Cat v Rat.

It transpires that we have a situation. 

This is where I live, its beautiful isn't it?  I took this snap shot the other day whilst walking the dogs across the fields and into the ancient woods, if you look really close there is a couple of houses in the middle, I live in one of them.

Defi above mooching in the recently ploughed field no doubt looking for a dip that has filled with dank smelly water for him to lie in!

The river Wye, so beautiful with early morning sunlight dappled on the surface.  This morning the ducks were out and bathing making me feel that Spring is indeed coming.

The problem.  Gordy is a cat, but not your average cat...

... and when you live in rural farm land surrounded by cows, sheep, pigs and a working farm with tractors, hay bales, silage and all the ponds, barns and equipment of a farm.....

...you get rats.  Now I don't mind rats, used to keep fancy rats years ago as pets and loved them.  I like the soft silky dry - I know that is a contradiction in words but to me they are soft, silky, scaly and lovely - tails, their twitching noses, tiny toes and tickly whiskers.  I love rats, well pet ones, the outside, independent, going my own way, going to eat your shed, live in your compost and under your studio, sort of rat.. not so keen.

That was our Megan in her later years.  She passed away about a year before Gordy came to live with us at the grand age of 23 and she was still going outside to hunt those pesky rats, mice, voles, moles, birds, foxes - she was a force to be reckoned with was our Meg she ruled the house and garden...and parish, even badger kept his distance and only once or twice was an adder snake brave enough to visit the garden and even then he was found hiding, fearing for his life, under the car and was only too happy to let me take him across the lane and put him in the field where he slithered off, away from Meg.  

I like snakes too, they remind me of rats tails.

We are so rural we get all sorts of wildlife, badger, fox, owl at night, pheasants...  to name a few and we even get the cute bunnies, this one was taken a few years ago when my husband had a car rusting quietly away on the drive and yes, rats moved in to it and were very happy in the engine bay for a while until the husband found out and finally had the car removed.  They did me a favour those rats I had been moaning for a good couple of years at him to get rid of that rusting heap of metal.

Our Claude.  Such a mighty mouser.. and ratter.  He is seen here in the final months of his life, he did go senile and took to sleeping in the shoe cupboard so we cleared cubby hole and put an old towel in there for him to lie on.  We lost Claude at 22 just a few weeks before Gordy came here, really losing Claude left the gaping hole that meant we were cat less for the first time in 20 years but it also meant that Gordy with all his quirks, could come and live with us, 

who was followed a year or so later by Teeko, the other problem.

You see neither Gordy nor Teeko are outside cats, Teeko used to be when he lived next door but he only ever went out to his garden, he is a natural house cat and he likes nothing better than sleeping on top of the fish tank or on my daughters bed.  Teeko is also a bit of a wuss and I think a face to face meeting with a rat would send him dashing in the opposite direction tail waving a hurried good bye.  Teeko is also coming up to his 14th birthday so as an old boy who has been relocated to our house we let him be the house cat he wants to be.

Gordy hasn't got the skills to be outside on his own nor to hunt, the only thing I have watched him hunt is flies, of which he doesn't catch, and once a wasp in the summer.  I was confident of the fact he couldn't catch the wasp so let him jump about around it like a possessed kangaroo taking hypnotic drugs and was most surprised, although not as much as he was, when he accidentally put his paw out and managed to stand on the wasp, who in turn stung him in the paw but even then Gordy just stood there, paw still on the wasp looking at me running across the grass to rescue him and remove the stinger whilst apologizing profusely to the poor stunned wasp for letting Gordy annoy him that bright and sunny afternoon.

So we have two cats and no ratters.  Poison isn't an option, I don't like the thought of the rats suffering long and painful deaths and besides we have dogs and that doesn't bare thinking about should they get either the poison or the infected rat.  The husband suggested some feral cats, just a couple that could live in the garden with access to the big shed, the little shed, the garage and we have enough space to build them a bespoke shelter should they prefer it.  I like the idea of giving homes to feral cats but allowing them to still be themselves, older cats needs protection from the weather and someone to keep an eye on them but like to be left to do what cats do.  Hunt.  Hopefully!

I think we are going to do it but now the problem is me, you see the family want them to remain feral and help with the vermin so that it doesn't become a problem, but we haven't got them yet and I want to donate the original cat tree to the shed for them and Catie and Carl are good names for feral cats... right? 

Mothering Sunday.

Traditionally Mothering Sunday is celebrated on the forth Sunday of Lent.  Girls in service were given the day off to visit their mothers, although my husband came home yesterday and said he had heard on the radio that it was to visit their Mother Church.  Either way I got to wondering, was it just girls that celebrated Mothers then? 

I have a love hate relationship with Mother's Day and have had many 'mother figures' in my life which include  a mother, a step mother and an Aunt that 'fostered' me during my teenage years.  My step mum is younger than me and didn't marry my father until I was a mother myself so her influence on my life has been minimal if at all, but we bonded over a love of dogs.  (My first step mother was one whose influences ensured I would never be like her.) My biological mother: its a tenuous relationship to say the very least but my Aunt I always class as the one that gave me the morals and ideals I live with to this day.  

I no longer go to church like how my teenage years were spent but this morning walking my dogs past the old Norman Church in Breinton, I could hear the organ playing and see daughters with their mothers arm in arm going through the doors and I was reminded of the old couple that lived next door to us many years ago when my kids were small.  The lady had had a stroke a few weeks before and my kids were quite scared by her 'new' look, her face was twisted and gnarled and she did look a little odd.  My neighbours were church goers and that Mothering Sunday morning I was on the drive with my small children washing my car when they arrived home.  The lady got out of her car and came towards me, my daughter ducked down behind the front wheel of the car in fright as into my hands she pushed a small bunch of daffodils wrapped in tinfoil, 'For you.' she said 'for Mother's Day' and she went back into her house.  She died a few months later, late in the night, I watched the ambulance from my bedroom window and sent up a prayer that him upstairs would welcome such a lovely spirit.  

Mother's can be found in all places and they don't have to be a relative, my neighbour always had a smile for me even on the darkest days.

The hedges are bursting this morning, white hawthorn flowers along the field where we walk.

Izabel decided to go camouflage on the dog walk and I was just grateful it was mud not animal poo!

The daffodils in flower in the woodland area that reminded me of the lady next door all those years ago.

The old church, I waited until the mums and daughters had gone inside.  How lucky I am to have a daughter, and son, and an Aunt who guided me through those teenage years!

...and a Gordy who makes me smile each and every day.

Happy Mothering Sunday where ever you are, I hope your day is filled with flowers, song and smiles and like me a good friend that has given you a bloody good bottle of red wine for later when the kids are out and the husband is at work!

Laney

Creative Sundays Blog Hop

Home is where the heart is........

A special blog for someone who will remain nameless, lets call her Betsy and anyone else who might just be wondering the same thing.

Where do I hang out when I am home?

 Above is one corner of my studio, the corner I sit at the torch.  My studio is in the garden under an enormous great tree that goes the most beautiful rustic reds in the Autumn.  I get lots of Jays, Sparrows, Magpies, Robins, Pigeons the odd duck and bird of prey in that tree too.

I took all these photos this morning, Sunday February 14th 2016, its not tidy in my kitchen, or anywhere in the house really I have been poorly for a few weeks and my husband has worked nights all week so cleaning has been a bit lapse.

When on my laptop writing, loitering on FB, wrapping beads for sending as well as eating, cooking - ok watching the husband cook - lighting fires  and a myriad of other tasks I am in the kitchen.  My kitchen is a big room, the dinning table at one end and the pantry at the other.  Three doors lead from the kitchen one to the utility room - no photos if the rest of the house is bad this room is strictly off limits! one to the pantry and the other by the fridge to the hall. The utility leads to a small shower room and a door takes you outside, this is the back door but is the front door as its most used and has the letter box.  Like my life the house is a bit back to front and upside down, perfect living really.

So, photo above facing the dining table, as you can see Iz and Defi have had breakfast and their raised bowl stand will be put away in a minute...  or two.  Can you see the prone shape on the fire hearth?  

The corner to the right of the dining table is where my book that I am currently writing is housed in a rather bespoke box that looks like an old encyclopedia, I love that box!

Facing the other end of the room, my rocking chair I stole from one brother who had stole it from our other brother.. they are twins and I am the eldest, I liked it, I pinched it, its been with me for about 20 years!  

The door on the left is the pantry the other door leads to the room of doom, otherwise known as the utility room...shudders at visions of mud splattered walls and dirty laundry....

The third door from the kitchen takes you into the hall and the monolith that is Gordy Towers is across the front door that we don't use.  A bookcase stands to the right and that is where the cats eat and the stairs take you to the bedrooms.  I like the glass doors, we have this one and the one from the hall into the living room which is on the left of Gordy Towers: the glass is always covered in nose prints and dribble and although they are smeared and in need of constant cleaning I can spy on Gordy when he is playing by himself in the hall, in turn he can sit and sulk at the door to come in when he is banished at cooking times!

My living room, bit of a mess!  this is the corner you could see from the door way and my 'end of the sofa'  I have drawing pads, pencils, crochet hooks, yarn and fish tanks.  I love my nursery fish tank on my old hexagonal table, one day I really will decorate this table in the style of the narrowboats.  I have said that for the 15 years I have had it!!

Close up of the 'stuff' on my table and its all mine.... 

Stuffed between the fish tank and the sofa, filling for crochet toys, my bag of hooks and my sewing box my son brought me for Christmas that has my fine threads in that I will probably hoard for a few years before using and my toys eyes.  NO ONE else in the house is allowed piles but I follow my own rules!

The fish tank and me still in my dressing gown and pj's!!

From the right of Gordy Towers in the hall, at the bottom of the stairs is a window that shows you the back of the garden.  The house sits not quite in the middle of the gardens so we don't have a front and back but this is to the back of the house, just a corner mind the garden is a lovely big size, surrounded by fields and country lane.  This is my studio shed under the big tree (right photo below) that is still quite bare.  My garden is not at its finest and this part faces North so it does get the wind and rain.

The left hand photo was taken from the window in the living room at the front and shows my very impressive bamboo and my sons van that is actually in pieces!!  Bloody kids!!  I can't show you the other end of the drive that wraps around the house and takes you back to the kitchen and utility because to be quite honest its a mess of mud, cars, wood for the fire...   Tucked in the bamboo is my bird table so I have some lovely movement and chirrping from this area.

Taken from the same window in the living room but pointing to the left of the garden, the sun was just rising this morning.  This is the gate that leads out onto the lane, that telephone line that stretches the length of the lane quite often has big rooks, ravens, crows, magpies, pigeons, owls, red kite and many other beautiful birds sitting on it annoying Defi and making him bark!

Remember the prone figure from above?  You guessed it just another morning protest at the lack of fire for his lordship!

...and on the table is the most recent copy of Gordy and Me in Cat World Magazine, I leave it there to remind the family what a fabulous writer I am and that I really need time to finish the book and do next months article.

How is that Betsy?  Now you know where I live and how, creativity chaotic!!

This blog post is part of the Creative Sunday Blog Hop hosted by Jill of Kiln Fired Art

Fat camp.

Izzzy Wizzy Wizole Wumps... or Izabel for short.  10 years young this coming August, so technically 9 and a bit.  Heavy - that is those big sturdy Welsh bones - very fluffy and desperately in need of a good groom; which is this afternoon's big job!

Iz in the snow 2014.

Gorgeous, isn't she?  I might be a bit biased as she is my baby, the first.. .and last.... puppy we will ever own.  Having always had rescue dogs (and cats before Iz and since) Iz was the puppy we choose to live with us and our now departed Suki (Lurcher X).  Having never had a puppy, we, as a family, decided we would give it a go, she was hard work but worth it.  Obviously the family all wanted to help out with walking, grooming, picking up the poo, training and all the  jobs that go with being responsible dog owners.  It was them telling me how helpful they would be that convinced me to have a third dog.  Their good intentions barely lasted the week but by then my maternal instincts had kicked in and I was super protective of my fluffy bundle of mischief and despite her reluctance to be less than the stubborn lead tugging creature she still remains we enrolled in obedience classes. It wasn't long before she made the trainer use the F word due to her refusal to come back preferring instead to wander over to the nursing home residents (the group ran in the grounds of a beautiful old nursing home) introduce herself and get fed cake! 

It was not her finest moment but in later classes we could console a young girl whose Spaniel was being particularly naughty and the girl was in tears, after telling her she wasn't doing too bad the trainer was yet to swear at her dog in exasperation she cheered up no end.

And so life has pretty much been run her way ever since.  We tried the halti to stop the lead pulling, she threw herself on the floor and I dragged her down the drive on her side until she relented for a second - and a piece of sausage - and got to her paws.  She was not to remain standing the second the sausage hit the stomach she threw herself back down on the lane.  

We don't use a halti.

Christmas Day 2015 up Skirrig Fawr with Jacqui (my friend), Defi on the left, Basil on the right and Dils at the back.

We have always had big dogs.  Our first dog together, the husband and I, was Ricky a big black and gold German Shepherd with 'issues'.  He really set the precedence for having animals that needed a forever home and I learn't very quickly that dealing with animals that have not had the best start in life was hard work but very rewarding.

Ricky lived to be 15 years old and was with us for 14 of those years.  In all that time I was very careful to balance his daily diet with his weight and exercise.  Big dogs, especially Shepherds, have problems with their back legs and carrying too much weight shortens their activity and life.  We found the right balance with Ricky and he was still wandering around, albeit slowly, on his own steam the day he died.

Time for a snooze whilst I work in the glass studio.  January 2016.

 Suki, our beautiful 'old lady dogs' as I called her was a barrel!  A Heinz 57 mix of just about every breed but narrowed down by the rescue home as Lurcher X.  She was lovely was Suki, biddable happy little soul that sadly left us too young at 13 with cancer.  It was Suki that welcomed Iz as a puppy, although welcomed was pushing it, it took a good 3 months for Suki to forgive us for introducing such a bundle of energy into her sedate life and accept Iz as a friend, once the bond was forged they spent 4 or 5 years playing together in the garden and taking long walks, made longer by Izabel's insistence on not coming back!

January 2016, buddies in mud!  Izabel left, Defi right.

If Suki taught Iz one thing it was to be lazy, not that Suki was lazy she was an active little thing in her day charging about like a loon and jumping into my husbands arms at the end of the day when he walked in through the door and of course she grew up with two kids who were under 10 in those days and so much fun in the garden was shared as well as crayon eating: Suki did like to munch on a good crayon and our garden was often bright and sparkly from red, purple, green.. glitter poos!

Iz excelled in one lesson at dog training.  Down, stay.  She would lie down and go to sleep. She would probably be there now if I hadn't woke her up with sausages and brought her home!

She loved agility, she ran the see saw like a professional in the agility ring, the tunnel was zipped through at the speed of light - once we figured out how to stop her lying down in the middle of it for a quick snooze, the other dogs crashing like a cartoon into the back of her and causing congestion round the circuit!  The long jump, she flew through the air her soft feathers floating like angel wings on a cloud.  She was brilliant.....

...right up to when the trainer tried to tell her how to do things properly, that is, not her way.  After weeks of her refusing to jump, get up, move at all.. we got busted down from the top group to the toy terrier group.  I was humiliated.  When the class ended and it was fun time, she was back on form and top of the group.  Tell her what to do......

We left agility soon after.

Iz @2012

Then there was Gordy.  The day he arrived Iz lay down in front of him and he climbed onto her back for comfort.  She looked at me, I looked at the husband, we all looked at Gordy and Iz went back to sleep.  When Gordy is having a bad day, when the dribble is flowing like a leaky faucet it is always Iz that he climbs onto for comfort.  He gets a bit hot does Gord and Iz will raise her head get eye contact which means 'please remove him' before getting off the sofa.  She is a great step mum to Gordy, she doesn't play with him like Defi does but she does the important work of caring, when he is not his normal self.

Iz and Gordy December 2015

So Monday February 1st 2016 dawned on an unusually dry day here in Hereford and the husband and I set off for a visit to the vet with Iz.  Nothing serious just annual check up and boosters with a quick stand on the doggy scales to check that weight.

41.8kgs!!!!

Now I knew she had gained a pound or two but 10kgs in 1 year!! I couldn't believe it.  Iz was fat!  The vet started talking to me about Fat Club for Dogs held monthly at the surgery, that made me choke a bit but the husband nearly passed out when the vet told him about this special new food for over weight dogs which of course in vet language means a small mortgage to feed your dog each month!  

I was mortified, I had an over weight pet.  I have never had an over weight pet before I had always been so careful, obviously with Iz not careful enough.  I am sure she was nearly in tears too as the vet discussed how she was at risk of diabetis, heart problems... death!  

Other than the ENORMOUS weight gain, Iz is as healthy as can be and now on a strict diet and exercise program.

I did get home and Google (I love Google he knows everything, he is like a husband to whom you are not married!) the dog food I am currently feeding my dogs having changed to this particular brand approx 9 months ago, the last food, excellent stuff, made the dogs poo orange and I was being a bit posh and snobby over having dog poo in the garden that you can see from space.  So Google told me that this brand of dog food is most likely one of the worst kind for additives and 'doggy sugars'.  I did start reading about calorific value and it did get all scientific and clever so I turned Google off and advised the husband person that we are going back to glow in the dark poo and the brand that creates that.

We also take the ball down to the fields again.  In a week I have lost a pound and a half because Izabel thinks the game is leaving the bloody thing behind us and waiting for me to fetch it!

Looking back.....

I have been Spring cleaning in January, old photos found at the back of the wardrobe remind me of how long I have loved creatures with four paws and tails, seems its a life time choice.

A bit of nostalgia....

That was me, the cute one in the front touching the dogs nose, apparently that dog was a bit snappy so my mother - the headless one on the right - was wringing her hands with worry.  The three ladies are Great Aunts I believe, except the one in the middle she was a cousin removed or something like that.  Families are odd and sadly I don't have any contact with any of them any more, but that is the earliest one I have of me and some furry creatures.

Until I lived on my own I never had pets, the odd canary in a cage or goldfish in a bowl but not a dog or cat, I think I am making up for lost time some days.

That is me on the right, many years ago, the little boy in the photo is my son Ben who turned 22 last month (December).  We lived in Kent, a small village called Minster just outside of Canterbury but closer to Margate and Ramsgate.  Both the kids were born in Margate and the husband and I were married in Ramsgate a couple of years after this photo was taken.

The gorgeous German Shepherd dog was my Ricky, my first dog that was mine.  He was my best friend and lived with us until he was 15.  He died here in Hereford and now stays under the bed in a box with Suki my other dog who was his partner in crime and died a few years later.

 The girls.  The second batch of girls as Foxy Loxy and Badger came on consecutive nights and took my girls.  After that we decided to not have chickens as we do live rural here in Hereford and its not really fair when you know you have foxes, badgers, birds of prey, pheasants, hedgehogs and the occasional duck dropping in on its way to the river.

That old black and white boy in the next photo, that was my Claude when he was 22 just before he passed away.  It was his passing that left us with no cats for the first time in 20 years.  We didn't have long to wait before a now familiar face arrived to live here.  We have always had strays, the abandoned cats, abused ones and dumped ones.  They have all had their problems and quirks, but old Claude he was a cat in a million who didn't age gracefully but we loved him anyway.  He was the last of a long line of 9 quirky cats, Gordy is number 10 and Teeko is number 11.

The beautiful watchful eyes of my Izabel, our only puppy (they have all been re-homes) who will be 10 this coming August.  How the years have flown past!

The boys.  Defi, on the right says hello to Gordy who had just arrived the night before this photo was taken, they are still as close as ever 2.5 years on.

Defi loves nothing better than a good wallow in the mud!  I don't think I have ever come back from a dog walk with him staying clean and golden and I always joke that this dog could find a puddle in a desert!

Defi, Gordy and Iz.  Just one of my favourite photos.

The famous little cat himself, or should that be infamous?  Gordy.

..and our newest member of the pack, well the four pawed pack anyway, Teeko the old man Birman cat, he of the blue eyes and the 'look'.  He makes me laugh when he looks at Gordy with the bemused 'really you are a cat?' look.

Teeks, as we call him, or Tick Tock, doesn't do very much he will be 15 in April and I think he was born an old man cat as his ways are very sedentary and slow.  This cat needs to cat nap for 10 hours a day, at least, to be able to sleep though the night.  Like Gordy, Teeks is a house cat now that he lives with us (he is a natural house cat as when he lived next door he never left his garden and only went out there because he didn't have a litter box in the house). We have known him for the best part of 10 years as he was our neighbours cat and both my kids and I have taken care of him, visiting him and feeding him, sitting in the sunshine on his old deck in a beautiful garden with fish pond and Monet bridge over for many weeks at a time whilst they visited their other home in Spain.  Now they have moved permanently Teeko lives with us and when not snoozing on my daughters bed he likes to sit on the top of the fish tank in the living room and watch Gordy try and figure out how to get up there!

There's a hole in my bucket....

 Winter has arrived here in my corner of the world, although I still think I am the only place in the western hemisphere that has yet to see even the smallest flake of snow but the long, unseasonably warm December has given way to a cold January.  This morning's walk was cold, misty, frosty and beautiful the field stretched out literally further than the eye could see and Defi and Iz both had grey whiskers on their chins as the frost in the air continued to chill everything it touched.  

Like true Golden Retrievers though they still managed to find a patch of mud so it wasn't the clean walk I had imagined first thing!

Down at the bank of the River Wye, Hereford.

My bamboo in the garden an impressive waving focal point is all still and frosty.

The buddleia is frozen in space and time...

I was walking around the garden picking up the dog poo as you do after a good walk and saw my bird feeder hidden amongst the bamboo to protect the birds from the weather and also to stop Defi from trying to get to any tasty treats left out for the birds and it reminded me of C S Lewis, The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, the scene in the book (and the film) when Lucy meets Mr Tumnus under the lamp.  My bird feeder isn't quite a lamp but it just reminded me of that part in the story.

With the cold snap we are now having I have been lighting the fire in the kitchen.  In the evening it throws out lots of lovely light with the smell of burning wood and hot coals that  just make me happy and feel warm.  I got given a truck load - I kid not I don't do anything by half! - of wood from our builder neighbour, back in October time, as he is renovating a large old pub and asked me if I wanted some logs for the fire, of course I said yes and so he got one of his chaps to drop off this load of wood, not so much logs as chunks that need to be chopped smaller and spit and hiss and fly out of the grate rather than the lovely old oak logs I was expecting.  We have an entire garage filled with this wood and so I have to burn it somehow, thank goodness for the cold snap because hubby and son were starting to moan about my filling up the garage!

At least Gordy appreciates my efforts and he is now camped out on the hearth from the moment he can get into the kitchen until I remove him for bed at the end of the day. If the fire isn't lit he sits there looking all morose and sad, when it is lit he lies there flaked out and hot needing to be removed periodically to cool down.  

With an open fire comes the job of cleaning it out, throwing ash and smoke into the air and covering every surface in the room.   Of course that job is mine, so on bended knees I shovel ash into the bucket, try not to breathe at the same time, take the ash outside to the compost heap at the bottom of the garden where the slightest breeze whips the pile in the bucket into a frenzy and covers me in grey matter.   This weekend gone I kept the fire in over night, the old trick of covering the coals with the ash from beneath the grate, I love coming down in the morning and having a warm kitchen in which to drink my first cup of tea.  I didn't think too much about the fire when I went out with the dogs that morning for our walk, it had stayed warm and I assumed had gone out as there was no activity, no spitting of wood, no sparks or light just lovely warmth that flooded the room.  When I got home I decided that before I got too warm and comfortable I would clean out the fire and get it ready for lighting later on in the afternoon.  Good plan, I thought.  Unfortunately I didn't think enough as I shovelled the ash into the plastic bucket that I use to bring the wood in from the garage.  Ash out to compost, quick stop at garage, fill up with wood, back in house.  Multi-tasking.  I am woman!  

So what does happen when you put hot ash into a plastic bucket?  why it melts of course, all over your carpet around the fire leaving little blobs of black sludge when you try and lift the bucket that 'did' contain the ash - did, because now its all streaming out the bottom of said bucket and creating a sandstorm effect before your very eyes, the same eyes that are smarting from the ash and watering causing your nose to twitch and you start sneezing violently making any undisturbed ash fly through the air....  Iz and Defi at this point are at the furthest point of the kitchen (which is a big room!) with Gordy behind them trying to get away from the cloud of dust, the looks on their faces possibly showing their true feelings for my genius-ness but not being able to see through the tears, sneezes and ash I can only guess at their expressions.

The next, immediate, problem is how to get the holey bucket with leaking ash out of the kitchen, through the utility room and out the back door, down the garden to the compost heap without creating more mess?  The answer is simple.  You don't, just you make the mess and trail ash through the house and up the garden path, sneezing as you go.  I did put a piece of newspaper under the bucket and try to keep it there whilst I moved but it was a fruitless fix to an absurdly stupid decision in the first place.

My son, as predicted, came in, rolled his eyes, left in the car and returned an hour later with a metal bucket.

Gordy has given up with fires and resorted to checking out if porridge is on the menu for breakfast....