It's a bit blurry, but maybe one of my learned readers can tell me exactly what they are (c'mon Sara, I'm counting on you!).
Mike and I started thinking about all the pests, parasites, and vermin we have to deal with on a daily basis. Then we wondered how much worse it must have been for Victorians, or people in the Middle Ages, or Iron Age. Lice in your hair, weevils in your flour, rats in your well. We decided that we're pretty well off, considering. Although it is my dream to have a day where I take a shower and stay clean for the WHOLE day and I don't have to kill something/put something out of its misery/pick up something that's died.
Today is not that day however. Besides being called to help the boys pull their ATV out of the mud - where I got stuck and a Land Rover had to pull me out - Mike brought home a baby pigeon. He found Lady S's cat torturing it and gave it to me with his usual "Here - see what you can do with this". The answer was not much. It had a punctured lung guessing by the wheezing sound it was making. Normally pigeons are considered pests - unless you're a pigeon, then it's the cat that's the pest. I suppose it comes down to personal perspective. We did our best by the little bird but it ended in a trip to the log pile again.
Dakota is sat by me while I type this and she's just eaten a spider.
And another. Pip is helping now.
Underkeeper Dave (our scarecrow) is working to keep the buzzards at bay - a pest from the pheasants' point of view and ours. The pheasants seem to be picking up and feeding well again. And speaking of doing well - Gertie's chick continues to thrive and Gertie is getting the hang of motherhood. I've been calling the chick Chicken Little, but I'm open to suggestions for a permanent name.
We also found out that we've been tricked by the lambs into feeding them double rations in the morning. Mike leaves the house just before daylight to check on his pheasants. He usually returns around 7.30am and feeds the lambs straight away. The lambs caught on to the fact that when his truck pulled into the driveway, they got fed. As they were both bottle-fed orphans (never again...) they are demanding about mealtimes, bleating with some vigour until they get their food. They are loud enough to wake me - I've been using them as an alarm clock. The 'OFF' button is a scoop of barley and sugar beet in their trough. So I just pad across the road in my bathrobe and slippers, and drop it in. I'm up, they're fed, no problems. I neglected to tell Mike. So did they. They see the truck, bleat wildly, get more food. Win win in their opinion. Well, we're on to their little game. It's regular rations from now on.