Baby Fish and Exam Results: Celebrations All Round

Some great news from the garden. Our goldfish have had more babies. Not sure how many, but at last count there are at least seven wee black bairns in there (each about 1cm long). There may be more under the lily pads.

The 'older babies' (if that makes sense) are now about 3 - 4cm long, still black but eating the floating pond sticks that we feed the "grown ups" with.

It's great that we're now getting our own fish. And not a penny given to the big chain pet shops! Yippee.

I've also seen at least 3 grown-up frogs in the pond, so I suppose they'll be having their own babies soon enough... be great not to have to catch tadpoles from old quarries and have to "bring them home" next year.

We had a good crop of peas this year, though towards the end the slugs and snails went a bit bonkers on them. After a slow start the potatoes shot up too, so I think I'll be digging them up any day as they're just starting to wilt. The weather really hasn't helped this year.

So I suppose that's the garden up to date.

This last week or so we had happy news, with the AS and GCSE results in. Our eldest got an A in AS History which is what he plans to do in uni, and our second born got an A in GCSE Geography which is what he's going to college to do at A Level, so both did well and seem to know what they want to do...

What with O Levels becoming GCSEs and now the media saying the children get lower grades for the same percentages... I just wish the government(s) would stop fiddling with the exams so we could just know what the children get, they earn -- and can be compared like for like, year on year. But hey, what do I know?

Freddy and Freda? Our Two New Slippery Chums

You may struggle to see it, behind our "heron proof" metal grid, it being well camouflaged and only a couple of inches long, but this is one of two frogs I saw today in our little garden pond!

Yes all life is here! It seems that at least two of our little tadpoles have made it to maturity and returned to the pond. We haven't seen any frog spawn or tadpoles appear, but we live in hope...

And all on the day that Brendan Rodgers announced he is leaving Swansea for Liverpool! How exciting.

Our Speckledys: And Calling on the Charity of a Celeb

Yes! Speckledys. According to the eggsperts (groan!) the Speckledy "is a modern hybrid and comes from a Rhode Island Red crossed with a Maran."

Our three Speckledys (Speckledies?) are variously coloured - one has a darkish mostly black head, one is half black and half grey, and one is mostly grey (like the various ages of Old Pa Hurley). I must get some pics of them for you.

So now you know all the new hens we have: Belgian Black Bantams, Silkies and Speckeldeys. They all seem to live together, sleep together and play hopscotch together very well. OK, I made that last bit up, but you know what I mean.

They're not all laying yet, but we are getting eggs most days from the Silkies and Belgians. As with our last ex-battery Warrens, these new chickens are ideal for clearing most scraps from the table (they love spaghetti, old chips, bits of bread, pie crusts, rice, peas, cake and virtually anything else left over).

Our peas are steadily growing up the natural wood wigwam I made for them and this year's spuds are just coming through in the space I dug over for them next to the compost heap.

As we do more in the garden I think it would have been marvellous if we had a smallholding. We would love to have pigs, goats, ducks and more besides, but in an ex-council house with limited space there's only so much we can do... oh well, c'est la vie. I suppose until we win the lottery we'll just have to keep dreaming ;-)

Watching West Ham v Blackpool in the play-off final, it's much the same. Keep on dreaming.... that one day... maybe... 

Mrs H always says, whenever some celeb is in the news for taking drugs, why on earth they don't just use their money to get a little farm and stop being silly. I guess some do - they just don't make the headlines.

So hey if you are a celeb (we all know the celebs, utility bosses and dotcom rich look in here from time to time), bored, wondering what to do to break that boredom, how about buying us a farm? You could pop in whenever you like for tea and biccies, and we could certainly bung eggs, milk, cheese and bacon your way gratis. All for less then some people pay out on cars that depreciate when driven off the forecourt.

So come on! Chad Hurley? Sir Phillip Green? Sir Tom Jones? Simon Cowell? Or maybe Prince Charles? We really don't mind! Anyone who would like to help us have an organic small family farm... I shall be waiting for the email!

And Our Second New Breed of Chicken is...

Ooooh the suspense!

We have a hen and cockerel: a pair of black Belgian Bantams!

And the good news is the hen has started to lay already.

They are two little critters and so the cockerel isn't too boisterous or aggressive, but does like to "sound off" from time to time.

Along with the pair of Silkie hens they have added a distinct sense of fun and the exotic to our run.

More news to follow on our last new breed of hens...

And some sad news too. Our last of the ex-battery Warren Hens looks like it will be dead within 24 hours. It's a little over 4 years since we got our four ex-batteries and they did us proud, giving us an egg a day each for circa three years, then they gradually stopped and died off over the last year or so.

Funnily enough when we put the new hens in last weekend the ex-battery Old Hen was feisty enough to put on a bit of a fight, to exert her seniority. And now she's almost lifeless and at life's end. C'est la vie. Literally.

Oh - and by the way, for those interested, we have three baby goldfish in the pond. One seems to gradually be getting a little lighter, the others are still black.

I was down there the other day and I thought I could hear a frog croaking. Could one of our tadpoles from last year be returning? It's an exciting time in the garden at Hurley Towers...

And Our First New Breed is... the Silkie!

It all went a bit 1940s yesterday. We woke to more water coming in (dripping on Mr. Polite's school uniform!), and minus a (working) washing machine!

I am wearing a black armband now in memory of the money I had to part with. Whoever said 'parting is such sweet sorrow' is an idiot. It's not sweet at all. I didn't even have time to get to know many of those twenty pound notes!

But here we are, roof patched up by yours truly (until it is replaced - next week we hope) and with a new washing machine (six loads yesterday alone says Mrs H!).

So onto more pleasant things...

CHICKEN NEWS

Here's a pic of one of the new breeds of chicken we got last Saturday. We got a pair of Silkies. And they are laying (their small) eggs already.

They are cute as anything, have a gorgeous and weird little sound (like a coo rather than a cluck), can't fly and so are more than welcome in our little run (after the headache of chasing our ex-batteries around the neighbours' gardens when we first got them!

All the new chooks have settled in well now, the Old Hen (last of our ex-batteries) has stopped bullying the newbies, and they are all going in the coop at night and cuddling up together.

More news on our other breeds soon...

Tense and exciting isn't it?

Better than the X Factor and others of the genre. Mind you, stubbing your big toe or eating cold custard is better than watching the preening, wailing wannabe-celebs.

Chickens, Cardiff City, Storm, Holes in Roof and Olympics SAM Defence Systems - Just Another Weekend

Well it's been quite a weekend.

• We finally got some new chickens on Saturday. Unable to get ex-battery hens as last time, we got a selection of breeds at a livestock market, which was a weird mix of salt of the earth farmers, inbreds, middle class welly-wearers, scary men in hunting gear - and us. More news on that (and photo's) soon.
• Cardiff won against Crystal Palace on Saturday so now they're through to the play-offs and with lessened expectations than in the previous two years of play-offs experience, it's not so much a case of "we will win" as it is one of "every stage is a bonus." So it's West Ham as the first team to beat... Bluebirds versus the Hammers. 
• On Sunday the storms hit and on returning from Mass we discovered two small(ish) holes in our roof (and two of our neighbours were similarly afflicted). With more heavy rain forecast for tonight/tomorrow it looks like we'll all need snorkels.
• Poor Dad Hurley (yep, me!) was up in the loft in the cavity betwixt the plasterboard and the brick wall, pushing temporary materials into the holes just to stop the bulk of the water coming in. Lots of dirt, cobwebs and dripping water later... job done. For now.
• Our poor chooks were very bedraggled on only their second day at Hurley Towers. They must have been wondering what they let themselves in for. That plus our last existing ex-battery hen -- the Big Momma of the run -- is bullying a bit, especially when it comes to settling down for the night, getting to the food scraps etc.
• Today we had eggs from the smallest of our new breeds (more info soon!) which is good going. Due to the stress of moving, even the ex-batteries took almost a week to start laying when we first got them (three years ago I think), so just a couple of days with a big bullying mother hen, mixed in with three other chicken breeds (yes, four in total), our newbies are doing pretty well.
• Today we didn't hear from the MoD or the govt about the surface to air missile (SAM) battery to defend the Olympic sites and its placement on our roof. I'm sure this is an oversight, and just so they know for the price of a new roof we'd be happy to oblige. If unsuitable for the SAM battery, perhaps a couple of soldiers could sit up their with binoculars looking out for Al Qaeda baddies? We're easy either way.

Comin' atcha!

And if one of the missiles accidentally goes off and lands on the West Ham training ground, giving the scattering players sprained ankles and a valuable life-lesson in the depredations of football players in Afghanistan and other war-torn regions, well... no real harm done.

Anyhow, life goes on... Patch is snoozing on the settee and breaking wind. Yes, he's quite the social commentator.

Dilemma of the Modern World

I woke up this morning and had quite the dilemma (though the Wittertainment chaps say it can also be a dilemna).

I was dog-gone tired, though the dog known as Patch (PTD) had NOT gone and was acting is a bolster, stretched from the pillow region to the knee area, between my good self and Mrs H.

And yet my tummy was making weird little noises, and an aching hunger came upon me, so I knew I needed some sustenance (toast, cereal - some sort of traditional breakfast, I don't like to be revolutionary, especially early in the morning).

So what was I to do? Having not got to sleep until circa 2am I was pooped.

Should I decamp, leaving Mrs H and PTD in their cosy slumber, in the welcoming, all-embracing, cosy folds of the duvet? Could I really thrust a limb out from the warm depths of the bed into the cold air of the room - only to be followed by the rest of my hitherto blissfully toastie-warm body?

Or would I be a coward and decide that a rumbling tumski was a price worth paying for more time snoozing?

In our opulent world, figuratively speaking, this is what comes close to a moral dilemma.

Do I have to get up?

That's what I thought anyway as I turned over gave PTD a scratch on the chin (Mrs H doesn't like her chin being scratched until mid afternoon, a norm in civilised society), and grabbed another 15 minutes drowsy, if hungry, slumber.

I am, if nothing else a coward who fears the cold air of the morning.

Here endeth the lesson.

Except... it did cross my mind that if I were a decadent liberal, a homosexualist trying to rip apart societal norms or just a lazy student, I would probably have some cold half-eaten (even day old) foodstuff to hand and some flat old beer nearby to wash it down with.

So whilst I initially thought that I was being decadent and lazy in turning back into the welcoming warmth of the Hurley bed, I now realise that in not behaving like someone intent on changing the millennial meaning of marriage, and embracing my hunger, I was in fact supporting the struggle of Catholic tradition, general goodness and the centrality of marriage as one man - one woman in society.

And I hadn't even done too much yet! The day could only get better from here on in!

Good Friday and Our Chicken(s)

It's Good Friday.

I suppose it's sad to look around and see that today is regarded by most of our countrymen as 'just another day.'

If it weren't for the likes of Henry VIII and Oliver Cromwell, we too might have huge processions involving whole towns leading to the Church, carrying the Cross, statues and banners, full of colour, beauty and emotion, like our cousins on the Continent.

Oh well.

For those who have followed the news of our chickens (rumour has it is closely followed in the Kremlin), the third one has now died. We now have just one old bird (no jokes about a female member of the family) left in our run and she's no longer laying eggs... We really will have to get some new chooks very soon.

Somehow the death of one of our old chums and planning new chicks seems to fit in with Easter... death and resurrection.

How Debauched! How Decadent!

I am blogging from bed. It doesn't seem right. Perhaps I'm getting more liberal and bohemian (instinct tells me to give that a capital B - sleepiness is no excuse for slacking one's standards) as I approach my 40th birthday (another one for the Confessional).

Patch the Dog (PTD) gave me a sideways glance of real disdain as I climbed into bed (am I getting shorter so's I need to climb?) as if to say "yes? What do you want... Disturbing me thus?"

And there we have it. That's my lot in life. I am lower in the pecking order in this house than PTD who looks at me with such disdain when I interrupt his dreams of catching the biggest ever bone (yes in doggy dreams bones run away).

Today I found out the battery hen place we bought our last hens from has closed down, so my job this week is to locate a new place to get some new hens (if only to improve my standing in the pecking order...).

One last issue to get off my Cardiff City t-shirt (doubling as pyjim-jam top) clad-chest. Do goldfish in captivity breed? I ask because there is a revolutionary situation in our garden pond.

The water snails (yes they are above me in household importance) which we got for free from a local wild pond (just in case Old Pa Hurley is looking in) have had children. There are baby water snails in the pond. That's not debatable nor revolutionary. The government need not change the definition of marriage for our water snails!

No, the issue is our goldfish. Two tiny black fish have appeared, circa one inch long. There is debate as to whether they are the offspring of the goldfish (and will change colour) or got into the pond with plants, snails or tadpoles we've (ahem) borrowed from municipal ponds in our locale.

So if you know, or have an idea that will help our goldfish know they haven't fallen foul of inter-racial adoption rules of local councils, and help me settle down and get the sleep of the righteous (like PTD) which I might well deserve, contrary to what everyone above me in the social strata in this house (and garden) might have you believe, do tell.

Don't listen to the water snails (now there's a life lesson I'm happy to share for a small fee).

Let me know when you can. You can mark it in your diary as part of your Lenten almsgiving to the (intellectually) poor.

Good night, God bless.

Nos Da.

Tip of the Week #1: Dog Training

A new series! How exciting! 

This will be a highly irregular series of hints and tips to help you live your life in an orderly and correct manner:

Tip #1

Don't ask Sean Connery to train your dog to sit.

Who's that Happy Chappy over the Park?

Oh look - just like me over the park @ 8.30am

Most mornings, work permitting, I walk our youngest to school, giving Patch the dog an opportunity to stretch his legs too.

On the way back, if I am in a good mood (relatives will testify this is a rare occurrence, some say Haley's Comet has a bearing on it) I take Patch over the park ('tis but a slight detour) and run back through the park to the gates on the main road.

I was doing this a few weeks back, not long after we had got Patch from the rescue kennel, and as I emerged from the park through the gates (which are set in chest-high stone walls) a mum of another school pupil was just walking up to the gates.

As I walked out with Patch she said: "oh - you've got a dog, I saw you in the park, but didn't realise you had a dog."

As I walked home I realised she must have looked over the wall and seen G. Hurley esquire running across the grass, as if full of the joie de vivre at 8.30 in the morning.

Just goes to show how easy it is to fool somebody. Now I must get back to shaking my fist at the evening news, moaning at the price of everything, and generally being a sour puss. Patch may not approve, but I can't have people thinking that I daily skip through the daisies can I?

Catholicism, Cats, Llywellyn's Moggies and Heaven

I read somewhere that many Catholic bloggers are meant to love cats. I would happily count myself in that number, notwithstanding our new pet, Patch the crossbreed Jack Russell and Lakeland Terrier.

So, in order that the Catholic bloggers who do look in from time to time, here's something to keep you happy, even though it is a bit cheeky - Welsh being one of the oldest European languages etc. etc.

If Latin is the official language of Heaven, then surely the angels must converse in Welsh on their dress-down Fridays.

Oggy oggy oggy: an old Welsh poem written by the bards - originally "moggy, moggy, moggy" - about Llywellyn Ap Gruffydd's three pet cats.

You Gotta Feel Sorry for Fiji - And the Green Duck

Patch has been settling in well to his new family this week.

Being a rescue dog he was very nervous at first, though always well behaved, this did lead to a few little "accidents" especially when left alone at night.

Like a Wales V Fiji game - no competition

Funniest moment of the week was when Patch "coupied" down to 'squeeze one out' only for someone to come along and see him, shout "no" and take him out into the garden quickly. Just a little nugget of poop was left on the kitchen lino. Hearing the commotion one of the children came hurtling through the kitchen door (eager not to miss out on the "fun") excitedly asking "where's the poop?" just as he trod in it! Not so much egg on his face as pooh on his shoe.

Gradually though, with patience and love we've got him doing his ablutions when out. Yesterday we gave him a bath in the garden and now he's coming out of his shell a bit more.

We took him out yesterday to a car boot (where I picked up a really beautiful 1950s Daily Missal in superb condition for £1.50, and some equally great condition 60s Ladybird books for 5p each).

On the way home we stopped off at a pet shop to get some doggy shampoo, and we tried various treats and toys to see what Patch liked.

On the treats he wasn't bothered. Doggy chocs, biscuits, bones and all manner of fun treats. We thought he was going to be the same with the toys. We tried rubber balls, fake sausages, all sorts of bright, noisy, bouncy and squeaky things. No interest from Patch Hurley.

Then we flung a large green and yellow duck to him and the rest, as they say, is history.

In for the kill - it's Sixty Six, Nil!

Now he plays with it, runs about with it. Even though it is almost a third the size of him! It looks quite comical.

Even this morning as I sat thoroughly enjoying the Welsh team putting on a bulldozer of a performance against a Fijian team known for its physicality (66-0!), Patch sat biting his big green duck.

Come on Wales! Sorry Fiji. Come on Patch! Sorry duck.

Welcome to our new Family Member: Patch Hurley

Patch Hurley

This is Patch, our new family pet.

He is from a rescue kennel and is 18 months old.

So far he is fitting in really well (if a bit excited by the chickens).

He is well behaved, not at all noisy and we can't believe how lucky we are to get him.

He is a Jack Russell cross breed, we're not sure with what, but another Terrier of some sort we think.

He was so well behaved on the drive home and we've taken him for a couple of walks already.

Yes, it's all very exciting in the Hurley home.

Four Paws Animal Rescue: A Very Bad Experience

A sad and perplexing tale this week.

On Sunday (18th September) we went to a dog show and purposefully went to the stalls for dogs homes as we had decided for some time that we would try for a dog to be rehomed.

After gathering information from the Dogs Trust we went over to the Four Paws Animal Rescue stall. Being "novices" at housing a rescue dog we were intent on gathering literature. On getting talking to one of the volunteers, she called over to a young lady who brought two dogs over.

Our youngest immediately fell in love with one of them called Cooper and asked if we could "get it now." Both we and the people on the stall said 'no - that's not how it works' that there would have to be forms filled-in and a home check etc.

So we told them that we were very keen on Cooper and would be going home to fill in the form that very day. It was then that the young lady in charge of the dogs, having seen how keen we were, said 'fill out the form with your number and as soon as I get it I'll give you a call.' She said that she was in charge of the two puppies and would be handling the case.

So whilst we knew it wouldn't be a shoe-in, we knew we would be in with a fair chance, especially when we told them that we would not leave the dog unattended at any time during the day. We had been promised an immediate phone call and so felt assured of fair treatment and the high possibility of homing Cooper.

We went home full of joy. The little one looked online and got pictures of Cooper and the older siblings were duly informed. There was a buzz of excitement.

Monday afternoon and she paced the floor ready for the promised call... nothing. Then I phoned and was told there were a lot of enquiries for the puppies (Cooper and his brother) and to be patient.

OK, I thought, they promised to phone and then there will be the home check etc. - no problem. Perhaps we would be contacted later in the week (I asked this whilst on the phone and was told - yes, within a few days) and then the various people would get home visits etc...

The next day (Tuesday) we received a standardised email stating that Cooper had already been rehomed. A kind of 'thanks but no thanks' impersonal round robin.

Now I understand how the world works and you have to be patient, but try telling that to a young one who had been promised at least a decent possibility of being in with a chance, was promised a personal call immediately on our details going in, and a home check.

We received none of these, and I had to say as the "grown up" comforting a crying child who had hoped for the best, to be ignored after we were promised at least a fighting chance and a personal contact from the young lady immediately in charge of the two puppies, we felt very let down by Four Paws Animal Rescue.

Forum post announcing Cooper's arrival Sept 19th

I felt that the decision had been made on the hoof, with no apparent fairness. When I phoned to ascertain what had gone on I was told the puppies had been available "for weeks" and so there were many people involved, yet the forum on their site announced them as available from the 18th September - the morning of which we saw them! (see screen shots).

I do not expect anyone to get preferential treatment, just a fair crack of the whip. And as people with all the right conditions (enclosed garden, someone always home, able to walk the dog daily, living near a beach and large parks etc. etc.) you would think we would at least get the courtesy of a call or a visit.

I am not suggesting something dodgy went on, that a friend of a friend turned up later that Sunday the 18th, or phone up on the Monday when the images were put online on their forum (the 19th) nor even that the person on their contact line lied when she said Cooper had been with them for fostering "for many weeks" when it says on their forum that Cooper had been with them for fostering since Sunday the 18th of September (the day we saw him).

But what I am saying is that to promise to phone, and plan a home call etc. etc. and then announce on the Tuesday that the dog has already been homed smacks of favouritism and/or of ignoring "normal" customers.

There was something not right in the way this was handled, with friendliness and promises of a call and "personal handling" of the case on the Sunday, to ignorance, non-contact and then a standardised email saying the dog had already been homed 48 hours later on the Tuesday.

It has left us with a very bad experience of Four Paws Animal Rescue.

Dolphins Are Gay Sharks

Political Correctness is alive and well.

When I saw the t-shirt DOLPHINS ARE GAY SHARKS for sale I just had to buy it, in preparation for our visit to a U.S. themed water park.

Lo! verily I doth hand over the readies (shock!) and purchase said shirt, then I wore it to the animal-containing water park.

Cue lots of shocked faces from liberals and the easily offended. Cue lots of grins, thumbs up and comments - specifically "great/cool shirt" - from those who haven't had a sense of humour by-pass.

The staff at said water park seemed especially pleased by the shirt. Strangely enough African-Americans seemed to like it most. Is that cultural? I don't know.

Just an after thought. On seeing a show of performing animals, we were treated to a fanfare of salutes to American servicemen who, we were told, were delivering freedom around the world, then lots of saccharine footage and music to inform us we live in "one world" etc. whilst imprisoned animals performed stunts for food as tourists looked on sipping Coca-Cola.

Hmmmm. Lots of socio-political un-pc thoughts crossed my mind as those two facts clashed in my sun-dazzled brain. Luckily I could just look down at my 'gay dolphins' shirt, smile and plan the next roller-coaster to go on.

More Sad News: Four Become Two

Dmitri - still alive, earlier this morning.

I know it won't make BBC News 24, but today our hen Dmitri (don't ask - something to do with Russian elite special forces...) died, very slowly.

Mid morning she was sprawled out on the ground, so we put her in a little box, out of the run so she could get peace from the others and die in peace. Her eyes would open from time to time, but she looked like she was sleeping and then mid evening she was clearly dead.

She's the second of our hens to pass away. So four have become two. And unlike Take That I don't think they'll be getting back together...

Good News and Bad News in the Garden

We were chuffed to see one of our frogs this week, dark brown so hard to spot, but there he was on the grass the size of a 50p piece. We'll have to be careful where we walk!

Sadly one of the goldfish in the pond died. We don't know why, he was one of the smaller ones and is just floating. We left him a few days to make sure he wasn't just over-fed or similar... poor little fishy.

That's the breaking news from our garden.

I wonder if Mr Obama takes time out to read this? ;-)

There's Species Mutation in Our Garden

Yes. Some of our tadpoles have already changed into wee frogs. We were very excited to see many of them clustered at the edge of our pond, and days later after a downpour they were pottering around the garden, meaning we had to tread carefully.

Despite being little frogs, they can move quite fast when the mood takes them, so I was chuffed to see this one sat on a water lily leaf. Scuttling off to get my camera (I know - the children mock me for not having a phone with all the bells and whistles like theirs), on my return he was still there and so here's a pic of our reptilian friend.

Having tadpoles in our man-made pond is great fun and seeing them swim around and change into frogs is very therapeutic. I highly recommend it!

The Tale of Freddie the Field Mouse

Yesterday we had quite an adventure.

For some weeks we knew we had a little visitor in our Summer House. And I don't mean the kind of little visitor(s) that goes into the kitchen betwixt the hours of 12 and 1, gets goodies out of the fridge and leaves the Crunchy Nut Cornflake box in the middle of the kitchen table.

No. This was the rodent variety (no, no! No more comparisons with teenagers!). He had been getting bedding from many sources (including my paint and concrete stained Harlequins top!) and helping himself to chicken and rabbit food.

So yesterday "the boss" had a good sort out and emptied the Summer House, ready for me to board up a little mouse hole at the back which we assumed our little visitor was coming through for his nocturnal treats.

Towards the end of the emptying/tidying process there came a little yell from the depths of the Summer House and your hero (yes: that's me!) appeared on the scene, ready to be all, well... heroic.

The boss had located our little visitor. He had made a cosy little des res in the centre of a large roll of twine in an old fashioned shop display glass-fronted set of drawers we bought long ago in Scotland. Boadicea Bodices were the garments it was made to display. Racy stuff.

As an aside, we saw the same display drawers in an antique shop on one of the myriad of BBC shows about antiques buying and the seller wanted over £100 for it! Wowzers. You know me, dear reader, I wouldn't part with that kind of money for an item destined for a shed (albeit a poshed-up version called a Summer House).

So, picking up the roll of twine and asking my glamorous assistant (all very West End) to grab a nearby plastic container I had the little grey field mouse trapped in an easy to carry container. Calling on our youngest (knowing she would be excited at the prospect) we walked down to our local park to release the little critter.

On opening the container and tipping the twine out on its side two huge black cute eyes popped out just behind a twitching nose which couldn't have been any, well... twitchier. He sussed out the situation for about two seconds and then -- ping! He was off! He shot out so fast it was a blur, into the long overgrown grass at the edge of the park, for new adventures and to find another source of warmth and sustainance, mayhaps never to chew on a rugby top again!

Good luck Freddie.

What an adventure!