By any other name: White Lightning!
I always assume that I have the measure of my little white Terrorist, (Jack Russell, in case anyone thinks I am casting aspersions!) but from time to time I receive a reminder that I should never relax my vigilance around the whereabouts of Miss Perdy.
Take today as an example of Perdy's ability to surprise me. She knows the morning routine, from the moment I arise through to the point where the morning takes a deviation from the norm. She understands the sequence of events that accompany a 'normal' morning. She even seems to know the difference between variations on my attire; be it that I am dressing for my day in Auckland, which is only a tad more formal than my usual beachcombing look.
I dressed in the later and fed her the little breakfast she favours. Perdy waits while I prepare the food for the hens, which consists of a slab of dog roll, mixed lovingly by hand with anything leftover that I am not going to eat, along with veggie scraps, crushed eggshells, chooky mash, milk....the list is endless!
Then I let her into the portion of the yard that she rightfully claims as hers. It is fenced off from the chooks, which live behind yet another fenced enclosure, one that I hope Perdy is incapable of invading. Perdy has another little quirky behaviour at this stage: She just about breaks down the side door of the garage, from whence I gather some chooky pellets to add to their feast.
I have gathered that Perdy loves to spend time in the garage, chasing imagined rats. Yes, there had been quite a large family of the beasts living there, before I resorted to WMD (You can figure that one out) leaving only the occasional visitor and an as yet to be cleaned residue of the former invasion.
Upon exiting the garage with the full complement of the chooky breaky, one rivalling the very best of cafes in far-off Auckland, I headed through the gate to the hen-house.
I turfed their food over the fence in a manner that was quite incongruous to the actual quality of the food. I should have served it on quality 'collectable' Crown Lynn!
Next, the extremely important matter of water. Chooks will not lay if one does not supply them with copious amounts of clean water and good quality protein. Perdy was happily running around in her usual manic fashion, chasing God knows what in the garage, emitting delightful little happy yelps.
In the meantime, I picked up the blue container for their water and took it to the laundry, where I cleaned it and refilled it with clean pure Thames water (Stop laughing, Thamesites!)
As I headed back to the 'barrier fence,' I checked on Perdy's whereabouts, Yes, I could hear her rummaging through stuff in the garage, so I carefully opened the little gate, balanced the water on the post and...a flash of white, whipped past my feet and shot towards the hen-pen. Perdy...the little sod and escaped. She had watched me, without my full understanding of her exact presence and at the first opportunity had found a gap.
At this point, I have been known to go into AFIB (Go Google!) such is the level of my anxiety. It is more about her using the opportunity to find other holes in the back fence and escaping into the wilds of Tararu, to exploit every chance to enhance her knowledge of the whereabouts of ALL cats, for future fun-times!
I yelled for help and followed her through the gap. She immediately headed for the chooks, safely I hope shielded from Perdy's beyond amorous advances.
This is where Perdy's attempt at partial freedom fell apart. Perdy is a creature of habit, not always learning from past failed experiments. Her 'prey-driven' behaviours are often repeated, a factor that mitigates the possibility of Jack Russells ruling the world.
Perdy slunk around the back of the chooky enclosure, which had serious ramifications for the longevity of her escapade. I used the opportunity to limit her run, to gradually trap her in the small area behind the enclosure. At this point, the realization of her predicament becomes an obvious feature of her demeanour. Her tail lowers, no longer generating enough energy to power the whole of Thames and her face takes on a defeated look. She sits, obediently waiting until I pick her up and return her to her rightful place behind the barrier.
She has this look though, that speaks volumes: 'YOU KNOW I AM GOING TO DO IT AGAIN DADDY!'
I always assume that I have the measure of my little white Terrorist, (Jack Russell, in case anyone thinks I am casting aspersions!) but from time to time I receive a reminder that I should never relax my vigilance around the whereabouts of Miss Perdy.
Take today as an example of Perdy's ability to surprise me. She knows the morning routine, from the moment I arise through to the point where the morning takes a deviation from the norm. She understands the sequence of events that accompany a 'normal' morning. She even seems to know the difference between variations on my attire; be it that I am dressing for my day in Auckland, which is only a tad more formal than my usual beachcombing look.
I dressed in the later and fed her the little breakfast she favours. Perdy waits while I prepare the food for the hens, which consists of a slab of dog roll, mixed lovingly by hand with anything leftover that I am not going to eat, along with veggie scraps, crushed eggshells, chooky mash, milk....the list is endless!
Then I let her into the portion of the yard that she rightfully claims as hers. It is fenced off from the chooks, which live behind yet another fenced enclosure, one that I hope Perdy is incapable of invading. Perdy has another little quirky behaviour at this stage: She just about breaks down the side door of the garage, from whence I gather some chooky pellets to add to their feast.
I have gathered that Perdy loves to spend time in the garage, chasing imagined rats. Yes, there had been quite a large family of the beasts living there, before I resorted to WMD (You can figure that one out) leaving only the occasional visitor and an as yet to be cleaned residue of the former invasion.
Upon exiting the garage with the full complement of the chooky breaky, one rivalling the very best of cafes in far-off Auckland, I headed through the gate to the hen-house.
I turfed their food over the fence in a manner that was quite incongruous to the actual quality of the food. I should have served it on quality 'collectable' Crown Lynn!
Next, the extremely important matter of water. Chooks will not lay if one does not supply them with copious amounts of clean water and good quality protein. Perdy was happily running around in her usual manic fashion, chasing God knows what in the garage, emitting delightful little happy yelps.
In the meantime, I picked up the blue container for their water and took it to the laundry, where I cleaned it and refilled it with clean pure Thames water (Stop laughing, Thamesites!)
As I headed back to the 'barrier fence,' I checked on Perdy's whereabouts, Yes, I could hear her rummaging through stuff in the garage, so I carefully opened the little gate, balanced the water on the post and...a flash of white, whipped past my feet and shot towards the hen-pen. Perdy...the little sod and escaped. She had watched me, without my full understanding of her exact presence and at the first opportunity had found a gap.
At this point, I have been known to go into AFIB (Go Google!) such is the level of my anxiety. It is more about her using the opportunity to find other holes in the back fence and escaping into the wilds of Tararu, to exploit every chance to enhance her knowledge of the whereabouts of ALL cats, for future fun-times!
I yelled for help and followed her through the gap. She immediately headed for the chooks, safely I hope shielded from Perdy's beyond amorous advances.
This is where Perdy's attempt at partial freedom fell apart. Perdy is a creature of habit, not always learning from past failed experiments. Her 'prey-driven' behaviours are often repeated, a factor that mitigates the possibility of Jack Russells ruling the world.
Perdy slunk around the back of the chooky enclosure, which had serious ramifications for the longevity of her escapade. I used the opportunity to limit her run, to gradually trap her in the small area behind the enclosure. At this point, the realization of her predicament becomes an obvious feature of her demeanour. Her tail lowers, no longer generating enough energy to power the whole of Thames and her face takes on a defeated look. She sits, obediently waiting until I pick her up and return her to her rightful place behind the barrier.
She has this look though, that speaks volumes: 'YOU KNOW I AM GOING TO DO IT AGAIN DADDY!'
