Snuggly Nights

Amy had one of those "off-days". I didn't know what to do with her. Whatever I said, however I said it, she ignored me and went on to the next insult. Having put up with it from 9am, I was kinda sick of it by 8.30pm and sent her to bed. She had very little in the way of sugar as punishment for her rudeness, had no chocolate and only water to drink. Sounds a little harsh perhaps, but when she's having a hyper day, sugar is usually best avoided. She was rude to the Farmer, rude to me, rough with the puppies when she had been reminded repeatedly that they are dogs not toys, slammed doors, banged about the house, flooded the kitchen window sill, and did I mention that she was rude to the Farmer and me? We had half an hour of peace then another blast of anger, followed by me reaching for another plaster for my bitten fingers. It really was one of those days. We have them occasionally; usually down to tiredness, sometimes down to having too much sugar the day before. But we can never ignore the fact that Amy has needs, otherwise alternative to those of an average 9 year old child.

When I ordered her to get her pj's on at 8.30 and get into bed, no TV, no book, no nothing, she knew I really meant it and she had well and truly gone into the red. But I went to my bed a little later wondering how long it would be before she got up and came into me with the usual apology, wanting my forgiveness and that all important bedtime snuggle. It was 10pm before she came. She stood quietly at my door, unsure as to whether she would be welcome. Her eyes were streaming with tears, she had obviously been crying for some time as her blocked nose was evident. I let her apologise. Profusely. I let her cry and tell me how it wouldn't happen again. Then I ordered her to go downstairs and apologise to her dad, which she did, giving him the full explanation for her behaviour during the day. She came back to me and got in my bed. She got her bedtime snuggle. She also drank half my water. And the next day? She was better. Much better. Even autism needs discipline. As well as patience, understanding and a whole lot of bedtime snuggles.

Holiday Living

There comes a time when one just has to have that clear out. As we (I) prefer to keep our dogs indoors, we (I) have decided to revamp the pantry, where we keep two freezers (a chest one and an upright one), a large fridge, washing machine and tumble drier. And an awful lot of crap. So much crap in fact, that I have filled seven black bin bags. It's quite shameful really. The Farmer helped to move the bin bags. I have defrosted the freezers and we are putting the chest freezer into the garage. This is to make room for our dogs. It is a large enough room to keep two extra baskets for two extra dogs, Bonnie & Meg. Not sure as yet how we will arrange the dogs in their new surroundings but I'm sure it will all be good fun. For them.

This wonderful British summer has prevented me from dusting off the bikini and joining Amy in the paddling pool. Blue sky peeps through occasionally, before the next downpour. But the tourist spots in the area are, as always, filled with tourists. Excellent for the tourism industry of course, not so good for the locals who can't park their cars and have trouble driving through the villages. The beautiful Bamburgh beach is packed with hopefuls in shorts while the seaside village of Seahouses is chocka-block with sightseers. I was stunned yesterday when I took Amy to the ice-cream kiosk and was told the ice-cream wasn't made. It was 11.30 in the morning. The place was heaving, he could have made a fortune that morning. "Come back in ten minutes" he told me. Not bloody likely, I muttered, I can't stand another minute in these crowds, and besides, I've got a freezer to defrost. There are five chippies in Seahouses, some better than others. One always has queues a mile long and the smell of chips lingers in the air as people park themselves on benches, dogs on a tight leash waiting for a stray chip. The little crazy golf course is always full, people stand looking totally bored, leaning against their much-too-small golf club, wishing the family in front would get a move on. It's a lovely place, out of season.

Puppy Friends

Thanks for all the kind words and thoughtful comments left on my previous post. As always, I shed a tear when remembering my dad. Sitting alone on Saturday night at 11.30, I felt him with me as my emotions reached a high.

Thought you might like to see a few shots taken over the weekend. We've had a memorable time with good friends who came up from Essex to stay with us. They come to stay three times a year and we always love their company. Unfortunately, Friday and a little of Saturday saw the Farmer poorly but that didn't stop us from enjoying ourselves. I think Amy sees them as surrogate granny and granddad, or something similar. She hasn't got a granddad so having them around is always good for her. We had tons of fun on the lawn with the puppies as we introduced the pups to puppy food mixed in with their scrambled egg. They love it, can't get enough. We're feeding them twice a day and of course they get ample mother's milk too. But boy, are they a handful. Trust Sparky to have six. You get one in the kennel and another sneaks out, you get him back in and another wriggles free. It's a two man task and we've had to build a makeshift gate to stop them escaping every time we open the door. That way, we can get Sparky out and leave them inside before we're ready for them all to come out together. Having said that, they're an absolute pleasure to have and I'm sure we'll miss the four that have been sold once they've gone.

Here's Meg, my very own collie, the first dog I've ever owned all to myself. I suspect however, she will become a family dog in no time at all.

Feeding Time!

Bonnie on the skateboard - the other pup we're keeping

Moments of Thought

It doesn't happen often but when it does I start to worry. The Farmer hasn't been well. Sounds like he's picked up a bug of some sort, maybe even eaten something that hasn't agreed with him. He was so bad on Friday afternoon that he went to bed and didn't get up until 6am Saturday morning. We have friends staying this weekend which told me he must have been bad. The Farmer is a very proud man, doesn't like people thinking he suffers from any illnesses. If he has a cold he spends all day outside in the fresh air, and incredibly, it usually clears up within 24 hours. The "bug" is still causing him a tummy ache, one he obviously isn't used to because he keeps telling me about it. The Farmer and I have a huge age gap and whenever he's ill I start to panic. I'm staying positive though, as he is feeling better today even though he's still not right.

It's also my dad's anniversary today. Eight years in the ground. Thirty-nine years by my side. He will never leave me. Those moments of announcing his passing will stick in my mind forever. The way I collapsed at the hospital after my brother told me "he's gone". The way I dramatically wouldn't see him as he lay on a hospital bed, motionless. The week of planning a celebration of his life; the crying; the anger; the disbelief; watching my mum's world fall apart. Realising that our family would never be the same again, I knew I had decisions to make. I needed to grieve for him but I couldn't and still can't today. Because he's never left me. He never will. I love him more today than I have ever done. My dad; 29th May 1943 - 25th July 2001.

Taxi Ted

For the past two years, our lovely Taxi-Man has driven Amy to and from school, never a minute late in the mornings and always bringing her home at the same time. I suspect if school finishes a few minutes late, he puts his foot down! But on the whole, he has been a gem of a guy, ferrying my not-so-little girl on these two essential journeys in safety. She has thoroughly enjoyed being in the taxi; has learnt many songs from the radio which I never have on at home and has made a lovely new friend who's mum I have become friendly with too. It's also freed up time for me, allowing seven hours a day to myself. Most days I wonder where those seven hours go, but nevertheless, it's done us all some good. But on Friday, the days of the taxi will come to an end. Taxi-Man will no longer drive Amy to and from school. When she starts her new school in September the job will be mine. I'm not complaining but it does cut my day somewhat short, not to mention will mean an even earlier start. Amy has been going on a taxi for the past four years. After I had a few epileptic seizures for one reason or another, I had to surrender my driving licence for twelve months back in 2005 and as the Farmer couldn't commit to driving Amy every day, we had no choice but to use the taxi. Fortunately, and very kindly, the transport department took pity on me and gave us free transport until the end of first school. Now however, there will be no transport to and from middle school which will go by the farm so I will have to take Amy to and from school myself. There is of course the option of local parents clubbing together and paying for a private taxi, but I want to get Amy totally settled in first.

I will be sad to say goodbye to Taxi-Man even though I know we'll see him again during the holidays. But to have the same person come to your house twice a day (give a journey or two) for the past two years is quite comforting as one gets to know that person a little, handing him a dozen eggs every so often and accepting his gifts of home grown produce. Amy's bought him a chocolate teddy bear which simply says "Thank you" iced on it. Each Christmas he has given her an advent calendar and a selection box, and a large chocolate egg at Easter. She tells me tales about him, "Taxi-Man burps and never says pardon me" and "Taxi-Man says to the pheasant, Aerrr, gerron wi ya man". He lets Sparky jump into the taxi for strokes by the other children and last week he waited a few minutes whilst I brought out a puppy for the children to cuddle. If Amy's on the last minute in the morning (which is most days), he waits in the taxi and reads his paper then says, "'urry up then, get ya belt on". Such a sweet and gentle man, well known and very much respected by the community. Completely deserving of a chocolate teddy saying, Thank you.

Dog on a mission

You have to laugh. That's what I keep telling myself. The weekend has been a blur of puppies darting round the kitchen figuring out what they can clasp their eyes on next. They've had fun with the table legs, Amy's Crocs, my slippers, Molly's basket and her blanket, the floor has seen more puppy wee than a cats and dogs home and to put the cherry on the thickly iced cake, Sparky ate my supper which I foolishly left on the floor in the lounge. You may wonder how this could happen; the Farmer and I decided to watch the golf on Sunday night and eat our supper on our knees. However, Sparky wouldn't stop howling and I suspected she needed to go out. So, we got up, left our supper on the floor and went to her rescue. He intended to take Sparky outside whilst I gathered the puppies and tried in goalie stance, to keep them out of the kitchen. This was proving difficult so the Farmer helped me, letting go of Sparky. She took the opportunity and darted down the hallway to the lounge where the smell of chicken in cheese sauce, wrapped in finest bacon, accompanied by sweet garden peas and new potatoes, lay on a choice of plates within her easy reach. She decided to go to mine.

After screaming, "bloody dog" and being chastised by Amy for swearing, I picked up the plate, minus the bacon, and threw the left overs in the bin. I wondered if there could have been any to salvage but when one thinks about what Sparky licks during the day that might not have been a good idea. I did fish the chicken out however, and gave it to Molly. They went back in the garage soon after, the whole lot of them. I knew it would be bedlam at some point, but having my supper stolen just takes the biscuit.

Jigsaw Rains

Staying with the puppy theme, I must tell you about the excitement of Friday night, all totally frustrating at the time. Up here in the sticks of Northumberland (and I'm sure in many other parts of the country) we were subjected to gale force winds and torrential rain. Me being the softy that I am, couldn't settle knowing that six, four week old puppies and their mummy huddled together in a large double garage-converted kennel trying to shelter from the elements of water leaking in and an unbearably loud wind trying hard to tear the roof away. One half of the kennel was incredibly damp so the Farmer, Amy and me, trundled across the drive and rescued our little brood. We brought them inside the house, to the safety and warmth of the boot room. It's a cosy little room with a tiled floor. I laid a quilt down for extra cosiness, covered by 2 dog towels. Carrying two pups each we put them all down and watched as they each had a baby wee, then a little sniff, venturing into the kitchen where some of them had another wee. They were a little cautious at first, unfamiliar surroundings, but they soon settled on the quilt and mummy barked furiously as we closed the door and said goodnight. They were content when we went down in the morning, slightly wet towels but all fine and dandy. The sky remains off-white and a little rain has fallen but the winds, even though died down a little, will hopefully dry the kennel and allow us to put pups and mum back either later today or tomorrow. Problem is, they're beginning to look quite at home where they are...! Oh, and did I tell you we're now keeping two puppies? Sorry, Irene! But I managed to talk the Farmer round (I've got charm, you see) and the female pup who hadn't been claimed is now all mine. I've called her, Meg. I have plans for her but I'll disclose them when she's a bit older. Four collies at Jigsaw Farm, another dream come true.

First steps to Freedom

The puppies are four weeks old on Saturday and will have a slight change of scenery, if only for short periods at a time. They have already shown their adventurous side in pattering over to the door and having a little peak into the big wide world beyond their familiar environment. One or two have quite happily put paw over threshold and taken the plunge, whereas others have held back, perhaps a little cautious at what may lurk where the grass is greener. I guess, from a puppy's point of view, it will be quite daunting to take those first steps outside the comfort zone, hoping mummy's teat will be on hand like a snuggly blanket. Weather permitting, we shall erect a small enclosure on the grass where they will be allowed to roam free, get a taste of life from another perspective. The photos below (taken on Thursday morning) show you their "first steps to freedom".

"So, today's the day then?"
"So long as it's not rainin' mum said"

"What's it like?"
"Okay so far."

"Come on, you lot."
"Ooh, ooh, paws feel all funny."

"Wait for me."

"Ooh, not sure, mum said don't get mucky."

"Nice smell out 'ere."

"It's not milk."

"Eh, it's not that bad is it."
"Anyone comin' for a wander?"

"What's that big woolly thing over there?"


"Dunno, I'm not stayin' to find out."

Wild Oats and Shire Horses

It's the season for pulling wild oats: tall grassy weeds which grow amongst the crops and, if left, become mixed in with the harvested corn. A farmer's nightmare. And probably the worst job in the farming calendar. It's incredibly boring, standing in a 20+ acre field, laboriously pulling out weeds which have grown to about 4 feet in height. Some of them are tough cookies to heave and take a considerable amount of weight to pull free. The Farmer walks up and down the fields, huffin' and puffin', filling his reusable seed bags and getting tickled alive by harvest flies which get absolutely everywhere. And I mean everywhere. They can even get underneath a computer screen and I have had one or two crawling about my blog. One can't go outside at this time of year without being bombarded by at least a million of them. If you wear white, you don't stand a chance.

The barley and wheat fields are looking positively healthy, all glad of the thunder storms we have recently had. Although we will need some dry and airy weather in the next few weeks to ensure combining will go ahead. Last years harvest was very touch and go. Fortunately, the Farmer got all his corn in and managed to get the land ready for being re-sown before the floods last October hit Northumberland. He struggled on but we're keeping fingers crossed that his hard work will pay off in a few months time. It's his first harvest with the new tractor and I dare say he's somewhat excited about driving it up and down the fields. I always remember my late-fil during the harvest; when he finally threw the towel in and decided he could no longer help, he would take the quad bike to the corner of the field in which the Farmer was working, and he would stay for hours, watching the header bar of the combine whirr around, cutting and gathering barley. Then he would wait until the Farmer had emptied the corn into the trailer before giving his lecture about it taking too long, or "it wasn't done like that in my day". I used to vision a shire horse and think, "hmmm".

Baby in my Heart

I can't believe there are only two weeks left of the school year. I'll re-phrase that; two weeks left of first school. It doesn't seem five years ago when I took my little four year old beauty, dressed in uniform and pride, to her first day of school. I said to the teacher, "please look after my baby". Of course I need not have said those words but my heart could not see past the vulnerable child with autism, my worries that she would never make friends and my visions of her sitting in a corner, biting her nails and thinking desperately about mummy. My worries and visions lasted all of a day. She was looked after from day one, not only by her wonderful support worker but by the caring staff of whom see the children as individuals. It has not gone unsaid that I have had my ups and downs with the school, some of which have landed me in hot water. But as a protective mother I have always put Amy's needs first. The support worker she has relied upon throughout the five years at first school has been, without doubt, a saviour. An amazing person with strong values whom has carried Amy through these vital years of foundation.

I can't remember my last day at primary school. I was eleven and more than ready to start secondary. The system here in Northumberland is a three-tier, i.e. first, middle and high schools, whereas in Manchester where I was brought up we had a two-tier system. I won't argue which one I think is best because I really do not know the answer but in Amy's case I think the three-tier system is helping her more. Each child is different and each will cope with transition in their own way. To some it will be a doddle. To others it will be a total nightmare. But supportive parents, teachers and school staff will go a long way to make the change as pain free as possible. Amy is lucky. Staff at the middle school of which she commences in September, are bending over backwards to help with her every need. We have the same support worker which is the continuity she needs and a massively encouraging group of staff, all looking forward to greeting Amy at their school.

I can remember my last day at secondary (or high) school however. The image which sticks clearly in my mind is of my school friends hugging one another and promising to keep in touch. I couldn't wait to exit the school gates. The bus couldn't arrive quick enough and when I got home, I was desperate to change into my "own" clothes. Never again did I want to see a school tie, or an A-line skirt. The girls weren't allowed to wear trousers at my school and by the time I was 16, ankle socks and shoes were so not cool. I had my ears pierced for the first time the next day and boy, did I feel grown up. I didn't enjoy school. But because of my experiences during those academic years, I have been determined to ensure that Amy does. A child spends so much time at school (and far too much time on holiday, but that's another story!!) that it is important for them to enjoy it. After all, they won't learn if they're not interested in the subject; and if they're not interested in the subject then how can we expect them to enjoy. Some might say school is for learning, not for enjoying oneself. But we can encourage our children to do both. I was bullied at school, for a long time. Some times worse than others. It is because of my experiences that I have always vowed to protect Amy in this way. She seems to be doing a fine job on her own however. She's made lots of friends and is thoroughly looking forward to the move to her new school. I'm proud of her. As always.

The Farmer Blogs

The Farmer took some photographs on Saturday afternoon and I was so awestruck by them, I felt they deserved a post of their own. If you are able to click on them, the first two are quite detailed when enlarged.

I think this is called a B. terrestris, but if you know differently and can tell me the correct name, I'd be grateful to know. Not sure I could have got quite so close to a bee!

Molly, resting in the sun.

The old weathervane being admired.

Innocent Words

During the years since Amy's diagnosis, I have put up with people's ignorance so many times that now, on almost all occasions, it goes above my head. I have come to realise that if autism does not exist in someones life, i.e. they know of no one with the condition, then it is hard for them to understand the true implications it has. That's fine. No one can be expected to understand everything. There are many things I do not understand too. But learning is good; gives us a better insight to the endless difficulties faced by our society today. A lovely little girl asked me recently, "does Amy have problems?" A very innocent question and one that I struggled to find an answer. I wanted to reply, "we all have problems, Amy's are exhibited for all to see, yours are safe under lock and key."

But of course I didn't say that. I told her to ask a teacher at school. I passed the buck. What I did do, was gather Amy inside and hide my face from her view, realising that if I hadn't, she would have seen my tears. Oh, don't get me wrong, I wasn't upset because of Amy, I was emotionally charged because upon the little girl's question, just before I turned my back I caught the little boy sat next to her nodding his head and saying, "yes, she does have problems", but you see, he was serious. I really like these children and don't blame them one little bit for their childish banter; but it made me think about all the ignorant strangers who have snubbed us, pulled their faces at us, commented on my "out of control" child, stared at us, shook their heads at us and sometimes even pulled their children away so as not to "catch" anything. Children are innocent, perhaps not all, but certainly these two. They just said what many people think. And after the tears had subsided, Amy and I sat on the sofa with a bar of chocolate and talked about her day.

Pupdate & Pix

We've found homes for four puppies up to now. Bonnie will live here; Mollie has today been chosen, whilst a girl and a boy are going to local farms. That leaves one girl and one boy. We have every confidence that a good home will be found for each. They are really starting to get a little character about them, even playing with each other. One of the boys enjoys scrambling onto the pen rails, obviously going to be a wanderer. Bonnie seems to be quite active too, making her way around the pen with eagerness. Their little eyes are all open and we laugh as they look around, trying desperately to focus on mischief. The noise they make is quite intense, particularly if Sparky decides she's had enough. Six little puppy dogs all growing rapidly and becoming stronger by the day. A friend of mine has claimed Mollie, named by her daughter who will be official owner. She's had my lecture about being gentle and isn't fazed at all. They're coming back once a week until pup is ready to go home with them on 18th August. The other two of which have been found a home will be working sheep dogs. All good people taking care of them and I'm happy that they will be respected as the intelligent collies that they will become.


I hope you appreciate the photos taken for you below as in order to get the shot of Mollie by the water bowl, I put my hand in a dollop of puppy poo. But didn't realise until I'd got back in the house. I suddenly wondered what the awful smell was before looking down towards my jeans only to notice smudges of the stuff all over my left leg.

Vanderbilt

The same noise echoed on the staircase. I stood rigid, my back to the mirror with a thousand faces. I no longer felt alone in the house, even though a tranquil atmosphere wrapped its arms around me. The same scent invaded my senses, a perfume once worn by my late mother-in-law. I had first experienced its sweet aroma during the lambing season of 2002, my first lambing at the farm. I had sat in "the room", now our dining room, watching the television, relaxed and thinking about going to bed. The aroma drifted past me, alerting me to another dimension of which I later realised had been my first encounter with activity at the farm. I looked in the sideboard, expecting to find a bottle of perfume perhaps spilt over, but amidst the chaos, I could find no such resemblance. Thinking no more about it I went to bed only to experience the same occurrence the following two nights. At around the same time. I have since realised the scent on many occasions, sometimes on the stairs, in the spare room and always in the dining room.

Having never found the perfume in question lingering about the house, the fragrance remains another mystery. The noise I had heard appeared to surround me, I did not know in which direction to look first. Split sightings danced in the corners of my eyes, I thought about the woman who had once cleaned this house as I did then, I imagined her in the 1950's apron which once hung on the pantry door, her hair tied upon delicate head, her working hands scrubbing the wooden boards either side of the runner. Her residual energy encased me, it was once more a fascinating and pleasurable experience to sense an occupant of this primitive residence. The stairs are fully carpeted now, but the sound of floor boards being swept is still so clear.

Rural Opportunity

There has been a spate of burglaries in our area recently. As we are members of a Farm Watch scheme we are updated regularly with news about neighbours belongings being taken, some of which has included farm machinery, a Land Rover vehicle and even jewellery. Because of these reportings I have become extra vigilant not to mention perhaps, a little paranoid. Sparky woke us up twice through the night, barking furiously. We did hear another dog barking from one of the holiday cottages which could have set her off, but the awful thought of someone wandering on the premises also went through my head. The Farmer had a good look around but was sure it was nothing.

Being able to use a gun, I would hope to have some kind of protection should anyone feel they have a right to my possessions. But of course, we all know I would then be the guilty party and he who attempts to violate my family would walk free. Or perhaps not if I got to him first. There have been incidents over the years where people have wanted to protect themselves, used considerable force to do so and been told their actions are unreasonable. But where do we draw the line? Are we supposed to just sit back and let the robbers roam? Do the hard working citizens of this world have any rights at all? Or are we just expected to hand it over, go back to bed and claim off the insurance? I remember having a conversation with someone about twelve months ago, a "do-gooder" as I would say, and she told me we have to give these people a chance to better themselves. But how many chances do they get? How many years do they have to spend in prison before they are truly rehabilitated? This is my farm, my home, and my family. And I will protect them.

Cool Down, Mr Jigsaw

This hot and humid weather has found me searching for sleeveless tops and shorts, most of which were put away in another room a long time ago. It's a pleasure to search through my summer clothes and remember how many items I have, enough that I don't need to rush out and update my wardrobe. Or open the catalogue which is usually my case. The Farmer and I have put Amy's pool together, given it a much needed wash and filled it up again. The Farmer tried to spray me with the hose pipe once or twice; said something about a wet tee-shirt competition but I couldn't quite get the gist of what he meant. I think he enjoyed watching me scrub the bottom of the pool. Another comment about it looking good at the top end seemed to go right over my head; he's getting quite mischievous in his old age.

This is (a bloody awful photo of) me pictured with Bonnie. Some of the pups are opening their eyes.