We came down to Oamaru to spend Easter Weekend with the Outlaws. Once we were here, it seemed pointless driving home only to return for the opening of duck shooting. Why not stay and kill two birds with one stone and maybe even an Easter bunny? Or better still, use a rifle.
Ok look, unless you’re vegetarian, I don’t want to hear how cruel hunting is, or how ducks probably don’t think it’s much of a sport (which is hardly surprising not having much in the way of higher intelligence). The living conditions of many domestic animals are appalling and the transfer and processing are crueller than a clean bullet through the head. We can duel if you disagree. (Except I don’t shoot stuff.)
While I’m on the subject, wasn’t the Royal Wedding simply lovely?
The Outlaw’s farm is like our second home. Agent of Death makes a terrific gin and tonic. The tangy aroma of fried fish first thing in the morning. A brown dog multiplied by a factor of three. And I’ve never come across a range of reading material in a bathroom more energising to the lower intestine:
- New Zealand Fishing News – sample articles: ‘Squid tactics’, ‘Attack of the killer bream’
- NZ Hunter (with a Deliverance-style picture of a stary dude holding up a set of antlers still attached to the deceased stag) – ‘Pimp your rifle: a new barrel in 7mm SRUM and a dial up scope’
- Rod & Rifle – ‘Chukar NZ’s toughest gamebird’
- Country Wide – ‘INSIDE: Special report: Irrigation’
- Inside Dairy: Your Levy in Action – ‘Managing mastitis’
- Dairy News – ‘Effluent challenge greater than ever’
- Farm Trader – ‘Drills, slurry & fertiliser equipment reviewed’
- Guns & Hunting – ‘Fitting a .223 true-flite barrel with an HCS suppressor’
- NZ House & Garden – ‘Screenprinting made simple’
- Country Living – ‘Organic tweeds for today’
My bowels have achieved an efficiency and precision that is, literally, moving.
Sadly, the same cannot be said of our dog. The change in his diet – goats milk, deer tongue, putrid rabbits – has resulted in some terrifying emissions from his butt. Sometimes opening the bedroom door in the morning sends a shock-wave sweeping through the house.
The other evening, Husband and I took Jed down to Cozy Dell, known locally as Nooky Cove, to wash off some of his insulating crust of cow shit. The temperature was perky. However, the light was gorgeous, with the late sun slanting low through the trees.
As a bonus, here’s a couple of vids of Jed diving for his water-logged tennis ball. He hasn’t QUITE figured out how to breathe underwater. Yet.
Jed lets Husband know just how cold the water is: