O ye'll tak' the high road, and oil tak' the low road

.. And oil be in Scotlan' afore ye*

 I HAVE spent two winters in the Scottish Borders without central heating. Yes, it was tough but my working class roots got me through it although most of our visitors rarely stayed more than a couple of days before heading off to their centrally heated homes.
 People still think I'm pulling their leg when talking of the brick outhouse in the back yard, the pottie under the bed, snapping off icicles INSIDE the bedroom window and huddling around a coal fire ... but I digress.
 Since hubby spent much of his time in his restaurant in London he too had no idea what it was like to live day in, day out without the turn on, turn off warmth given by the flick of a switch.
 He finally swung into action when I said I wanted to go green and get a bio-mass boiler - but after being presented with an estimate of £40k he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is suddenly morphed into Action Man. Not only did he restore the old boiler but he installed underfloor heating in most of the house and after shivering through two winters I suddenly had warmth from a source of heat many of us take for granted.

HIGHWAY TO HELL? Oil company claimed the trees 

presented a health & safety hazard

 However, all of that was threatened at the beginning of October when I started ringing around for some oil when prices were quite low. After doing a deal with a firm in Middlesbrough I waited and waited for the oil delivery as the tank was running low and there was no way I wanted to go through a third winter without heat.
 On the day the tanker should have arrived I was away but since putting oil into a tank isn't rocket science I thought the delivery driver would've just done what he was paid to do. After a few days I checked the level of the oil tank and realised the oil had not been delivered.
 I then called the oil company and was told the driver had been unable to access the drive. Realising he'd tried the back entrance (think Chieftain tank or Humvee for access) I called back and pointed this out wondering outloud why the silly man hadn't just called my mobile and then I could've pointed out there was a main entrance. The fact that the company sat on my fuel payment for more than a week without alerting me is disconcerting in itself.
 Assured the oil would be delivered I left it for another couple of days - bearing in mind a payment for 1000 litres of oil had already been made - and then a week passed. I noticed the oil tank was running dangerously low and so I called the oil company again. This time a man there assured me he would sort it out and get back - within minutes he was back on the phone quoting Health & Safety at me and saying the driver could not risk getting through.
 I pointed out the driver was a fool and that there are two entrances but this man was having none of it and so I asked to be reimbursed ... that process is taking nearly as long as well. It seems this company, which I will name and shame in my next blog if the money is still outstanding, can't deliver anything judging from my own experience!

FUSS, WHAT FUSS: Unsung hero Graham

is a man who delivers

 So I then began the process of calling around alternative oil companies only to discover that most of them used the same distribution service where the same driver worked. In short my address was being blacklisted as undeliverable unless I cut back on my trees.
 In recent weeks, because we are in the middle of renovations, I've had all manner of articulated lorries, trucks, delivery vehicles beating a path to my door without so much as a complaint ... other than being ambushed by the geese and turkeys.
 After paying considerably more for the oil now that winter is round the corner, I found a company in London called Speedy Fuels which pledged to deliver and they too called me back saying the distribution company they used pointed out access down by driveway is impossible. I told her the tale I've just told you and the very tenacious Jade promised she would get me my oil.

OIL'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL: Graham

packs up his gear after successful delivery

FIRST CLASS SERVICE: A big
high five to Highland Fuels

 A woman of her word, yesterday a man called Graham from Highland Fuels came to deliver the 1000 litres of oil. He was given a welcome probably more fitting for the timely arrival of The Cavalry had they rocked up during the Battle of the Little Bighorn to help out Custer and his depleted 7th regiment. Anyway you get the picture, suffice to say Graham was overwhelmed by fuss and when I told him the story he merely shrugged his shoulders and said coming through the driveway was "No big deal."
 Now I have oil and all I can say to the weather is: "Bring it on."

* The Bonnie Banks o' Loch Lomond is a well known traditional Scottish song, usually played after a night of revelry, and was first sung in 1841. Here's a rendition. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hjZBlgylqFw

Another fox attack & another massacre

Demise of doves signals all out war..

DOVES settling in to their new home

A FEW weeks back I took possession of around 15 pure white doves from a farmer near the beautiful County Durham village of Wolsingham after my Indian fantails were picked off one by one by a pair of Peregrine Falcons nesting nearby. This time round would be better as hubby had set up a purpose-built apiary in which to allow the birds to acclimatise to their surroundings and become a bit more hawk savvy than their unfortunate predecessors. After placing the doves inside I then went off to get some corn and returned just in time to see the last bird escape through a hole and fly off! A few days later the bemused and amused farmer called me to say the birds had returned to him.

 We secure the aviary and set off again to collect the birds and this time, without an escape route, they seemed to settle in to their new home very quickly. We had placed a wooden dovecot inside the apiary and they seemed more than content to fly around safely without being targetted by any hawks or falcons in the area.

DIRTY DIGGER: Fox burrowed

under the gate entrance

 All was going well and we decided to move the wooden dovecots plus birds nearer to our home since they would have adjusted to their surroundings and lost their homing instincts to head for Wolsingham on release. Having spotted and heard the familiar screech of the occasional hawk, I was also hoping the birds would have become more cautious when birds of prey were out and about. Sadly, the next day, there was no such release for what greeted hubby was a load of white feathers, dove carcasses and blood ... the fox (almost certainly the same one who had burrowed under the henpen) had returned.  I could kick myself. I really never thought the fox would go for the doves since they were all perched high up in the apiary and some were already nesting in the dovecots.

EMPTY: But the remaining 

feathers tell the tale

 As for the fox if it wasn't already war it is now. I will not rest until he is finished off. Quite why the birds had not remained inside their dovecots or aloft on the rooftop rafters is beyond me, but the fox appears to have had a feeding frenzy taking out all but one of the occupants. The sole survivor, pictured above is now named Hope as in 'hope in adversity'. He or she has been put in a small cage and is residing in the courtyard until I know what to do.

 Yes, I do feel responsible because I had underestimated the ability of the fox and while he was doing what predators do I am determined this was his last kill ... at my expense anyway.

 My man with a gun has spotted him several times but so far he's been too quick. However I am told he appears to already have an old leg injury which may be the reason he is even more wily and wary than normal.

 Some legal traps have been set but sooner or later the game will be up for the fox which has, over the last 20 months, taken out two peahens, more than 20 chickens, nine turkeys, a pair of guineau fowl, one white pheasant, three quail, a pair of golden pheasant and 14 doves.

 Keeping my birds locked up in a stable all day is not an option, apart from being impractical I don't think it is kind or humane.

Goosey Goosey Gander, why can't you wander?

Bluebell's weighty dilemma

 I WAS in New Zealand when hubby called, clearly distraught, and said one of our geese was paralysed and unable to move ... it was Bluebell.
 The news horrified me on several different levels. First, I wondered what had happened that she had  become immobilised overnight and secondly how would I break the news to her previous owner who had already nursed Bluebell back to life from the brink of death.

SITTING DUCK! Bluebell in the background being guarded by

Jack & Vera, her companions.

 Bluebell is a Swedish goose and was part of a rare flock raised by a close friend of mine in the Scottish Borders. She sold the flock keeping back Queenie who had won first prize at The Highland Show for her outstanding features and she also retained Bluebell who had been savaged by a bunch of wild mink, a medium-sized member of the weasel family feralised from fur-farm stock in the 1950s.
 Bluebell was given round-the-clock care by my friend and after months of intensive nursing and love she survived the attack despite horrific internal injuries during the mauling. She is what you would call a walking miracle.
 My friend had to move away last year and so I agreed to foster both Queenie and Bluebell. Sadly a badger took Queenie who was sitting on a clutch of eggs in Spring 2013 and I was only able to break the news to my friend on her return to the Borders a few months ago. We were all very sad.
 How could I now tell her that Queenie was paralysed? Hubby said she wasn't in any kind of distress and so he continued to lift her out of her goose hut every morning putting her back on an evening until I returned home.
 She spent her days sitting in the safety of the courtyard because, unable to move, she was a sitting target for the unbiquitous fox who ripped through my henhouse with a savagery that still haunts.
 I decided against calling the vet in case the only option was to have her destroyed and so I phoned my friend and explained the situation. I told her Bluebell wasn't in any discomfort, hadn't lost her healthy appetitie and Jack & Vera, her companions, were guarding her as she would be vulnerable to a passing fox (and we all know about him, don't we?)

BEST FOOT FORWARD: A slimline Bluebell

back on her feet 

 She came over and after she was thoroughly checked over my friend turned around laughing and said: "She's not paralysed. She's too fat to walk. She has been over-eating and I've seen it in this breed before because they can easily put on weight and their legs just give way."

WHEELY TRIM: New look

 Still not entirely convinced, Bluebell was put on a diet along with Jack and Vera, who also seemed very heavy. Within two weeks Bluebell was back on her feet and seems none the worse for her experience.
 I've been feeding the geese a mixture of corn and layers mash and he-who-should-be-obeyed-but-rarely-is has stopped throwing them tasty tid bits.
Now the geese get a handful of corn and have to fend for
themselves the rest of the day which is why my lawn is looking nice and trim.
After a fairly miserable few months thanks to the antics of
the fox, at last a happy ending.