No, not another dead pet. Hurrrrrrrrrray!

Kitty, shadow, psycho, whatever you want to call him – our black cat is not dead.

After no sight nor sound for several days, we thought he had come to a possum-like end on the road, like Marcella and Fluffy before him.

I resisted the urge to write about this when I talked to you this morning. But after I pushed publish, I decided to go for a wander down the road to find the body.

There was no sign to the north although a bunch of pine cones gave  me the wobblies for five minutes (is there a term for a bunch of pine cones?) Every funny looking tuft of grass made me queasy – I SO did not want to pick up another carcase with a spade and have a funeral procession to the nice, shady spot behind the magnolia (actually I have no idea what the tree is, but it sounded pretty).

Waving to passing traffic while looking earnestly into the long grass (reminds me of golf actually), mournfully calling out ”kitty kitty” and not really expecting anything to come of it.

Well! Imagine my surprise when I hear a pitiful meow from a huge blackberry patch about 200m south of the house (and fortunately, strong enough to allow me to think it wasn’t nursing horrible and death-defying injuries from being introduced to the front grill of a speeding car).  In fact, I think I got just as many scratches getting him out of the blackberry but they were licked better by my grateful little feline friend on the walk home.

He doesn’t just have a purr now – there’s a freight train a’comin’!

Now I can’t wait for the kids to walk through the door this afternoon (now that makes a change doesn’t it!)

Kitty (as opposed to our other cat Puss) but otherwise known as Shadow or Psycho Shadow, depending on his mood!

Just a few weeks ago there was a story about a dead rabbit throwing contest being canned in the South Island because the SPCA said it wasn’t teaching our children the right treatment of animals.

A few years ago Hastings was going to have a Running with the Rams event in the centre of the city. But due to those polticially correct losers, it was deemed too mean on the sheep and cancelled.

But ”Meet the racing Baa Blacks – they’re highly prized, well trained and have busy schedules,” says an article on the stuff website.

Twenty sheep make up David Cone’s racing contingent, which tours fundraising events around the South Island. The main objective of sheep racing is to hold the winning number (usually 1500 tickets sold at $2 apparently) as several brightly clad sheep fly out of the starting gate, along a fenced course and cross the finishing line.

My squash club had a games night fundraiser this year, which included tiddlywinks (seriously cool when you’ve had a few), darts, bowls, black jack and slater racing. Now that’s a fun game. There are odds offered as to which way the slaters will escape – like 10-to-one through the small gap but two-to-one out the large gap. Just as exciting as horse racing, you don’t have to worry about Fashion in the Field and there’s no… clean up!

 

 

 Yet another lamb has inhaled a large bag of milk powder only to cark it the day before our local lamb and calf day.

Bugger.

The Rangitoto Girls and Boys Agricultural Club is a shadow of its former self (going back 20 years) but is still an awesome opportunity for rural children to compete in the show ring. Lambs and calves of all colours and personalities gather at either Norsewood or Takapau Schools in Central Hawke’s Bay (alternate years).

I haven’t had anything to do with the calf side, but the lamb competition includes three sections – leading (funny to see some being dragged and others trotting along faithfully like a dog), care and attention (naming breed, what they get fed and how often, how care for the animal) and catch and call (not a good idea if your fence is not fully intact and no bottle is in sight).

Back to the complaint of the day. My son’s lamb died on Sunday afternoon. He said at least he hadn’t practiced too hard.  Like any good farm kid, he was quite okay with the life cycle not really working in his favour this week. But I told him people would expect him to be a “wee bit sad” when talking about his lamb, so he practiced his sad face. For five seconds.

Sarah’s lamb died a week or so before the lamb and calf day a few years ago. When we told her the lamb had died, she looked at us and said, “oh, are we having it for tea?”

We quickly trained up one of the other pet lambs, a boy, because it was the biggest, but had already had its balls off. We still have diesel, three years on, and all the red ribbons he won that year.  I talked about it another time:

http://rivettingkatetaylor.wordpress.com/2008/08/11/procrastination-and-pet-lambs/

So for now, I’m preparing my thoughts of life in the world of rivettingkatetaylor for Jamie’s farming show on the radio tomorrow.

I caught up with an old friend yesterday too (should add we’ve known each other for years, as opposed to her being wrinkly and in need of a walker).  We had a coffee Te Mata Cheese near Havelock North (and a very nice salmon and cream cheese thingie).

It’s easy for months and months to go by without making the effort to take time out to catch up – so my thought for the day is MAKE THE EFFORT!

And hi Fi

 

 

 

Beautiful weather graced Central Hawke’s Bay for Labour Weekend.

We had a lazy day on Friday (Hawke’s Bay anniversary day); major spring cleaning, lawns and weed eating on Saturday; and good friends for a long and relaxing lunch on Sunday (plus Sarah played the organ for Ode to Joy at church!)

Yesterday we tidied up after the long and relaxing lunch and then I went for a three-set tennis match in the sun. It was great (as was the beer at the pub on the way home!)

And now there are apparently seven shopping weeks til Christmas.

Where has 2009 gone! Twenty-ten will be here before we know it.

Lying in bed on a Friday morning (it’s a holiday in Hawke’s Bay today) with a hot coffee and peace and quiet – divine!

Hubby has taken sprogs to the Hawke’s Bay Show and I am being treated to a sleep in, having lazily waved them goodbye about an hour ago (thank goodness, it wasn’t too boozy at tennis but it was midnight when I got home).

We used to look forward to our local A&P Show for weeks when I was younger. The thrill of getting dressed up, eating candy floss and going on the Merry Go Round, or when we were older… dressing up, sneaking miami wine coolers and pretending we were soooo bored, or even older…. dressing up and finding a comfortable but shady spot in the bar.

There were picnics from the boot (especially bacon and egg pies when I was young enough to think the Kelso Show was cool) and having the time to catch up with people you hadn’t caught up with through the year.

The Kelso Show doesn’t exist anymore. After the Pomahaka River flooded the grounds (and the small township) one time too many – it was abandoned and the West Otago Show at Tapanui was born.

Now with the growth of dairy farms in West Otago, there’s a mid-afternoon surge for the gate, which would be hard for traditional Southland sheep and beef farmers to comprehend. 

I have heard stories after stories from people in Hawke’s Bay about the way the show used to be. Hundreds of entries in the sheep and cattle sections with the Meat and Wool Cup the most coveted prize of the event.

Saving up pennies through the year to buy that special material to be made into the latest season’s fashion for the Show, baking for days beforehand to stock up the chillibin in the boot under the shade of the big trees in the Waikoko Gardens.

 But now skinny 12 year olds wearing half a top see it as the chance to buy a cheap and nasty belt or glasses or cap or Tshirt from the gypsy stalls and scream their way around the amusement rides. Oh how old am I.  Seriously, thinking about it right now, I can’t wait for the day when I give the kids cash each and say “see you in five hours”. So maybe we’re to blame for the special nature of the Show disappearing.

What do we go to these days that require the kids to look forward to something for weeks and weeks and save up or prepare or melt with anticipation? 

Speaking of anticipation, there’s another cup of coffee screaming my name.

A good sporting week has been had (by me, anyway).

Victorious in my club champs final on Monday (albeit only Junior B but I was nine up with eight to play and you can’t get much better than that!) and shot 110 gross (108 adjusted thanks to two blowouts!) on Wednesday, which combined with a semifinal win in the Olga’s Trophy (not sure what that is, but I might find out if I beat the next lady next week).

It certainly all helps with the handicap – 36.1 as we speak but if I look on the internet tomorrow, with any luck, it will say 35 point something!!!!

 Then I had a damn good game of tennis tonight, putting into place all the volleying (and even one awesome smash) taught in tennis aerobics through the winter. But there were a few big shots that flew out of the cuckoo’s nest (still trying to put my friend Kim’s tips into action).

And another good night was had by all at the clubrooms afterwards – luckily the rain hit about 5 minutes after Deb and I lost the second set (we won the first)!

I’m sitting at the computer in my living room and the house is peaceful, just the sound of the rain pattering on the roof. Whoops, and the washing machine beeping it’s finished cycle. At least I don’t have to get uniforms dry by tomorrow. Hawke’s Bay Anniversary Day, followed by Labour Weekend, followed by a teachers only day on Tuesday. Lamb and calf day on Thursday and we’re one week closer to Christmas.

How the hell did that happen?!

It really annoys me that our Government wants a dollar return from organisations like AgResearch.

According to an article I have just read, AgResearch is having to find work from overseas in order to meet Government demands for a 9% dividend (www.stuff.co.nz/business/2969058/AgResearch-forced-to-find-work-overseas)

We need money to be put into our own research and development so NZ can continue (get back to) being a world leader in the thing we do best – converting grass to meat and milk. To find new markets or products for our wool, to add value to our sheep and beef carcases, to grow more grass without polluting our waterways. And how do we try to do all that? By spending money on research – research that may or may not give results straight away. Isn’t that the way of science… try and try and try… do you think Ernest Rutherford blew up a few bunsen burners before he split the atom?

I had a song going around and around in my head yesterday, which under normal circumstances would annoy the hell out of me.

But thanks to Miley Cyrus, one of the queens of today’s tweenagers, the words were inspiring and may have played a part in me having my best round of golf ever (37 handicap – nett 68 – just five strokes off breaking the magic hundred).

The lyrics are encouraging (driving down the fairway you’re actually supposed to be on) but warning of not always being successful (the chip and run that ran and ran and ran).

It’s the journey, not the destination. A great message to be giving young girls I thought!

The chorus:

There’s always going to be another mountain
I’m always going to want to make it move
Always going to be an uphill battle,
Sometimes I’m gonna to have to lose,
Ain’t about how fast I get there,
Ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side
It’s the climb

 

Storm in this case is media storm. Radio NZ, Radio Live, Newstalk ZB, the Dom, HBToday, Manawatu Evening Standard, TV3, TVNZ… they have been and gone.

But they have left their mark.

At a community gathering last night (twilight tennis!) the main topic of conversation, apart from the hiding the Magpies were giving Counties Manukau, was the week’s gunman drama.

The shooting that led to the police chase that led to the crash that led to the shooting that led to the AOS callout that led to cordons that led to unfed and unmilked animals (but that’s another story) that led to a media frenzy.

A piranha feeding frenzy that was over almost as soon as it began.  Norsewood’s new claim to fame is not its woollen socks but its inability to find a shotgun-waving man within the police cordon (because he was already outside it, but that too, is another story).

My first call came from a Radio NZ friend on Sunday night. We were in the middle of finding out ourselves on whose place the shooting had taken place, which also involved making sure it wasn’t a member of our own community that had gone berko. That was fine, I gave some comments, as a nearby resident, and all was well. But others were obviously listening, which is good kudos for RNZ, as the next day my phone went mental.

Some tried and tried to get me to give people’s names and numbers from within the cordon. I did ask some of the locals, but only one said it was okay. And in hindsight, he is not complimentary of what he then faced although he continued to refuse to go on TV because of their coverage of the events, much to the disgust of his sons (who apparently have been acting as armed offenders squad members all week).

I hadn’t really understood until this week what a low opinion people have of the NZ media, TV in particular, and how badly that media treats the people it is dealing with.  Not badly, perhaps, just no long term thought given to the impression they leave behind (because they don’t care?) Journalists sweep into an area, Norsewood/Takapau for example, and sweep out again a few days later leaving those communities not just thankful a gunman has been captured but thankful the media has buggered off to annoy some other unsuspecting blighters. I say this not in respect to the personalities of some of the journalists I dealt with, many of whom I already knew, but some of the stories that are coming back from those interviewed (hounded).

The journalist in me is in two minds. One journalist or researcher person was like a dog with a bone in getting one angle of the story for their employer. Good on them – they got the story and will probably get a pat on the back from their boss. But the people left behind in their wake are still shaking their heads in disbelief.

Today’s blog has come as a result of reading another blog this morning:  http://homepaddock.wordpress.com/2009/10/09/sensing-stupidity/ that mentions a media poll on another blog: 

http://www.kiwiblog.co.nz/2009/10/umr_on_perceptions_of_nzs_media.html

 Sorry, I don’t know how to shrink those links…..

This is my second comment on homepaddock’s blog:

I’m still mulling over what I just said. It’s not that journalists are intentionally rude, just the nature of the quick turnaround of their work, but the determination of some journalists to get the names, to get the people, to get the exclusive, to get their first, then move on to the next thing. My community is reeling from what happened here earlier this week and it feels like noone gives a toss because the news immediacy has been and gone (except for the animal welfare issues that David Hunt, rightly so, is not going to let go). Mmm. I think I should have started my own blog about this instead of starting a comment on yours Ele!

I love my profession and I loved the adrenalin buzz of having something happen on my doorstep. I loved the immediacy of being on the radio again. But I don’t like the after taste the media whirlwind has left in my community. It’s getting harder and harder to defend.

Were the past three days a dream?

It was cold and windy start to a Wednesday that was followed by three of the most stressful days of my year. And I wasn’t even within the cordon!

We had a gunman loose in my community (my house was just outside the cordon) and for the first few hours we had no idea who he was or who he’d shot.

After he was captured yesterday, today has been so normal it’s not funny.

The kids and I popped down the road for a coffee with a neighbour, we played in the front yard and the paddocks down below the house, I mowed the lawns…. very normal.

I also had my every-so-often chat with Jamie Mackay on The Farming Show – centred around the events of the week.  we talked about the animal health issues that were caused by farmers not being able to get inside the cordon for milking, but as I said yesterday, I have nothing but praise for the Armed Offenders Squad members and police officers that were out there in atrocious weather for three days.

Someone has asked me why everyone was calling it Butcher’s Creek, which doesn’t appear on google earth. The actual gully that the gunman crashed in was just a gully with a bridge over the start of the Manawatu River. Butcher’s Creek is a little creek on the Norsewood side of the gully, which unsurprisingly once upon a time had a butchery on it. 

So if you are ever driving between Dannevirke and Waipukurau, watch out on the northern side of Norsewood for a bridge in the middle of a paddock with no road. That, officially, is Butcher’s Creek (there’s no road because of a major deviation in the highway’s recent history).