G-Sweep

Yesterday was spring-clean day at the home of the G-Men.

This involves a periodic cleaning out the goat-house, airing the premises in the warm air and then re-furnishing the bed and carpet to the tenants’ satisfaction. You will understand that this is probably over-personifying the animals slightly -- they do not really have carpet and a bed.

Clayton donned the regulation Health and Safety apparel, being gardening gloves and a painter’s dust mask. Special tools include the old kitchen broom, the dustpan and the 30 litre garden barrow. Then a deep breath and down on all fours (like a goat!).

Interested parties may want to know that this deep breath technique trick does not really work, but it is probably consolatory to the G-sweeper for the first 30 seconds or so. After that, he is faced with the full wrath of the ammonia urine stench. I am reliably informed that goat urine is excellent for opening the sinuses, but I’m sure that the average person will rather prefer a blocked nose!

The boarded floor of the G-house has 5mm slits which allows the bulk of the urine to leak through, but the straw quite obviously absorbs and retains quite a bit. This gives the place a pleasant “goat-y” smell. Pleasant, that is, if you are a goat.

I used two very valid excuses to send Clayton into battle in the straw, rather than doing it myself. (a) the fine dust particles are not good for my post-surgery recovering sinuses, and  (b) well…, actually there was only one good reason.

Ten minutes later, Clayton had fully loaded the wagon with smelly spent straw and the floor scraped clean and dry of traces of G-presence. I was watching from a safe breathing distance. Justin “Beebs” wasted no time and immediately clambered inside and stomped around on the wooden floor checking and smelling. It’s amazing how inquisitive he is – he needs to know what you’re doing and needs to smell absolutely everything!

The compound was left to air, while the straw was taken to the composting area and covered, in line with our cunning plan for this waste product. I am hopeful and positive that the vegetarian goat-poo should do wonders in the veggie garden.

Then back to the feed-store to collect sufficient straw for re-furnishing the G-house. I took the liberty of taking a small bag of hay as a treat for the boys as well. Nothing like an inauguration meal once in a while.

Back at Goat-hill, Clayton kitted up once more and spread the straw all over the floor of the G-house. It was good and clean and fresh. And soft, like new straw. I fully expected him to lie prone on the soft new mattress to “test it out”, but Jacko Jackson butted his way in, in his official capacity of Quality Control Inspector.

(Above): Michael “Jacko” Jackson

Jacko checked out the floor in a zig-zag pattern, finally showing his approval by actually eating some of their mattress/carpet, indicating that, if its good enough to eat, then it must be good enough to sleep and pee on as well! That’s goat psychology for you.

There was no need to panic about him eating himself out of house and home, as he was easily distracted from this bedtime snacking by the offer of handfuls of yummy hay.

Clayton, too, was a happier G-servant, ready for the next spring-clean in a fortnight. Off to the shower and deodorant!

What A Load of Rubbish!

Like so many other countries throughout the Western World, New Zealanders are striving to be as “green” a community as possible. As the country has very little space to allocate to wasteful matters such as landfill waste disposal dumps, we make every effort at Chartwell to reduce the amount of waste which ends up in the landfills. It may represent a very small fraction of the effort, but, like they say, every little bit counts.

As part of our effort, we are aware of not only what we throw “away”, but also how we do it. We prepare glass, metal, plastic, cardboard and paper items separately and have three bins which we can dispose of without charge, if we take it to the Otaihanga depot. This is done as a group activity every second Sunday, followed by a walk along the beach, or a swim (if the weather plays along), or whatever else. Kitchen waste such as veggie peelings, fruit, and so on, is collected separately and treated in the composter – to eventually do duty for free in the garden once more. Polystyrene and general “wet” rubbish is collected by the contractor once a week in the regular wheelie bin, which we try to keep to a minimum.

By world standards, we’re probably “pale-greenies”, but, hey, we’re trying… A few pictures taken at the Otaihanga depot recently:

 
The Rubbish Guys finishing off the feeding the mouths of the hungry recycle monster, being careful to keep the brown, green and clear glass separate as well.

Tyler almost seems disappointed that the last bin has been emptied. He was just starting to enjoy throwing stiff into the chutes! Nevermind, lad, there’s always another Sunday!

What a lot of wheelies…

Rather than dumping unwanted goods on the pavement, you can drop it off at the depot – perhaps someone else wants to buy a bargain for spares, or whatever?

Two Firsts– And in the saddle again

Today 6 January 2014 was a day of firsts. Two of them, in fact.

FIRST #1: The birdsong consisting of a repeated series of short rattling notes ending with a flourish, rendered, chip chip, tell, tell, tell herry-erry-tissi chewoo.

What on earth is that bird up there on the pergola?

I clicked a few photographs of the little fellow, before he flew away between the trees: We then compared the pictures in Paul Scofield and Brent Stephenson’s Birds of New Zealand, which told us the identity of the first NZ bird. First, besides the Tui, for which I had only managed a few half-baked pictures so far.

 
Common Chaffinch (Fingilla coelebs) [ Maori: Pahirini ]

FIRST #2: A few minutes later, the second FIRST of the day. While we were in the lower paddock, with Clayton and Tyler snipping up the prunings for the composting heap, along came Brynn, enquiring about who had convened the “secret” meeting, which was apparently excluding her.

How could they be having secrets from her? Unacceptable. Quite apparently.

Next she made a momentous announcement. The statement confused me somewhat, but, hey, many things about the youth confuse me nowadays. Many things about the elderly as well, come to think of it.

“Release me! Release me! … I am free to live my life!”

I understood that Clayton had granted permission that she could go across the road to visit her little friends Poppy and Katherine. That was the last we saw of her until some two hours later, when we heard this right real commotion at the front gate, accompanied by a cacophony of dog excitement. Imagine our surprise when she rounded the corner of the house… RIDING A PURPLE BICYCLE.

Why surprise? No, not the fact that the bike was purple. You see, when she left earlier “to live her life”, she had been a complete non-cyclist, unable to maintain balance on a bike without the help and security of fairy-wheels. And here, for the very first time in her life, without any assistance, without teetering and tottering, SHE WAS CYCLING UNAIDED.

Notice the typical footwear attire – the all-purpose boots for your typical girl in the Reikorangi.

Concentrating down the back straight…

Great fun steering uphill on the large lawn…

Heading back to the kitchen/diningroom patio

Building up balance and steering confidence by the minute, there was a short break for supper, and then she was back again in the saddle for another spell around the lawns and pathways, until the summer light started fading quite late in the day.

Everyone agreed that Brynn’s achievement was a really good FIRST.