On reflection

Jelly's sure she didn't look like this in the mirror in the bedroom...

"Take me to your leader!"

A space invader came to the house today and judging - correctly - Jelly the tortoiseshell cat to be the most intelligent life form here, tried to frighten her into submission. She wasn't having any of that, however, so he then tried to wipe her memory of his visit.

The cynical would say that SO has just tried on his new bee keeping hood and, like small boys trying on new hats everywhere, been unable to refrain from pretending to be a story character. Jelly denies any such encounter though, so perhaps her memory is really affected. Or perhaps she's too embarrassed to admit she was taken in.

Tree fellas

We had tree fellers in today and they were quite amazing.

Actually there were five of them and they were tasked with taking down 7 huge eucalyptus trees too close to our house in soggy ground of winter, the wind storms of spring and the fire danger of summer. Much as we love them they also drop leaves - and limbs occasionally - all year round and their roots invade every garden bed we have. We are sorry to see them go but are trying to make up for it by planting about 500 more on the property. They were far too big for us to cut down ourselves, ranging from about 20 to 40 feet high and sandwiched between fences, gates, heritage garden and other things we didn't want to squash. Like the chicken house. So professional Tree Fellers were called in, complete with abseiling harness, chainsaws and slight madness.

The tree fellers were not at all phased by the lack of space to actually fell the trees. They just went up there and brought them down, bit by bit. Dropping great branches accurately between the 40 year old camellias, the flimsy bit of wire holding back the woolly horde and a lonely garden tap. Grinning all the while. They came from all over the place, a Canadian, a New Zealander, a New South Welshman among them. They laughed and joked and had games of duelling chainsaws.

The morning started shakily when SO declared they'd be here between 7 and 7:30am, but he didn't expect them until after that really and at any rate they'd have to set up first so he wasn't going to get up too early. I was unpopular due to making him get up at 6:00 after checking the ewes all night, but the tree feller fellas were here, chainsaws revving, at 7:15.

We were then treated to a wonderful show of aerobatic wood cutting, trapeze tree trimming and gravity defying gum grooming all morning. The pregnant ewes, in the paddock we optimistically call "The Orchard" closest the house, were a bit alarmed at all the noise and gathered together in the farthest corner whispering among themselves. The alpacas were completely unfazed.

The tree feller fellas worked on the five biggest eucalypts first, all together in what could not be called a small copse at the back of the garden acre. The pile of wood and leaves there now cannot be traversed. It will take us several weeks with our own little chainsaw and mulcher to clear up, but at last the trees are down.

When we eventually let the cats and dogs out of the house again after all was safe Jelly pretended to be sad about the loss of the trees, then spent the afternoon being a tiger in the branches and leaves and running and jumping from log to log having the best of times on her own little assault course.

Spring snow

Sometimes it gets very cold here, but it doesn't snow. (Except for the winter of 1996 but that was a rare exception) The closest we usually get is the result of a gust of wind in the blossoming pear trees. It's very pretty as the petals flutter down.

The falling blossoms are also irresistible to our cats who play like kittens amongst it. They are 10 years old but spring brings out the youngster in all of us.

Duck!!

Due to the endless rain of the last few days the overflow from our little duck pond has started to wash away. This is quite an achievement as we've never managed to keep water in the duck pond at all before, let alone too much water. Jelly the tortoiseshell cat is an expert in assessing warm places and, it being black plastic, she had to check it's heat retention qualities. To her amazement, there appeared to be waterfowl present. This has never happened before either.


She spent some time watching the duck and when satisfied that it wasn't going to attack her, she started to stalk it in return. When we bought the decoy from the local Fodder Store, as a bit of a lark - well, duck anyway - we were hoping to attract ducks just to have their company and slug-eating capabilities, we have no plans to shoot any. Ducks, that is. It would be a bit messy shooting slugs. Eventually we will have ducks and geese of our own. Until then our little plastic friend will have to suffice.


We asked the nice Fodder Store Family whether they sold many? Yes, dozens! Really? Didn't know duck hunting was such a sport in the Adelaide Hills. Oh not for duck hunting, they explained, they're for amusing horses.

Horse toys. Right.

Apparently when horses start to play with the ball valves in their troughs, wasting hundreds of litres of precious water, their owners put decoys in the troughs and the horses play with them instead. They find the ducks flung far into the middle of the paddocks and generally tossed about. The decoy duck saves the water and keeps the horses happy for hours.

Ours has a similar effect on our cat.

Breakfast barrier

When it's really cold SO sometimes has his breakfast in the big room by the fire. To do this successfully however requires some sort of division be used between him and reaching cat paws,


or he'll end up with everyone vying for the contents of his plate.


(Everyone with fur has had breakfast, by the way, they just fancy boiled eggs and toast)

Cat on a stick.

This is Jelly looking for mice, other small creatures or something we can't fathom, from her vantage point on the compost heap post.


She'll sit there for ages, looking intently. Sometimes a tiny twitch of her tail gives away the fact that she's thinking, but the rest of her remains completely still with the patience of a martial arts master.


This kind of self discipline is too much for the boys, whose idea of gardening is to look after the tools. From a sunny position.

Jelly bath

Every evening at 9:30pm Jelly has a bath. Like clockwork. She doesn't move from her armchair to do it, just wakes up and cleans up. There are different things on telly every night, and sometimes no telly at all. We don't always get up for a cup of tea then, and no other regular thing happens. She just knows when it's 9:30.

Here she is, paused in her ablutions, temporarily distracted by the RSPCA on TV.

Other things on their minds

SO gazes at the hills wondering what's for his breakfast.

Jelly, Wilber, Elrond and Gimli gaze at SO, wondering what's for theirs.

Meowing up the wrong tree

Usually Jelly goes out first thing in the morning then returns to the fireside for a leisurely sleep in before going out again to roam around the garden for the rest of the day. This morning she didn't turn up after her initial outing, having been waylaid by the complexities of the golden elm tree.

Jelly's a smart cat and rather than going higher or calling for help like a lot of other cats I won't mention, she looked for a way down....

and looked...

and looked.

At this point she just sat and looked hopefully at me as if to say "Well, how about a lift?" Dignity forbade her crying and carrying on like Jamie (to use a random example that comes to mind with no provocation) would have. I lifted her down and she lightly hopped to the ground from my arms as if nothing at all was the matter. Perhaps the puncture wounds from her desperate grip on my skin gave away what she really thought.

Morning ritual

Every morning lately the horses, who have about 20 acres of grassed and treed hills to roam on, stand in the muddy raceway instead waiting for breakfast to be served. Usually with the odd sheep or two who fancy their chances.

Kalara, the proverbial old grey mare, can be seen here inspecting the buffet laid out in the paddock next door.

The morning's routine includes throwing out hay for the dry ewes and wethers first, simply because they'll mob me for the horses' hay if I don't. The next step is to sneak through the garden hoping I'll get to the yards ahead of them in order to distribute rations without a riot. This usually fails because (before coffee hour), I invariably forget that the pet lambs will see me and protest - in rising harmonies - my walking past without dolling out the grub to them first.

Everyone else joins in and lodges their complaints in a series of neighs, whinnies, bleats, baas, grunts and cackles that has to be silenced in stages as I get to each yard or paddock.

At this stage Jelly, the tortoiseshell cat, will join me as overseer, trotting along behind me on my rounds, supervising proceedings from her chosen fence post. Then it's back up to the horse shed to replenish supplies for feeding out. Distribution is a bit like an obstacle course.

The pet lambs lay in wait behind the gum tree in their yard then jostle me from either side in a race to the shed, always hoping they'll dislodge my cargo before I get there. The breeding ewes wait for me to step over the fence with a bucket of sheep nuts in each hand, held high out of their reach like lanterns. Should they get their noses in the bucket too early the combined force of three or four sheep heads will mean I cannot raise the bucket again and it's game over. So instead they wait until I'm teetering over the fence and as many as possible get under my airborne foot, rendering me unable to put it down, and the rest push against the grounded foot to capsize me. For a few long moments I have to hold this one legged karate pose with the heavy buckets and if I'm lucky I'll get through the woolly mass upright. It's only occasionally they win. Usually when it's wet. The alpacas thankfully take a more subtle tack, waiting until I'm actually through the gate before descending, necks outstretched, on the hay. I simply have to keep out of the way. It's a good policy to keep out of the way of alpaca spit.

Then it's down to the chicken pen. Jelly waits discretely outside for this part. They are mostly benign, except for their protector and leader, Silver Boy the rooster. He's convinced I mean deadly harm and the mixed grain and hot bran mash is just a ruse for an enemy wanting admittance on false pretences and he isn't having any of that. If I'm quick I can feed them and get out again unscathed, but I use an old saucepan for the feed because it doubles as a self-defence mechanism. To be fair, I admire his courage and attacking ability. He's left a few dents in the saucepan.

Whilst the breeding ewes are staying in home paddock hotel they get extra service with hay as well, and the other animals want a piece of it. Including Jelly, apparently.