bunn

The roe deer had become muchly entangled in a bit of old electric fencing, which had wrapped into a mighty tangle around its horns. I fetched Maggie, the owner of the field, and she lent me some wire cutters and stood on the remains of the electric fence to try to prevent the deer thrashing around too much while I cut the fence off the deer.   The deer was not happy about this procedure, and thrashed wildly and made a terrifying roaring noise, but in the end, we got the fence off, and the deer ran away, so I'm guessing it was more or less OK.    It had a couple of visible wounds, but nothing major.

 I got soaked, because it was hailing and the grass was wet.  And I had to haul the dogs off the deer when we found it.  Fortunately, Rosie is a bit scared of deer and Brythen has no idea how to hunt (seriously, he stood next to the struggling deer jumping up and down and yapping like a puppy: his best effort was to grab its ear), so I was able to haul them off relatively easily and attach them to a tree while I sorted the deer out.  I was worried, to start with, that they had driven it into the fence, as they both shot off when they first saw it, but given how enmeshed it was when I got there, which was only seconds after the dogs, I don't honestly think it was them, I think it must have been caught already.

Electric fencing is phenomenally tough stuff!  Both secateurs and wirecutters struggled with it.   The deer had cut itself, and the blood was over my hands, and somehow I cut my hands too although I'm not sure how I did it.   I hope roe deer don't carry any nasty diseases.  I've just rung my doctor in the hope that she will say 'no, roe deer are the most sterile of all animals'. Fingers crossed.

I should do some work now.  Perhaps when I've stopped quivering.

On Saturday,we popped to Liskeard, a local market town.  I've not been to Liskeard in a couple of years, probably, and it was a shock to see how many shops were standing empty.  Liskeard is a small town relatively recently blessed by the addition of an extended out of town large supermarket, and a small retail park.  Together, these really seem to have sucked the already-ebbing life out of the place.  
( A Portas Town )

philmophlegm had some bad news on Friday - he is being made redundant.  This came as quite a shock, as he has been zooming around like a blue-arsed fly for weeks and had a small mountain of things on his work 'to do' list.  Here's hoping that our location lurking on a damp peninsula a Very Long Way from Everywhere between two vast and empty moorlands will not stop him from finding something else.  I can see us having to move house though - either West, to get within commuting distance of Truro, St Austell and Falmouth, which have all come up enormously in the world since we moved to Cornwall or East to within commuting distance of the Small-to-Medium-Sized Wen, Exeter.  Preferably Truro : Exeter is OK, but I think it had more character as Isca Dumnoniorum...   

It's gone cold and wet and 'orrible today.
( A chilly dog demands clothes )

Helga the Saab flashed up a plaintive message at me this morning: "Time for Service"

She reinforced this when I cruelly clicked the clear button and ignored her, by releasing her left indicator light as I drove along, so that it flapped about on the end of its cable.  I had to stop and shove it back in.   And I KNOW she needs a new tire.  Pants. 

Also, Az's pet insurance is up for renewal, and they want £351.69 for the next year!  That's only fifty quid less than the insurance on Helga!   Mind you, both of them are getting on a bit, so I don't know which one I expect to break sooner...