Snow, white with seven choices

OK, after my last entry it actually snowed properly. None of the mealy-mouthed effort of the day before. Oh no, that was weather lulling us into a false sense of security. This was a full blown overnight downfall which left the garden under a thick blanket of the stuff just begging to be trampled through.

Now, like children (and some adults) all over the country, the CFZ was agog with excitement. For us, this was the day that we would learn what Biggles thought of it all. You could hear the sound of a pin drop as the lead was attached to the collar for the first time that morning. We all knew that there could be several outcomes of this first foray into the world of snow. Of the most popular suggestions, those below stood out more. Would he:

a) totally ignore it?

b) be scared of it?

c) roll around in it?

d) eat it?

e) notice it but not really care two figs?

f) refuse to walk in it (as he refuses to walk through puddles if he can avoid it)?

g) bark at it?

The door was opened, and ....... well nothing really. Trying to keep our spirits up and not give in to the feelings of despondency at his seemingly distinct lack of interest, "OK", we thought. "Perhaps he was just so desperate to perform his first wee of the day that he didn't notice anything different, it was a bit overcast after all".

However, after several scientific experiments (well trips out for the evacuation of bowels and emptying of bladder to put it in a less dramatic and more precise way) it was discovered that only two of the above applied.

So, as a silly exercise, here are a couple of photos so you can see whether you can guess which two they were. One is obvious, the other, however, could be a tad deceiving as a stills photo does not give the whole picture.

I may divulge the answers at a later date, but then again I may not. It may not do his street-cred any good to let on, but I shall not say more just in case I inadvertently give the game away.

However, as an added bonus, I could not let this entry close without sharing a picture of Biggles that would grace the kennels of the females of his species and get tails wagging and bring forth whines of adoration - a sort of Malborough Man of the canine world. Phwooar girls. What a pin-up eh?

Biggles almost in an adventure with snow

I remember the first time my two cats first encountered snow. They rushed out the back door as usual of a morning and both stopped in mid-air at the sight of the blanket of snow that had covered their patch and came back inside to sit annoyingly on the back door mat so I could not shut the back door until they had made up their tiny feline minds. Whilst I became colder and colder, they sat there for a while cogitating on whether their needs were really that important to warrant having to go forth into such strangeness, but eventually their bladder/bowels/curiosity got the better of them and off they went, one by one down the garden to do what they individually had to do.

Now, as those of you who have some yourself will have realised, cats do tend to exaggerate. To watch them tackle the snow was highly entertaining. They didn’t just walk to their intended destination, but did a kind of half bunny hop/deer leap through the carpet of white strangeness. We had received a fair downfall during the evening, so the back garden had a blanket of an inch or so and they could have walked fairly easily through it, but – no – in true drama queen fashion they had to make it plain that they were not at all amused at getting their legs covered in cold snow perfectly clear.

When I woke up this morning to witness what looked like quite a thick snowfall occurring I thought “Great” to myself. “Now we can see how the intrepid Major James will tackle this new experience”. Sadly, though, when I got downstairs I discovered that there had not been a serious snowfall at all and the paths and grass were not covered in an unspoilt layer, just begging for a few photographs to be taken. And there would be no adults in wellie-clad feet childishly tramping through it either. Disappointingly, it was more like a sprinkling of icing sugar on an uneven topped Victoria spongecake.

Therefore, Biggles just did his usual pottering around, completely unimpressed, and probably not even noticing the odd white stuff on a few patches of grass and earth. What was noticeable though was that, although we refer to him as being a black and white dog, against the starkness of the small amount of snow, his white patches actually looked more like a dirty off-white. So, in future – for propriety’s sake at any rate - I shall refer to him as a black and cream dog I think.

But, that does bring me on to a rather tantalising thought. As you may well have seen from previous posts on here and on the main CFZ site, there have been black cat sightings in this area for quite a while. If it were to snow more so that the fields were buried under a healthy layer of Christmas-card prettiness, just think how a black cat would stand out against it?

Biggles in an adventure with mud slides

Yesterday, Shosh (eldest daughter) and I took Biggles out for a walk in the woods a few miles away from home. This was an adventure in itself as the path led us up, and up, and up the side of a hill, which would be no problem usually, but after all the recent rain this path was intermittently nothing more than a giant pool of mud. And very slippery, boot sucking-off-the-feet mud at that. Added to the fact that the young'un on the lead is as strong as a baby ox it did get a bit tricky in places, especially on the downward gradients where, at one point, Shosh and I did a kind of mud ski without the assistance of ski poles to help balance us. Combine that with a sheer drop on one side of us and you can understand that it was quite an adventurous hour out with our charge.

Biggles turned the grand old age of 25 weeks on Friday. It is a common belief that 1 human year is equal to 7 dog years. Apparently, this is not very accurate, since dogs reach adulthood within the first couple of years. The formula of 10.5 dog years per human year for the first 2 years, then 4 dog years per human year for each year after is a bit more accurate (as accurate as one can judge these things) according to an unspecified canine expert. So working on this current theory of conversion, that makes Biggles around about a 5 year old in human terms.

In an article I have found, I was somewhat amused to see certain comparisons with Biggles at his 'converted' age, with children of 5 years old. Children are aware of the rules of good behaviour, but they still have trouble consistently following through with their responsibilities (oh yes - he knows full well that he is supposed to adhere to certain rules, but just decides to simply ignore them when he feels like it). They're concerned with "fairness" and they'll let you know when they think the rules of games, chores, or rewards and punishments aren't fair (yes the vocal chords are very finely-tuned, thank you). It's important that you give kids this age lots of praise, while still being firm with your expectations (don't we just, till we are blue in the face sometimes).

However, I don't recall my two girls taking a sneaky chew on the furniture when they were 5.

Felis catus v Rattus norvegicus

Has one of the CFZ cats had enough of living at the headquarters in Woolsery? Helios 7 was spotted at the weekend sitting in one of the recycling bins - something that she was seen doing everyday after that - and one could only surmise that she was sitting there waiting for the collection to be taken away today. I am not sure where she thought she would be taken – perhaps to hunting pastures anew?

We have often thought that she may not be the sharpest pencil in the box, but this does rather take the biscuit.


As Helios 7 has started this blog today, I thought I would also add a little bit of interesting information I learned last night from my youngest daughter concerning toxoplasmosis, which is transmitted by contact with cat faeces.


There is a parasite that lives in cats’ intestines which, believe it or not, changes the behaviour of rats. This parasite is a single cell called Toxoplasma gondii and causes the above mentioned disease. You may all have heard of the threat this poses in human beings in respect of mental alterations, and the real threat it may cause in pregnant women whereby it may contaminate the foetus and cause mental illnesses, sight deficiencies and even death.


What you may not know, however, is the very interesting and somewhat fascinating fact (in a macabre feline sort of way) that when a rat is infected with this illness, the parasite takes on an inactive form in the rodent's brain causing it to basically lose its fear of cats. In some cases, rats even start to be attracted by a cat’s smell. This, of course, is not good news for the rat, which then becomes easy prey for its predator.


The cat then eats the rat and the protozoon returns to its original host and reproduces, thus completing its life cycle.


How’s that for an innovative and cunning way of catching your dinner? Infect them and lull them into a false sense of security. Isn’t nature wonderful?

Hmm, perhaps Helios 7 knew that all along, and was hoping to take her in-built rat-catcher to new hunting grounds after all. Trouble is, I think she needs to sit with the ordinary household waste rather than the newspapers and magazines. What was I was saying about sharpest pencils?

It's moa than a feeling, it really does make your eyes water

Once upon a time there were four chickens called Auntie Madge, Auntie Edie, Auntie Doreen and Little Lil. They all lived together at the Raikes Centre pupil referral unit in Gloucester. Well I say lived together – they still do. So, I guess that you could now all be asking yourselves the same question. What is the point of my opening today’s blog as if writing a childrens' fairy tale?

The answer is that I simply could not think of a suitably alternative opening line.

Anyway, as I intimated above, there really are three chickens living at the aforementioned referral unit, and are known by the names of Aunties Madge, Edie and Doreen. There is also a Columbian blacktailed cross hen called Little Lil, presumably so named as she is the smallest of her flock and Lil is, after all, a pretty good name for a chicken. What makes Little Lil so special, though, is the fact that she regularly lays eggs measuring 10cm across - more than twice the size of a normal egg. The pupils have not been able to weigh her produce as these exceed 8oz, which is all their scales can handle.



Little Lil is just six months old and has only been laying since October, but once a month she forces out an egg measuring an eye-watering 10cm by 8cm.

The story appeared in a recent edition of the Daily Telegraph and teacher Kate Farminer, 54 is quoted as saying : "We've got four pet chickens here and Little Lil is by far the smallest and also the quietest. So we were amazed when she started producing these enormous eggs – you wonder how she gets them out. The first time it happened the egg broke but the latest one was intact.

We've got another two spare so this time our curiosity got the better of us and we took a look inside. We couldn't believe it when we found another egg inside - maybe she's a Russian chicken."

The article went on to say : ‘When pupils cracked open the latest oversized egg they found a yolk, an eggwhite and another small but complete egg on the inside, like a Russian doll. Little Lil lives with three other pet chickens Auntie Madge, Auntie Edie,and Auntie Doreen. Her eggs normally measure 4cm by 7cm.The centre's three classes of children aged between four and eleven also keep pet rabbits and chickens.According to Guinness World Records, the largest ever egg was laid by a Black Minorca hen in England in 1896 and weighed nearly 12oz.’

So if that doesn’t make your eyes water .......

Now, still on the subject of things being produced from birds' rear ends, there has been a rather interesting investigation into giant bird poo in New Zealand. I mean poo from giant birds rather than a very large deposit of poo by the way - mind you, at 15 cms in length perhaps it could be the other way round after all.

However, seriously, there is a very interesting article to be found on the Wildlife Extra website:

http://www.wildlifeextra.com/go/news/moa-poo635.html

Take a peek for yourself and see how faeces primarily taken from species of the extinct giant moa have provided a treasure trove of information about pre-human New Zealand.

New arrivals

Yesterday saw the arrival at the CFZ of its two newest inhabitants. Our good friend, Beth - who single-handedly runs an animal sanctuary near us - brought round two common map turtles (Graptemys geographica). They are around 4 years old, the biggest being the female. Beth had been given them from someone locally who had had them since they were young, but could not look after them any more. At present they are in a large tank in our conversatory and it is hoped that we will have success in our fundraising in order that we can construct a dedicated turtle pool here at CFZ headquarters in the very near future for our growing collection.

Above is Beth setting up the tank in readiness for its new occupants.

They both have the most beautiful markings and it is all too obvious as to why they are called map turtles. I am not sure what we are going to call them yet, but I rather fancy Njord and Nerthus (Norse God and Goddess of the oceans and rivers).

The female is on the left and the male is on the right:

As you can see below, after their short journey the turtles appear to be perfectly at home in their new surroundings:

Battle metal-playing sea monsters in Derbyshire

I am undone. I discovered the other day that an opportunity to see two of my favourite bands , Amon Amarth and Turisas, will have to be mourned and missed. The reason? The festival – Bloodstock – is being held in August and, yes, you guessed it, the third weekend in August to be precise. And as many of you know, the annual Weird Weekend is held during that weekend. Hmm I wonder if I could make a cardboard cut-out of myself and seat it at the stall in the village hall and slip off, unnoticed, to Derbyshire? Probably not.

There is, actually, an interesting thing to mention about one of these bands – namely Turisas. They are named after Iku-Turso (also known as Iku-Tursas, Iki-Tursas, Meritursas, Tursas, and Turisas amongst others). Iku-Turso is a malevolent sea monster in Finnish mythology. Meritursas means octopus in Finnish, named after Iku-Turso. (However, it is more common to see the alternative Mustekala (lit. "ink fish") for the octopus).

Iku-Turso’s appearance remains unclear, but he is described with several epithets: partalainen (the one who lives on the edge, or alternatively, the bearded one), Tuonen härkä (the ox of Tuoni, Death), tuhatpää (thousand-headed), tuhatsarvi (thousand-horned). It was sometimes said that he lived in Pohjola, but that may be because Pohjola was often perceived as the home of all evil.

In some versions of the spell The Birth of Nine Diseases Iku-Turso is mentioned as the father of diseases with Loviatar, the blind daughter of Tuoni, the god of death. The Scandinavian giants thurs had the ability to shoot arrows which caused diseases in people. This, and the fact that thurs resembles Tursas, gives credence to the idea that they may be related. Some runes tell that Meritursas partalainen makes pregnant the Maiden of Air (Ilman impi, Ilmatar). She later gave birth to Väinämöinen, which would make him a truly primeval creature. On the other hand, he is also mentioned as the son of Äijö (a name usually assigned to the God of sky).

In the list of Tavastian gods by Michael Agricola, he is mentioned as the god of war: Turisas voiton antoi sodast (Turisas brought victory in war). It has been suggested that the god in the list is the same as the Scandinavian god of war Tyr (also the name of a Faroese folk-metal band by the way). However, this theory is not widely supported today. It is more likely that Tur(i)sas was the name of a disease-demon who shot sickness-inducing projectiles. This shooting motif may have been the reason as to why he was interpreted as the Finnish Mars during the 16th Century. On the other hand, it is conceivable that even the pre-historic Finns may have sometimes seen this spirit, who could bring decimating illnesses among the enemies, as a war-deity.