By Cass Carlton
Bang! Bang! The wooden door was caught in the draught and slammed again. Felix, asleep in the armchair nearest the heater stirred and opened one sleepy green eye .
."That door shouldn't slam," he told himself, "'cos Mum put a door stop there to prevent it." His eyes closed, but the door slammed again and woke him up .
He looked across to Tiki, fast asleep in a mound of blankets right next to the heater. "Hmm" thought Felix, "Usually loud noises wake him up. I wonder if he's really asleep or just playing possum."
He slid off the chair and went to Tiki's side, but before he could put a gentle paw on his little mate to wake him, Tiki's yellow eyes opened and he yawned loudly in Felix's face. "Wassamatter chum?" asked Tiki.
Felix noticed how Tiki tucked all his blankets in around him as if he was hiding something, but decided it was just because it was a chilly morning and Tiki felt the cold.
The door banged again and the two cats heard Mum come down the passage. She closed the door properly and went back to bed.
She slept in a big bed with Daddy.
Sometimes if the wind was blowing outside and making strange noises, or if they'd had bad dreams, the two cats would come up to the bedroom and get under the covers to sleep.
Occasionally there would be a small boy snuggled into Mum's arms.
On Sunday mornings there would be The Baby fast asleep between Mum and Daddy. Somehow there was always room for one or two more and both the cats knew they were always welcome.
They followed Mum up the passage and climbed onto the bed. Nobody else there. Goodie!
They settled down to sleep, but then a noise from the nursery next door told of The Baby waking, so Mum got out of bed and dressed.
She went into the nursery and returned with a bundle of gurgling baby in her arms.
She put a dry nappy on The Baby and then laid him alongside Daddy while she went down to the kitchen . She fed the cats and made coffee, taking a cup to Daddy.
" I thought you put a door stop against that door last night," said Daddy.
Mum sipped her coffee thoughtfully.She had already investigated the slamming door and found the little rubber doorstop was nowhere to be seen.
"I did," she answered, " but the thing seems to have vanished into thin air." Daddy shook his head, " Well that's very strange,"he said, and went on drinking his coffee.
Later on that day Mum went to the shops and bought a few more rubber door stops to fix the middle door so it wouldn't slam and disturb The Baby's peaceful sleep.
All was well for an hour or so when a terrific crash brought Mum and Daddy to the laundry.
The door was slamming again and there was no sign of the small rubber chock that Mum had placed there to keep the door open.
Felix was puzzled. He thought back to what he had seen just before the door crashed shut.
Tiki had run into the sitting room and dropped something onto his bedding. Felix slipped down from his position on the window sill and went to look.
Tiki growled at him and tucked his blankets in all around .Mum noticed and watched, laughing, while the two cats sat back on their haunches and had a boxing match.
It was unusual for Felix to pester Tiki like that, but then she realized there was probably good reason.
Mum called to Daddy. " Come here darling. There's something going on with the two cats."
Daddy came in and saw the two still boxing on. He picked Tiki up which the little black and white cat didn't like at all and meowed furiously to be put down.
As soon as Tiki was out of reach Felix ran to his bedding and fossicked in the folds of blankets for what he believed was hidden there!!
Sure enough ! Not one .Not two. Not three, but four rubber door stops were tucked into Tiki's blankets.
The fourth one was blue. Just the same as the one Mum had put under the laundry door that morning.
Tiki was furious.They were small and mouse like in shape and the rubber had a nice chewy texture. He had decided to keep them all in his bed for safe keeping.
After all, you never knew when you might need something to play with and these little thingamabobs were perfect.
"Well, that has solved the mystery of the missing door stops," said Mum to Daddy.
She was smiling as she spoke, so Tiki ventured a quick smooge around the ankles.
He looked up at her with his big yellow eyes and arched his back in an endearing display of affection.
Mum picked him up and stroked his little bent back, a legacy of rickets as a kitten.
"There was some cooked whiting in the fridge" thought Felix, " Perhaps as a boon? All in the name of good relations between a clever cat and his mistress."
Mum also remembered the delicious cooked fish and gave them each a large saucer filled to the edges with delectable cooked whiting.
Tiki got his to make up for Mum taking all but one of the door stops away and Felix got his for the brilliant sleuthing he had used to discover the answer to the question " Where were all the door stops?"
| Author Notes |
This is a true story. There was a door in the house which would slam repeatedly without shutting properly. For a time every door stop I put to keep the door open at night would mysteriously vanish. It took Felix to show me who the culprit was.
Tiki loved anything made of rubber. He would chew on it, drooling blissfully. He was the first cat that I ever had and loved my baby son to bits. If he cried Tiki would be at the nursery door anxiously waiting for me to "DO Something". He lived for ten years, but when he became sick the vet said as he wasn't very strong, he felt it was kinder to "let him go". So we did and now he's in Pussy Heaven waiting for me. |
By Cass Carlton
It had rained that morning and the zoo was less than fragrant as I walked in the main gate.
I went to the petting zoo first and indulged my need to stroke soft fur and feathers.
The alpacas weren't overly sociable, so I left their enclosure and found a seat to enjoy the slowly warming sunshine.
As I sat there, I became aware that someone or something was sitting close behind me.
A deep, gravelly voice came out of the air, "Bon Jour Madame,"
There was a rustle of movement behind me and I turned to see who had spoken.
To my surprise there sat a very large Arctic wolf, his yellow eyes fixed on my bag which held a couple of sandwiches. My lunch.
I glanced at the big animal, but before I could look away he spoke again.
"Madame" he said, his French Canadian accent clear in the deep tones of his voice, 'Permit me to introduce myself. I am Jacques le Lupe, formerly of Hudson's Bay North Canada, but now, I call this sorry enclosure home with no-one else of my lineage or bloodline to keep me company."
It had been years since my gift of communicating with animals had manifested itself.
How had this wolf known?
HIs eyes dropped from holding mine as he adopted a bashful, chops- licking demeanor.
"Perhaps it is because I hold the other side of your gift, ma cher Madame.
I too am an animal empath, and can initiate contact whenever the opportunity arises. "
His features spread into a most unwolflike grin and his eyes went to the packet of sandwiches in my bag.
Hours had flown since breakfast and my tummy was reminding me that lunch time was nearing.
However, there was no way I would forsake this amazing creature and leave him hungry and unfed.
"Are you hungry?" He grinned even wider at the packet of sandwiches.
"Yes," I thought to myself, "Well, ask a silly question." I undid the packet and threw him a piece of chicken and lettuce which he ate in a flash.
Suddenly I was aware of another voice in my head."Papa, may I have some too?"
Another voice, just as young, chimed in "Oh Papa, may I join you? Please?"
Then another voice, adult, earthy and undoubtedly femaile broke over the cubs' clamour.
"Jacques, what is this? Who is this - human whose food you are accepting?"
I turned and looked at Jacques's mate. She was magnificent. Taller than Jacques and heavier, she had a snow white pelt and a long muzzle.
Her eyes were a hard golden yellow, bright with suspicion and mistrust. She eyed me from the safety of the opening to their den, her two woolly cubs close to her side.
"Jacques?"It was a command as well as a question.
He dropped down from the perch he had found while talking to me and loped back to her side. I heard a little of what he said to her, but then the barrier came down and I heard no more.
I wondered if he would come back. If he was allowed to that is, and sat waiting to see what the mother wolf's decision would be.
They had all gone inside the den and I was about to leave when I heard an unmistakable voice in my head.
It was his mate.
She emerged from the den with her cubs looking down the slope to me. Jacques came out too.
I waited to hear him speak, but he remained silent.
"No Madame,it is to me you will address yourself. I am Nahahni, daughter of Nokomis the wise."
I felt her power and strength flowing towards me and in my mind I made a small bow of obiesiance.
She was an animal empath of remarkable power and I needed her to know that I acknowledged her superior skill.
I received the equivalent of a small smile in response as the two cubs came running from their mother's side, clamoring to be fed.
They made short work of one sandwich, but I held the other one back to give some to Jacques.
Nahahni watched as he came closer and picked up a tasty morsel. He took it to her and dropped it at her feet.
She ate it slowly, savouring the taste and flavour."MMmm! chicken! " she said, licking her chops.
Jacques ate his portion, letting the cubs lick his muzzle for any crumbs left behind.
Then the rain began again and they disappeared into their warm, dry den.
.
The next time I visited the zoo, I had my children with me and stopped by the wolves' enclosure to say "Hello"
They were all different animals in there, although one young male came up to the fence and sniffed my hands very carefully, before putting his ears down and wagging his tail.
I greeted him with a wolf silent salute, but all I received in response was a garbled remark about a chicken sandwich.
I believe it was one of the cubs who remembered me but whose talent as an animal empath had not been encouraged or allowed to grow.
Nahahni was a wise mother, and I walked away knowing the decision had been hers.
.
.
| Author Notes | Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could speak to the animals.? Communicate with them, understand what things mean to them. What a different slant on ecology we would have were we to hear what the animals have to say. Would Mankind's attitude be changed? Is there still time? We may never know. cheers Cass |
By Cass Carlton
My big tabby and white cat Nicky needed to go see the Vet.
So, one afternoon, after collecting the boys from school, I bundled him into the cat carrier and off we went to Mr. Brown, the local wizard with animals.
He was a Scotsman of rare talent with bird and beast, who could calm a slavering dog with just the sound of his voice and a gentle hand.
This was no hearsay, it was witnessed on more than one occasion.
When we arrived at the Vet's rooms NIcky was in fine voice, crying and pleading in the most heartrending tones.
The kids and I were nearly in tears, but it had to be done.
Mr. Brown glanced over to the tragic sounds and smiled his kindly, Scotsman's smile
. I took heart at his expression and comforted the boys as best I could.
At last we were ushered in to the surgery and opened the cat carrier.
Mr. Brown's face was an absolute picture as Nicky came out.
He was a big cat, but he seemed to take longer than usual to come out of hiding.
At first he just peeped out, his big green eyes wide with fright, but then, emboldened by my encouraging words, he began to slide out of the carrier. Slowly!!
As he came out Mr. Brown's eyes widened."Losh! he exclaimed, "what a great beastie to be sure."
Nicky looked up at him and "pripped" politely.
Then he jumped down from the examination table and subjected the room to a good sniffing.
Meantime Mr. Brown was checking his record card and writing the latest information about Nicky.
Then he bent down and picked him up, something I rarely did owing to his size and temperament.
That cat gave a casual lick on the cheek to Mr. Brown whose reputation as a wizard with anything four footed (Or winged) received another endorsement.
.Nicky spent the remainder of the visit on Mr. Brown's lap purring loudly and kneading his corduroy trouser leg.
He received a clean bill of health from his visit to the vet that day and lived another five years before crossing the Rainbow Bridge to Pussy Heaven.
Mr. Brown was still practising veterinary medicine into his eighties and passed away shortly before his 93rd birthday. Vale thou good and faithful servant. cheers Cass
By Cass Carlton
1944 winter in the Adelaide Hills. We moved to a house set in an apple orchard.
There was plenty of wood for the kitchen fire, the bath heater and the fire in the sitting room at night to keep us warm, and a big, rose coloured kerosene lamp to see by when it grew dark
They arranged a peppercorn rent with the orchardist who owned the house and shortly after we moved in, my mother was delivered of her sixth child, a son.
I was three and a half years old and, until my brother was born, the youngest.
I grew up liking my own company, but it wasn't long before I became aware of the other "tenants" in the house.
They were a family of cats. One was George, a huge, ginger tom.
With the softest heart of all of them.
We watched as George stood back to let the smaller cats eat his share of the food and just lick up a bit of juice before jumping down from the tank stand and gazing sadly at the empty platter
.I burst into tears knowing how hungry he would have been, but he went unfed that night and many another.
One day we were all invited to the land lord's house for the afternoon, so my father prepared the box of chickens he had by fixing a kerosene heated incubator light over the small, golden, cheeping birds to keep them warm while we were away.
The weather turned wild and wet, and we learned that the bridge we had crossed earlier that day was now under water so we would have to return another way.
It grew late and my father started to worry about the kerosene in the heater. Would it last out or would the chickens perish in the cold.?
My two elder brothers were sent to go over the next creek crossing and get home to see to the chickens before it was too late.
They set off in the pouring rain, barefooted with a piece if canvas over them to keep dry.
Then my mother said she was sure she had seen a flash as the big oil lamp was lit .
Sure enough, there was a soft glow in the kitchen window and not long after smoke ascended from the chimney.
When we finally reached home the boys met my father at the door with huge grins on their faces.
Without a word they led him to the large box where the chickens were.
They were all fast asleep, warm and snug, cuddled into George the big ginger cat.
He lay there like a living hot water bottle, drowsy and relaxed while the tiny chickens burrowed into his furry flank and chirruped themselves back to sleep.
My father didn't say much, but after that, George was fed away from the others and cats have been a part of my life ever since.
| Author Notes |
This is a true story. My father was badly injured during WW11 and came home a different man from the one who went away. The chickens were the start of an idea he had to grow purebred chickens and sell them at market. He did quite well out of the first lot, but suffered an attack of some chicken illness with subsequent
batches. He ended up going in for market gardening, but gave it up when his rivals announced hey were buying several blocks of land and building a house on the biggest one . Dad turned to the bottle and never left it. |
By Cass Carlton
It was a sunny morning and I had started work early. Housework was nearly done and I was looking forward to a nice soak in the bath, a shampoo and set, and a change of clothes from my A.A.s (absolutely awfuls) to a favourite blouse and slacks.
I had been singing all morning, mostly opera with a few tracks of Demis Roussos just to lighten the mix
. My voice was very much in tune and I was really happy.
My cat Felix was sitting on the window sill warming his rump in the sun.
He, however was not happy.
My singing had got on his nerves and now he sat, golden eyes staring at me accusingly, his ears folded down to lessen the racket his mother was making.
I ought to have been highly offended, but couldn't help but see the funny side of it.
As if in apology,he stood and climbed up my apron into my arms, purring loudly.
As I listened to the deep notes issuing from him, I could not help but agree with well known cat aficionados that "Cats make the most divine noises." Felix certainly did .
| Author Notes | Here is a" Felix "story. For further information about Felix there are two stories about him in my portfolio. Feel free to read them any time. |
By Cass Carlton
Cleo, our sweet black and white lady bunny, had a litter of four small kittens.
They grew rapidly and before I realized the males were old enough to breed back on their mother or in fact that they would, they were and they had.
When the next lot of babies came along, Cleo was too debilitated to feed them.
I saw her sitting forlornly with her front paws tucked under her chest while the little ones tried unsuccessfully to feed from her.
I knew there was something wrong, so the boys and I picked her up with the babies and took her to the vet.
He smiled when I told him of how quickly the second litter manifested themselves, but assured me there was something he could do.
He gave her a protein shot and a couple of other boosters and told me to keep the babies away from her for about a week.
So we followed his instructions obediently, very thankful that the babies were already on grass, apple and carrot.
They survived the week without their mother very well and in due course we took her back to him for a final once over to be sure.
He commended us on the care we had taken of Cleo and the boys were aglow at his unstinting praise.
Then we took her home.
We put her back in her own enclosure and then put the babies in with her.
She sniffed them curiously and sat eating a piece of apple.
Suddenly she realized these little creatures were her very own children and her expression magically altered.
Her face changed. Her eyes grew larger and softer.
Her demeanor towards the babies became tender and maternal.
They clustered around her making little sounds in their throats as she drew them close to her.
They soon were feeding from her again, but this time she did it effortlessly.
When the babies were a few weeks old they went to homes where they were loved and cared for.
Cleo was a very contented rabbit and lived for several years after this episode.
I will never forget the look on that rabbit's face as she welcomed her babies into her arms the day Cleo came home.
| Author Notes |
This is a true story. Cleo was a very pretty little rabbit who came into our lives while we were living in Lobethal a country town in the Adelaide Hills. We were there two years before moving down to the suburbs of Adelaide due my elder son having caught a nasty bout of whooping cough.
This is an Animal Crackers entry |
By Cass Carlton
Taj, the peacock,was strolling down the driveway one sunny morning when he came upon a mirror propped by the shed door.As the reflection moved closer to him he froze.
It looked as though another bird had invaded his territory. He was horrified.
This was his bailiwick and no-one was going to intrude on his little patch of Paradise
"Blimmin' 'eck! Oo's this Bu**er? Clear orf fancy pants an' find yer own place. This one's took"
The offending bird didn't move, but just stood there glaring at him.
Taj's dander was rising, so he gave the intruder another mouthful of tough peacock talk.
"Didnya "ear me? You're on Private property I'll 'ave ya know. Now git lorst before I give ya a good seein' to."
Still no response other than a supercilious look down his aristocratic beak and a rude expression on his haughty face.
"Right" said Taj,"You asked for it. So now you're gonna get it." and charged the mirror with wings out and head down.
CRASH!! Taj fell back with his head spinning. The other bird looked a bit the worse for wear, but he still stood there, wings sagging and head drooping.
The ladies heard the commotion and as soon as they saw the mirror, they all wanted to be introduced.
They'd come up from the bamboo dust baths and stood there waiting to see who the handsome stranger might like for his girlfriend.
Their comments were unabashedly promiscuous.
"Ooh! darling, isn't he gorgeous?" said the senior hen.
The youngest hen responded
"Yes, but he won't want an old bird like you. He'll want someone -- younger. Like me for instance".
"Garn, ya weedy little fryer, " hooted another hen "What makes you so special?. He's a bird of the world. He'll be after someone to talk to. And not just about making eggs in the nest"
"Oh really? and what would YOU talk to him about? What do you know apart from how many eggs make a clutch?"
When the argument broke out between the youngest hen and one of the older birds they pecked at each other and actually raised a clawed foot before calming down again.
Taj was extremely distressed. If this interloper got his claws on the ladies of the harem, there would be Hell to pay.
So he clucked to them soothingly, like a rooster does to his hens, and they all went back down under the bamboos, leaving Taj to deal with this bully that threatened his way of life.
"Are you gonna leave, ya mug, or do I have to get rid of ya?" snarled Taj at the smug face looking back at him.
There was no reply, just a fluffing up of neck feathers that was insult enough .
How dare he!! Barging in on them like he owned the place. Something had to give.
"Right'cha'are", he snapped,"I dunno where ya came from, but you're goin' back there very smartly. Cop this!!"
He summoned up every vestige of strength he could and threw himself at the reflection in the mirror.
This time his onslaught resulted in moving the mirror which slid sideways and the intruder disappeared.
Taj picked himself up again and looked for his rival. He had gone! Vanquished!
He looked carefully all through the shed, under tarpaulins and canvases, behind doors and in cupboards, but the villain had gone.
The mirror had fallen so that its reflection tilted up, so Taj didn't see himself diligently searching for the phantom he had so bravely faced and foiled.
Later that morning he strolled down to the bamboos where the "ladies" were busy at their dust baths.
Casually he spread his tail and called his best harsh cry.
They looked up at him and then settled down in the warm earth.
There was no other quite like Taj, and he wasn't going anywhere.
| Author Notes | Taj and his mate Sulima were the parents of Prince and Juno,my adopted chicks. Taj was a beautiful bird with one of the longest tails I'd seen on a peacock , but he was as thick as a London fog.That is to say, he wasn't a very smart bird Not like Prince his son, or Juno who was smarter than any of them. Sulima his first mate was a lovely quiet bird, who died when the chicks were only a couple of weeks old. Taj was very sad when she died, walking miserably all over the yard and out in the garden looking for her. He mated again but they never produced any young birds. Just eggs which addled and were left by the hen to rot. |
By Cass Carlton
Fingal was a sweet natured white cat we brought home from my brother-in-law's house one Christmas.
He was a dear little kitten, but the runt of the litter, doomed to go to the pet shop as soon as they re opened after the holidays.
I couldn't bear the thought of it and so we brought him home to the family of assorted cats and chooks and guinea pigs we had.
My big tabby and white cat Nicky took Fingal under his paw as it were and he began to fill out and look rather handsome in his lovely white fur coat.
His constant companion was Cindy a black cat of about 3 years old who taught him all kinds of naughtiness.
Everything from unravelling the toilet paper all over the kitchen floor, to stealing food off the table when no-one was looking.
One afternoon Fingal was dozing in the window sill when I happened to drop a large rubber band on the floor.
Like a flash he jumped down and caught it in his mouth. He jumped up onto the table and dropped it in front of me.
So I threw it out the door into the passage. Straight away Fingal went after it and brought it back to me. By this time my husband and our two sons were watching.
To our huge delight Fingal retrieved the rubber band for all of us.
We took photos of him bringing the rubber band back and being patted.
It was especially his game although the other cats were very interested in how it was played.
Cindy used to play sometimes, but she had her own tricks and would nick the rubber band and hide it.
Fingal lived with us for three years, but died of a poisoned bait.
We laid him to rest in a grave under the pine tree in our very large back yard and my parting gift was a large, stretchy rubber band.
| Author Notes |
Fingal was given his name from the baby's names book owned by Katie, my husband's niece. She used it to find the names for her Cabbage Patch Kids dolls of which she had a whole clutch. Fingal means White Brother. It has probably a Gaelic or Celtic origin.
|
By Cass Carlton
Juno and Prince were two peacock chicks whose mother had died not long after they were hatched. Their owner, too tenderhearted to see them perish, fed them diligently until they were about two months old.
It wasn't long before they started causing trouble.
They began by escaping from their coop and scaring all the birds out of the trees. Including the rambunctious and loud sulphur crested cockatoos.
They, in their dozens, would sit high in neighbouring trees and shriek their outrage at having been ousted from their pleasant arrangement with Vicky, the daughter of the family who lived there.
Until the peacock chicks had made their presence known, Vicky would put food out for an entire flock of big, white cockatoos.
They came down in a flurry of white wings and yellow crests and allowed her to touch them and stroke their beautiful white plumage.
Suddenly their reign was over and other less amenable creatures were ruling the roost.
Vicky was heartbroken. She loved those big, white cockies and missed their daily visit sadly.
Her mother, Carole, decided to find another home for the little peacock chicks and when I heard about it, I jumped at the chance.
They were practically given away (which ought to have put my radar up) and the two little darlings came home to our place two doors along the street.
I put them in a cage by themselves until the chickens got used to them, but they didn't seem to mind where they slept.
The chooks gave them a wide berth.
They were very haughty though so any plans I had for hand feeding them and having them come to my call failed abysmally.
Every morning I would open their cage and gently lift each one down from their high perch.
As they grew further out of the chick stage they began to shy away from that one brief touch of human contact, but they allowed it under sufferance, making little noises to each other under their breaths.
Shaking their feathers out and strolling away to the drinking water for a refresher to start the day, they would keep me in view so that when I sprinkled grain out for the morning feed they would be first in line.
One morning there was a half a pot of porridge left from breakfast when the boys asked for eggs on toast instead of cereal.
Juno was so excited she jumped up to the pot, quite forgetting to be nonchalant and casual.
Prince was just as hasty and they had cleaned the saucepan out completely before I could grab it to take it away.
The front of their feathers was covered in oatmeal and I was reminded of how dirty Galah chicks get when they are fed porridge.
Juno and Prince looked so unlike their usual sleek, green/blue plumed selves that I thought I would wash their feathers clean, but by the time I readied a bowl of water and found an old towel, they had restored each other's plumage back to its immaculate state.
The next thing they did was to consult their list of "things to do to annoy mummy",and pick one to start the day. It could be anything from digging where I had been gardening the day before, to climbing the pine tree just for fun.
They tormented the chickens with such delight and skill that I wondered if they were jealous of the flock with its cohesive 'All for one and one for all' instinctive behaviour.
Often the hens would be waylaid in the nests when they went to lay an egg.
There would be a heck of a ruckus between a hen urgently needing somewhere to sit, and a naughty peacock chick who chose that moment to scatter all the straw in the hen house.
Then when they had been roared out of that, they would go and find the rooster, sneak up on him together and take a flying leap onto his back.
It was enough for poor Ferdinand to have him let out a wild scream of terror and race away in confusion, leaving the hens in an hysterical state and Juno and Prince sitting in the warm, hastily vacated dirt bath patch sniggering in delight.
It occurred to me one day that never once did I discover claw marks or any other evidence of peacock onslaught upon any of their victims.
Peacocks are ferocious protectors of themselves and their mate and will defend to the death if need be.
They have long, savage claws for digging which, when used in defense, would inflict a serious wound upon anyone unwary enough to get in the way.
All these two had done was to ruffle a few feathers and go AWOL a few times.
Which was a more than generous exchange in return for the pleasure of their company.
Their final game was something I had never dreamed them capable of doing.
The people over the back fence had a large, loud dog that barked incessantly at my chickens when ever he spotted them through the chinks in the fence.
A sheet of strategically placed iron across his line of vision soon brought peace to the back yard and Tyson was quiet.
However, that wasn't enough for Juno and Prince. They had decided to deal with Tyson their own way and as soon as I was out of sight they took action.
At first I didn't realize where the noise was coming from. It was a shriek of terror and then a high, whining yelp that was unmistakably canine. The only dog within earshot was Tyson!!
I ran down the back yard and hurled myself at the top of the back fence. There they were!!
Looking up at Tyson on top of his kennel trying to climb the wall into the kitchen window.
"You bl**dy birds," I yelled at them, "Get back here this minute! I'll have your feathers for dusters if you don't get here immediately."
They glanced back at me as if to say "Yeah yeah we're coming. Don't get your topknot in a tangle."
They gave Tyson a last,meaningful look, which had him scrabbling frantically and yelping over his shoulder, and then strolled away across the back lawn and hopped the fence on the other side of the back yard.
They weren't going to come home the way they had gone.
That was too much like obedience and that wouldn't do at all.
I knew then they would return to the back yard via a bolt hole under the house and re-appear near the back door as innocent as sparrows looking for crumbs.
They paid Tyson one more visit shortly before they were sent to another home on a farm up at Tarlee.
I was away from home at the time, so I have only anecdotal evidence but, if my informant wasn't exaggerating, Juno had Tyson on his back and would have scratched his eyes out.
Meanwhile her brother, the beautiful Prince, was doing a war dance on the top of the kennel, shrieking in Peacock fashion and encouraging her to go in for the kill.
It was the last straw.
Tyson hadn't barked at the chooks in weeks and it had been quiet for almost as long, and so I made the phone call to the farmer in Tarlee to come and get a couple of additions to his flock of peacocks.
Juno wasn't very keen to go and she went over the fence back towards Vicky's place. They caught her easily and she sat in the cage all tucked in with her eyes closed as if she was meditating
.
Prince, however, wasn't going to some farm out in the sticks where there was nothing to do.
No sirreee Bob!! He resisted every attempt I made to get him to co-operate.
Finally I called the chooks for a feed and Prince, from his vantage point halfway up the huge pine tree in our back yard, saw Ferdinand and all his ladies having grain and greens from the kitchen and realized he was hungry.
He dropped lightly to the ground and came towards me, his eyes fixed on the blue enamel bowl, not noticing my son off to one side holding a large fishing net.
My other son came up behind him with a piece of hessian, but Prince either didn't see him or was too intent on the food to put two and two together.
Suddenly they rushed him and caught his claws in the net.
Quickly they wrapped him in the hessian, covering his head, and brought him around the front of the house to where the man was waiting.
Prince's cries of protest roused Juno from her reverie as she tried to escape and save her brother from whatever assailed him, but soon he was plopped in alongside her.
Whereupon she gave him a sharp peck for distressing her unnecessarily.
The farmer was delighted with these two additions to his flock.
He said they were very young and therefore malleable and easy to imprint upon.
Or so he thought.My response to his remarks was a quietly spoken aside,"Good luck with that." With those two little terrors, he'll need it.
As we watched the truck rumble away and turn the corner, I heard Ferdinand crowing.
He rarely crowed since the peacocks had come to live with us as they would chase him relentlessly until I came out and put the hose on them for being bossy.
Three loud crows he gave and then another couple just because he could.
Tyson never bothered our chickens after that. Perhaps the memory of a clawed Nemesis was enough to deter him, but it was very quiet from that sector of the back yard after that.
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