Miracle birds

As planned, I put 40 Leghorn eggs in our big incubator in early March. All went well. After 10 days we candled them (held a bright light to the blunt end in a darkened room). In 30 of them, a system of veins and a small heart could be seen, indicating that they were fertile.

The 10 infertile eggs were discarded, and incubation continued.

Then we had severe gales, and a 3 hour power cut. We moved the incubator onto the Aga to try and maintain temperature, but that is far from ideal.

After 18 days incubation (3 days before the due hatch date), we candled them again. The results were very varied. Some eggs had hardly moved on at all, and in a large number there were large dark areas inside, showing that the chicks had developed, but not as much as we would have expected, One of them was almost entirely dark, but our fear was that the power cut had completely scuppered the incubation.

The due hatch date came and went without any chicks, and we were sure that our fears were correct. Then, the following morning, when I went to check, there was a little damp newly hatched chick.

Normally, we move chicks to a brooding pen under a heat lamp, but just one? It was upset enough on its own in a supermarket basket in our airing cupboard - putting it in an outhouse would have been like torture. So, our bed & breakfast guests had trier breakfasts to the accompaniment of assorted cheeps and chirrups from the airing cupboard.

That wasn't going to continue forever, however, and we were not looking forward to the time we would have to move it out to the brooder on it's own. Then two days later, when I went out to turn off the incubator, lo and behold, there was a second chick! It is very hard work for these little creatures to break free from their shells, and it can take some time, but this was 72 hours after the due hatch date!

It is now 1 ½ weeks since the first chick hatched, and I moved them to the brooder yesterday (the eldest had managed to jump out of its basket - fortunately Mo spotted it). I am hopeful that both will develop into productive birds. If either (or both) turn out to be cockerels, we will try and find new homes for it, rather than cull it. After hatching out against the odds, they deserve all the life they can have.

Lola's moved her nest, and she ain't shifting!

Well, I said I'd wait until I had the goose eggs in the incubator before I encouraged Lola to to use a nest in her stall. Turns out she needs no encouragement, and that she was not prepared to wait.

When I went to let her out yesterday morning, she was sat firmly on a nest she had made out of her own bedding straw and feathers, and she was not coming out. I left her to it, having made sure she was secure and had fresh water.

I checked on her at midday, and she was still there. What's more, Amelia had also laid an egg, although she doesn't seem to have the same nesting instinct, and her egg had been left in the middle of the floor.

Taking my life in my hands, I walked very slowly into the stall, picked up Amelia's egg, and then moved even more slowly and cautiously towards Lola's nest, and very gently placed the egg in the nest. Lola hissed, shifted a wing, and rolled the egg in next to the other.

Encouraged by my success, I collect two eggs from those I had been setting aside for the incubator, and succeeded in persuading her to adopt these as well.

We had a squally and windy day today, but Lola has only left the nest 2 or 3 times for water. All the signs are that she'll stick out the (28 day) course.

There's no guarantee that any of the 4 eggs she's sitting on are fertile, but fingers crossed. A mother goose with her offspring would be such a thrill.

A Nest in the Veggie Patch

This is Lola, one of our two West of England Geese. She started laying in Mid-February, usually in her stall before I release her in the morning, but she has now made herself a proper nest, in a corner of our vegetable garden.

Her chosen spot is in an area which had become somewhat overgrown last Autumn. Mo had killed the grass which had grown up, and the next step would have been to clear the dead grass away, preparatory to tilling the ground ready for planting.

But Lola thinks all that dead grass is perfect for a nest. What's more, we have wind break netting along the side of the plot, so she's nice and sheltered from the prevailing westerlies.

When she's laid her egg (and she lays one once every other day), she spends half an hour or so carefully covering it with more dead grass, before wandering off to join Amelia, our other West of England, and Amos, our gander.

It would be nice to leave the eggs there, and let her sit on them when she feels she has a big enough clutch. But we get foxes in our garden every night, and she would be killed for certain if we didn't put her away in her stall every night.

I'll be putting 40 odd Leghorn eggs in the incubator on Monday, and after they hatch at the beginning of April, I'll put a clutch of Lola's and Amelia's eggs in. Once those eggs are in the incubator, I'll try and encourage Lola to use a nest I've built for her in her stall. If she does, I'll leave the eggs there and see if she will hatch them out.

FIRE!!! (or not)

Tongues will definitely be wagging in East Prawle!

A little while ago Mo lit our wood-burner, and after it had been burning for a while, was alarmed to hear crackling from the chimney. With help from our son (I was delivering my daughter back to University after a weekend at home) the fire in the grate was doused.

The next day, I was sent up onto the roof to brush out the chimney. Virtually nothing came down, so the next task was to get a chimney cleaning log. This was duly used, and over the course of the next few days, fires were lit without incident.

However, two nights ago, after lighting the fire, Mo again heard suspicious noises from the flue. I was not convinced we had a chimney fire, but better safe than sorry, and the fire was doused.

This evening, Mo was wanting to light the fire, but nervous to do so. Then, a brilliant idea. She phoned the Help & Advice line for Devon & Somerset Fire and Rescue. She explained the problem, and the operator said that they would send someone round to check the chimney out.

Gratitude was expressed, and we got on with our evening. Until 15 minutes later, when two, count them, two fully manned fire engines turned up, sirens blaring, virtually doubling the population of the village in one fell swoop!

Within minutes, the phone was ringing. "Is everything all right?". Explanations were given, but our legs are bound to be pulled next time we show our faces in the pubs.

Anyway, after a thorough visual and CCTV examination, our chimney has been given a clean bill of health. We will be lighting a fire in a ½ hour or so. If I don't post anything in the next 2 weeks, fear the worst!

A new dog

We always like to have 2 dogs, 4 or 5 years apart in age, mainly for company for each other, but also so that, when one dies, it is easier emotionally getting another. With only one dog, it would feel like replacing him or her, which cannot be done.

This would have been particularly the case with Meg, who died last week after 12 years as a member of the family. We knew she was fading, and had already been around the local rescue centres. The difficulty was that we have a cat, and the Rescue centres will not rehome stray dogs, for whom they have no history, into households with cats, in case there a conflict such that the dog has to go through the trauma of being taken back to the centre.

However, one of the centres, Gables Farm Dogs' & Cats' Home also keep a list of owners who need to rehome their dog for various reasons, and they gave us details of Becky, a 4 year old Standard Poodle. Her owner was no longer young, and had recently moved into a mobile home park, and was no longer able to give Becky the exercise she required.

We were originally looking for a German Shepherd, having lost a wonderful old Shepherd called Jason a few months before moving to Prawle. But the idea of a Standard Poodle appealed instantly. Not everyone appreciates that poodles were originally bred as retrievers, or that their coats were originally cut to make water work easier. They are a very intelligent dog, and can be long lived - 15 years or more which is a very good age for a large dog.

After Meg left us, we phoned Becky's owner, and arranged to go and see her, with our Labrador Sacha (Satch). The 2 dogs were instant friends, and after a cup of tea Becky came home to Prawle with us.

There are a number of girls in the village called Becky, and to avoid any offence, we have started calling her Bessy. On the first night home, we took Bessy and Satch to The Providence Inn, where they were both as good as gold.

The following day, we introduced her to the sea side. Mill Bay at East Portlemouth to be precise. Bessy was in heaven! (Although the water was a little cold in early February for her to be particularly keen on swimming). The tide was out, and it was a fabulous day. We walked up the estuary as far as we could, and then back again. In the course of that wonderful afternoon, Bessy realised that we were her new pack, and that she liked it.

She has attached herself to Mo, which is lovely, because Meg was pretty much my dog. She sleeps in the same bed as Satch, and play fights with him every morning.

She has abit to learn - to come when I call in particular! She's also due a hair cut. Fancy show cuts don't quite look the part in Prawle.

But she'll do. She will definitely do!

My son is an idiot!!!

Say no more!!!

Meg

Meg died on Tuesday night. She was the loveliest, gentlest dog I have ever known.

We got her from Battersea 12 years ago (they had named her Trixie). We had no idea where she had been found, or indeed what sort of dog she was. Battersea described her as a "mongrel cross"! She had the general appearance of, and the white bib of a Border Collie, but she was brindle, and too big and rangy. She loved to run, and could run like the wind. The only dogs that could give her a race were the traditional running dogs - greyhounds, whippets, borzois etc. Some chap we met when walking her on Hampstead Heath reckoned she was a lurcher. She didn't look the part, but on the basis that a lurcher is a greyhound (etc)/anything else cross, that makes sense.

Everyone loved Meg. Everything about her was soft. She didn't have hair - she had fur. That was also a down side - she moulted constantly - she kept the vacuum cleaner full!

She hated water - wild horses couldn't drag her into a puddle. After we got our Labrador (who loves to swim), she might think about it, but only for the briefest moment. She would much rather find a place on the beach where the maximum number of people could see her, and pose.

She got old very quickly. Up until last autumn, although she wasn't up to long walks, she would still have quick bursts of speed in the back garden, but that stopped with the cold weather, and on Tuesday night she died.

She was the loveliest, gentlest dog I have ever known.

Mother Hen or Mother Goose?

Now here's a twist. Back in April I said I'd be putting more goose eggs in the incubator after the second batch hatched out. True to my word, I put 5 eggs (all that were available as the breeders were slowing down on their laying) in the incubator. After a couple of weeks, I candled them ( ie I held a bright light to the egg to see what was happening inside), from which it was clear that only one was fertile. Which presented it's own problems. When we hatched out a single duckling, we put it in with the 9 goslings that hatched out 3 days earlier, and he/she is happy as Larry. However, this last gosling was the only hatching expected at the beginning of June. We really didn't want to leave him on his own. However, by good fortune, one of our Black Rock chickens went broody at precisely the right time. You need to be careful getting hens to hatch goose eggs, as hatching eggs need to be turned regularly during incubation, and goose eggs are a bit large for a hen to turn. But, in the last 4 days of incubation, turning is no longer necessary. So, we moved the broody to a house away from the other chickens, with 4 plastic eggs under her to keep her keen. Then, after 24 days (incubation for goose eggs is 28 days), I slipped the fertile egg in under the broody. Sure enough, 4 days later, we found a neatly broken goose egg shell thrown out of the nest, and next day, our broody was a fiercely protective mother of our 13th gosling of the Spring! After some initial confusion (goslings are not designed to scratch for their food!), the two have settled into a happy routine. The next two weeks should be interesting, though. Goslings grow at an alarming pace, and by the time this little fella is 4 weeks old (at the beginning of July), he should be about the same size as his foster Mum! The plan is to let him out in the paddock to mix with the other goslings then, but much will depend on the weather, as if it's wet, I'm reluctant to risk him catching a chill, given that he will still be covered 50% with down. Complicated game this!

The duck is growing

Look at this picture. And then look at the first picture I posted of Curly back on 6th May. That's only a little over 3 weeks ago. I'm getting used to the speed at which geese grow, but there's quite a few of them, and it gets to feel common-place (but no less miraculous for that), but Curly is a one-off.

I said a week or so ago that Curly thought he was a Goose, because he was being raised with goslings. That might have been right at first, but now Curly has no identity problems.

At this stage I should say I don't know whether Curly is male or female. For the sake of prose, I shall refer to ...him as male. The reason is that Curly is a male sounding name, and we chose the name because of the peculiar circumstances of his hatching. Because he is in all likelihood a Muscovy/Khaki Campbell cross, he is almost certainly a mule, so he/she is in any event relatively meaningless.

Anyways, as the photos show, Curly is thriving. He's even been swimming in the feed bucket I keep in the goslings' enclosure with water in so they can dip their heads. I am SO sick I missed that photo!

Different kind of Animals

Anyone who knows East Prawle will know the pub on the green, The Pig's Nose Inn, and most will be familiar with it's music nights. The landlord, Peter, has a history in the music industry, and his continued contacts enable him to bring some famous names to this tiny remote Devon village.

Past acts include Wishbone Ash, The Yardbirds (both regulars at the ' Nose), Paul Young and Dr Feelgood. Last night featured the second appearance there of The Animals (nowadays known as Animals and Friends), featuring their original drummer, John Steel, together with Peter Barton (bass & vocals), Johnny 'Guitar' Williamson (lead guitar & vocals) and Mickey Gallagher (keyboards).

I never saw the original Animals, having spent my childhood in New Zealand, but like most music lovers of my (and other) generations, their music is part of my psyche. From the opening "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood", through to the encore, inevitably "House Of The Rising Sun", there was no doubt, this was the The Animals live. OK, no Eric Burdon in the lineup, but Peter Barton (Mindbenders, The Move) has all the power and raw rhythm and blues energy needed and more. Williamson belted out guitar solos, and Gallagher, who replaced Alan Price in The Animals in 1965, completed the authentic sound. But it was John Steel, who started out with Eric Burdon in 1957 with The Pagan Jazzmen who amazed me. Now 66 years old, and after 50 years in rock'n'roll, he clearly still enjoys every second on stage.

And that's the thing about gig's (or as they are called in Prawle, music nights) at the Pig's Nose. All generations are represented, both on stage (The Animals were supported last night by local teenage band, Cosmo), and in the audience. And whether they were teenagers, partying down in front of the stage, or pensioners, nodding their heads and shifting their feet to music they had partied to as teenagers, for all of them, this was live music as was supposed to be - totally real.

The Continuing Adventures of Wee Curly

Wee Curly, our day old Muscovy Duck, was not happy. Having hatched a week early, due to dubious parentage, he was all alone. He protested about this long and loud, making our hearts ache for him. So with some trepidation, we introduced him to the goslings who hatched a few days earlier. Although a little suspicious at first, the goslings soon accepted him as one of their own, and Curly now thinks he's a goose!

New Life - again

As expected, 9 goslings hatched over the course of Wednesday and Thursday. Eight are fit and active, but one has a defective foot, and needed assistance getting out of the egg. It seems to be gaining strength, though, and the others accept it as one of the gang. I had my mobile by the incubator whilst one of the goslings was going through the final stages of hatching (the whole process, from the first crack in the eggshell, can take up to 2 days), and took a series of videos of it actually struggling free of the shell. I've edited these into one film which can be seen to the left. Sorry about the quality - it's a very cheap phone!

New Life

One of the criteria when we were looking to move to Devon, was finding somewhere with enough land to "play with". Welle House has 1½ acres, and the back part had previously been separated off into a paddock. We ploughed a section of this up for vegetables, but this still left a large area unused. We put a few chickens on this (more on these in a later post), but these didn't keep the grass down, and cutting the lawns proper was taking enough time, without having to do the paddock as well. After much thought and debate, we settled on geese, and last spring bought 12 goslings from a breeder near Exeter. Over the course of the year, we lost one, but this was replaced by a gander owned by a friend in the village. Come Christmas, 7 of the original 12 became Christmas dinners for ourselves and others, and we were left with 2 ganders and 3 geese. The day after Valentines day, the geese started producing eggs, and 7 of these were placed in an incubator. 28 days later and the 3 citizens shown in the photograph duly appeared. At the time of the photo (early April) they were less than a week old. They are now on grass, still looking cute, but not nearly as cute as this And the real thrill (or frightening part) is that, after these 3 hatched, I put another 13 eggs in the incubator, and having checked last night, on Tuesday or Wednesday, we should have another 9 goslings to join these 3. AND I'm putting more eggs aside to incubate after they hatch. The question is, when will I find time for the Bed & Breakfast!

The beginning - second try

Ok. The first two attempts sucked. Trouble was, I hadn't really decided what I wanted to do. I now have.

This blog will be what I think a blog should be - a journal of my thoughts of the life I lead. And the first rule should be that it is for my benefit - something I can look back on in future years - and if others find it of interest, so much the better.

To start, however, I should probably put down some background.

I gave up office life in London about 3½ years ago, the plan being to sell up there, and buy a place in the South Hams of Devon - somewhere we could make a living income from, and somewhere we could enjoy a real quality of life. We found this house - 10 bedrooms, 3 (plus a bathroom) for the family, 4 (all en suite) for bed & breakfast, and 3 (plus 2 bathrooms and a 30 foot through kitchen lounge) self catering holiday accommodation. In addition, Welle House (this place) had 1½ acres of land - more than enough for ignorant city exiles to play with.

What we hadn't budgeted for was where the house was - East Prawle. East Prawle is a small village of about 200 souls (not including the holiday home owners) in the southernmost point of Devon. That's what the guide books will tell you. What you cannot appreciate until you live here is the depth of the community spirit, and how warmly we were absorbed (and that is the best word for it) into that spirit. Within 1 month of moving in, we knew we were home.

And it has only got better.

My plan is to use this to mix in our history here since we moved in with observations demonstrating why we have really found the "good life".