. Eierstock I mean, not ovary. The only thing I need to do for certain is to try and get them to actually lay me some eggs again. I have heard that you can get special food for them called Egg-food. So I will try that when my son has gone back home.  I need to get my flu jab done for the winter too. And of course my local friends are telling me to get the swine flu jab too. It’s called the H1 virus (pronounced veeroosh) here.

 

I am concentrating on the house today, and also resting a bit because I have been really trying very hard to make the place nice for my visitors, and it is a struggle. So now I need to make sure I rest before my big journey to Budapest and the airport tomorrow. I am also pretty nervous, its 290km one way on motorways with few sign posts, no lights or cats eyes and huge intercontinental enormous lorries vying for space, and I have never done it alone before.  So it’s a been a bit difficult to sleep lately,  I was told many years ago that if you rest even if you are awake, it can be as good as sleep. So that’s my plan for the day.

 

25^th October

Today is the day.  I am going to drive all the way to Budapest to collect my son and his girlfriend from Ferihegy airport.  I am quite nervous because I have not done this journey on my own before although I have driven it one way or both ways about nine times in a year so, much preparation, internet video discussion with my parents, talking to neighbours, complaining to my students etc. has gone on.

 

I DID IT. I drove all the way to FeriHegy airport, with only one mistake (wrong terminal at first) which was fabulous.  They have put up some new signposts.  Of course they are not lit like they would be in a civilised country but at least they are there now. With the international symbol of a little aircraft.  Yippee.

 

It was nice weather too. I did as I say go to the wrong terminal which was a bit of a shock because I did not know that there was this miniature Gatwick airport part.  It has the same drop off and pick up ramps, the same confusing octopus of parking access roads, and the same jam of people, suitcases, airport cars, taxis and frustrated Dads waiting for their children to arrive or get out of the car as quickly as possible whilst Mum wants to give them all just one more hug. So I rang my son, who had not boarded yet in the UK and asked him which terminal he was arriving at, and he confirmed it was Terminal 1 which is much smaller and more like a rural airport in the UK.  So, I patiently fought my way out of the mêlée of people and cars and optimistically descended the ramp hoping I wouldn’t find myself in one of the ‘impossible to get out of unless you have been there lots of times before’ airport car parks which I think are probably the same the world over. 

 

I did my usual routine, which is find the actual terminal, then drive through it and out the other side, turn left and head a precise 0.31km (yes, there is actually a signpost indicating this accurate measurement to the MacDonalds restaurant) down the road to where I know there is a garage and a McDonalds that I can park the car in, have a snooze, eat something, get a hot cup of coffee and a WC break and generally feel safe because lots of people are coming and going.  Also as it was Sunday evening and now quite dark, on a Hungarian Bank holiday weekend, I hoped that the garage in front of the McDonalds restaurant was open as I know that I can’t do this return journey on one tank of petrol. Luckily it was open.

 

I was very amused and not slightly alarmed to find that the Garage was attempting to conform to European Community regulations.  The building was an L shape with the pumps completing the square by being positioned in the ‘elbow’ of the L if you know what I mean. However, they also had a café inside the garage shop, with a large screen sports TV and tables and chairs. There was no smoking in doors, as per EC regulations and serving food, BUT if you went outside and down the short inside leg of the L there were more chairs and tables outside, with the closest only about three metres from the nearest petrol pump.  As per EC regulations, you CAN smoke outside. So there were actually ashtrays on these tables. I was gobsmacked. It is far more dangerous to smoke nine feet from a petrol pump than to experience a little passive smoking in a large airy room!!!  I’m not sure if it is the EC regulations being taken too literally, or the lack of understanding of the principle of the rule by the Hungarians, or the completely nonsensical blanket nature of an EC regulation which clearly does not take into account that literal translation of said rule could in fact put many people in a position of Mortal Peril. At least if they visit this particular garage in Budapest it would.

 

 

 

26^th October.

We finally got home at about a quarter to midnight last night.  So, much of today was spent resting.   We got home so late that Lazi almost pulled down the tree to greet us, because somehow I forgot to put on the outside light and he doesn’t like being out in the dark on his own, in addition to barking his head off all the time I am out so that the whole village knows I am out! Not quite the purpose I had in mind for a guard dog.  Lazi was so excited to see Jeremy and Lucy. Bless him. New people to use his big brown eyes on for titbits and in-between meals snacks.

 

Anyhow as you can imagine, after a long drive like that we were all very tired but much to wound up to go to sleep straight away, so there was lots of chatting and stuff for a couple of hours last night and eventually I said that I had to go to bed at 2.am.  So when I got up this morning at 7.30am, to see to my coop family, you can imagine it was quite a struggle.

 

First of all, I had to contend with the fact that Iren, who had kindly put all the babies away for me, including the geese, is as strong as an ox.  And not only did she put them away beautifully but she also chose to bolt the coop doors with the metal sliding catches, which I have never managed to do.  So this morning I had to do some mega weight lifting to get the bolts undone again. Phew. As I had woken up feeling like I had a hangover and as weak as a kitten after the long travelling time yesterday, this was an interesting operation to say the least.  Mildred and George duly came out, but had a rather chastising tone in their voices when they did their morning call. I could almost hear them saying “And where were you last night? We had a stranger put us to bed! Don’t go out and leave us with strangers like that again, we didn’t like it!”  There was a definite indignant arrogance to the way they gave their wings an extra flutter at me when they finally landed by their water bucket. Possible the equivalent of a goose attempting a shrug, or a ‘harrumph’ type of gesture.

 

The human family spent most of the day resting, though we did go to my local town Letenye when I finally got them up and at-em by mid day. We browsed around the big Croatian market, full of Chinese made clothes, spikey heeled fake designer shoes and big fat goose down filled winter coats. I shan’t tell George and Mildred about those, I’m sure they will have much need for their warm down when the weather turns and would be upset at the thought of humans harvesting it for their puny skin covered bodies, most unsuited to the sub zero Hungarian winters.  We went for coffee and cake in the little café in town and then raced around the big Spar supermarket because I needed some dog food and I wanted to buy food that my son and his girlfriend liked.  But on the way home, I did panic a bit that it was getting dark and my winged friends were still outside, so I drove home at some speed through the tree lined, windy, pot holed, curvy, no lights, no lines, no cats eyes village roads.  My son was unusually silent as I skidded to halt outside the house. Usually it’s him who needs to be awarded wings for his driving style in the UK!  He said ‘Well done Mum, you are a really confident driver these days. That was very Hungarian driving!’  when we were safely on solid ground unloading the shopping.

 

I was in plenty of time to put everyone to bed, in fact the chickens had to be coaxed which was unusual, as it had been dull and damp all day and was pretty dark.  I think they new I had been shopping and they did have a glimpse of my son as he arrived last night, so I had him with me to help put everyone to bed, and they were curious about this new chicken keeper.

 

 

27^th, 28^th, 29^th October

Lots of resting, chatting, visiting, coffee drinking, game playing, dvd watching, thermal mineral spa swimming, restaurant Hungarian food tasting (including wild boar stew),  hugging, scenery sharing, geese, duck, chicken and dog story telling days. Lovely visit. Went in a slow motion kind of flash of time. Over too quickly.

 

30^th October

I was stunned by the amazing colours of the trees when driving back from the bus station in Nagykanizsa, having dropped off my son and his girlfriend to catch the coach and taxi back to the giant metal bird that would carry them home to their city lives, having enjoyed a brief respite in the peace and quiet of my tiny Hungarian village for a few days.  The trees and bushes on the verges and flowing up and down the more distant hills and valleys were glowing deep soft purpled reds, burn oranges’, crimson, golden, bronze and bright sunlit yellows, with the spear shaped shafts of muted dark green of the fir trees thrusting through the cacophony of colours, determinedly non-deciduous and unchanging throughout the year. Their deep green needles intense enough to contrast the monochromatic snow covered world of the winter and retain the hues of the remembered lush growth of summer, even in the sub zero darkness of December. 

 

Today the shadows seemed extra deep and intense against the brightness of the sunshine on this vivid kaleidoscope of changing brightness around each bend of the road and every compass variation in direction as I wound my way home on the unmarked, back and grey curled ribbon that links my little village with the commercial metropolis that is Nagykanizsa, with its alien Malls and shopping Plaza’s, its hypermarkets, banks, doctors, offices and commuters. It felt as though this fragile string of tarmac could be a last link to civilization and my son.  I think that maybe my crystal clear view of the stunning forests had much to do with the extra layer of viscous tear formation that clung to my myopic eyes, enhancing my focal length and clarifying the scene into a fairy tale riot of colour. My brain subconsciously but deliberately distracting my sorrow at parting by refocusing my attention to this painted world of fantasy, so many eons separated from London and Reading and my son’s urban existence.

 

Oh, Brilliant news on the chicken front. I had a little egg yesterday and a big one tonight. I think it was my son’s girlfriend’s touch when helping to grind the chicken corn and mix it with the other stuff that I don’t know the English names for. She did say at the time that she was the ‘Gordon Ramsey’ of chicken food mixing.  Well done!  It’s a shame they only laid on the last day of their visit.

 

 

31^st October

I miss them a lot. I will have to dettox myself from the presence of company, and remember how to be alone again.  It is the ‘Day of the Dead’ tomorrow, so I will get a nice flower display and visit the cemetery at some point to chat with my lost ones at the little memorial plot I have created in memory of my husband, my grandmother, my favourite aunt, my grandfather and a German aunt who all died within a year in 2006.  The Mayor gave us foreigners’ permission for the memorial plot in the beautiful local hillside cemetery.  It has great views.  All over Europe there are millions of people donning their best black clothes, preparing picnics and flower arrangements, buying candles or making wreaths and visiting graves to weed and clean them. Making them presentable and cared for, just like the occupants where when they are alive. The Day of the Dead, or in Spanish,  Del Dia del Muerte, is a big public holiday here, just like in Spain and Italy.  It is also the name day for Maria, so it is probably a Saints day as well.  America has changed All Saints Day into Halloween, and introduced it to most of the western world but it is still a religious holiday here and not all about fake scary masks, joke shop costumes or conning your neighbours out of money or sweets.  They have a tradition here, that children and gypsies still do.  I was sprayed with perfumed water several times last year, but they used to spit on you, so the water is definitely a modern improvement.  It is said to keep the evil spirits away. 

 

It is worth notating that the cemeteries here are beautiful, well kept, pretty havens.  They are flower filled and often visited by the living. Unlike the UK, the dead are not buried and forgotten, they are still part of the family, and people visit their deceased relatives to honour their memory as well as to tell them their troubles, give them news about the family, chat to them and generally include them in the land of the living.  The British stigma about talking about a dead loved one just does not apply here. There is no embarrassment or shame in missing your dearly departed.  There is no insisting on a ‘stiff upper lip’ and carrying on as though nothing had happened.  It is one of the reasons I like it here.  A tear of remembrance is looked on as a sign of a good heart and honest love for your forebears.  No matter how long after the event they fall. 

 

It might be a difficult time of year for widows like me, but everyone understands and your friends are ready with a listening ear, shared stories about their lost ones, a hug and a stiff drink.  Either home made wine or the Hungarian incredibly strong Pear distilled stuff called Parlinka. It is about 40 percent proof if you buy it in a shop, but I think that my village neighbours home made variety (highly illegal but everyone does it so no one takes any notice) is probably nearer 60 or 70 proof at least. All I know is that it will shock you out of shock, sterilize wounds, get rid of any infection, eradicate woodworm if you paint it on old furniture and many more uses.  I haven’t tried it yet for rescaling my kettle, but it would probably work, though I fear the metal might be scarred for life.  I know it makes my eyes water if anyone takes a drink of it in the room I happen to be occupying.  I had to ban my dad from drinking it indoors last spring when they visited. Feri gave him a bottle of his home made hooch.

 

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