s e v e n i s a j o u r n e y

After a failed trip to the local Wrightsons, which had exactly nothing on our shopping list of eight or so farming bits and bobs, we went out and played with the ‘paca. Stephen shifted our makshift catch pen (three gates set up to form a square with a section of the home-gallop fence as the fourth) to a flatter section of paddock & we rounded up the three boys with the aim of trying out some of the handling techniques I learned at the workshop I took at the conference last week.

It went really well ! Pointer, the shy one, was docile, if not especially willing. He reacted to the halter, funnily enough, a lot like Slow Top does when you grab and hold him against his will — he held still and stared sullenly off in the direction he’d prefer to be going. He didn’t seem frightened or upset, though, and I think he genuinely enjoyed having me rub behind his ears. Oak, who we’re pretty sure is the sort of critter Marty describes as a “control freak”, was a bit stroppier, but also quite a bit quicker to figure out what was going on and what I wanted. Once I got the halter on him, I felt quite confident enough to try taking out of the pen and leading him a bit. He tried tossing his head and reared up once or twice, but eventually figured out that he was attached to me and that following along really wasn’t that big a deal. Depending on how things go with Chris, Oak my be the first one who gets taken for a walk.

Chris’s session was a bit more traumatic — for us, not him. We’ve let his nails get overlong, and despite every caution to the contrary, we (I) got impatient and wanted to try and get at least the ends of them off right then. So instead of haltering, we tried just keeping him still for his nails to be cut. The combination of the soft ground and the inadequate clippers meant that we nicked his pads and then had to sting them more with some iodine we borrowed off Yvonne… Ack. Chris was remarkably patient with us, however, and seems none the worse for the experience. Plans are to do some more legwork with him today, to let him know, no really, he can let us mess with his feet and we *won’t* hurt them. Ack again.

After lunch, we set about lighting a couple more piles of gorse on fire. That went really well, despite a sudden rain-and-hail-squall sending me scampering back to the house for raingear. Mmmm, fire fun.

Then we showered up and went over to Steve and Jennifer’s for a scrummy dinner-and-hangout. A good day !

We had planned to go to the Full Moon Drumming at Zebos last night, but got invited instead to Alan’s murder mystery party. Based loosely on the “Collectors” story in issue 14 of Sandman, the setup was several different groups having their conventions in the same hotel (Turnbull house, a lovely historic building across from Parliament). In addition to a Scientific organization (who ended up throwing the whole hotel back in time, and blowing Stephen into a Fine Red Mist with some kind of Thing-In-A-Box), an Environmental group (who were actually militant Human Extinctionists… or something), an Adventurers and Explorers club (LoEG, maybe ?), and the Black Ribbon Temperance League (vampires who, like the sharks in Finding Nemo had decided that humans were “Friends Not Food!”), there was the group Stephen and I were in, the Cereal Convention — i.e., serial killers. Chaos ensues, bodies pile up, etc. The rules were that you couldn’t kill anyone unless you were alone in the room with them — no witnesses. After several “mysterious” isolated deaths, the serial killers sort of circumvented the “no witnesses” rule by deciding to gang up and take out the others in singles and small groups. Not exactly kosher, but the mass slaughter at the top of the stairs was kind of funny, and we all ended up getting eaten by Hounds of Tindalos anyway, so I suppose the Turnbull House Massacre will end up an unsolved mystery in the papers of 1892.

–It was *really* windy yesterday. No, windier than that.

–Shopping for livestock is fun !

–Latest auction score: a 1920 Singer model 66 oscilating hook treadle sewing machine, complete with Egyptian Lotus decals and embossed head plate, on the full Type 21 seven-drawer drop-head cast-iron and carved oak cabinet. How much of this did I know when I bid on the thing ? “Ooh, pretty old Singer !”