So why not add some more Cats and Horses to this; https://watchitdie.blogspot.com/2024/12/i-still-dont-want-to-become-protein.html
As long time readers will know my Mothers live in Salisbury which is a city. It has a Cathedral, a Royal Charter and everything. However London, where I live, is a Mega-City. It has a population of over 10 million people. Technically London is actually 32 cities, which were allowed to grow and grow until they merged into a single city.
To prevent this happening across the entire country in the 1930's British planning law introduced the concept of the; "Green Belt." This is literally a belt of rural, green land which surrounds urban cities. You are not allowed to build on the Green Belt in order to prevent cities from spreading and merging into each other.
The Green Belt around Salisbury is very tight. So provided you know which direction to walk in you can stand in the city centre and after walking for thirty minutes you can find yourself surrounded by nothing by rural farmland, for as far as the eye can see.
A lot of British cities and towns can also be rather small minded and oppressive. Something like the 2007 movie; "Hot Fuzz" or the 1973 movie; "The Wicker Man." This can make them rather unwelcoming to people like my Mothers. Or, bluntly, anyone who isn't White.
However Salisbury is rather World famous for its Cathedral. It is also the closest city to the World famous Stonehenge. Both of which put it on the tourist trail. Stonehenge in particular also attracts a lot of New Age Traveller Hippies. As a result Salisbury is a lot more open minded than similar British cities. If you can tolerate New Age Traveller Hippies then you can tolerate most things.
So Salisbury is the sort of place where you can have people sitting around in the city centre drinking artisanal coffee and discussing the local company's latest attempt at "Il Trovatore." While also being slightly covered in mud and worrying about what time the feedstore is going to close.
I would liken it to the US TV Show; "Yellowstone." However Salisbury is a real place, while Yellowstone is a fictional TV Show. Although there is a longstanding local company called; "Bluestone" which makes plastic products such as adhesives and sealants. The sort of things you have to apply with a gun. They have fully embraced it. They had to, it's practically the law!
There is one issue that seems to starkly divide the people of Salisbury though. Me talking about the Foxes I regularly encounter in the gardens of my compound. If I discuss them in Salisbury it elicits one of two distinct reactions. The first is the way that a lot of city dwellers reading this react. Commenting on how cute and interesting it all sounds. The second is just the sound of shotguns being loaded.
I do spend an absurd amount of my time worrying about how my interactions with the Foxes impacts on their behaviour. Perhaps beginning the process of Domesticating them. And the Foxes do, so badly, want to be Domesticated.
Many generations of Foxes ago my Father, my Brother and my Paternal Grandmother would gather together on a Sunday evening to eat a traditional roast dinner. Normally chicken. Beyond the window of the room we would eat in there was a wall that was roughly the same height as the window. As we were eating the Mommy Fox would line her Kits up on the wall. As if to say; "Look at my babies. They're so cute, yet so hungry. Are you sure you don't want to invite them in?!"
Foxes are legendary for being crafty and manipulative. Based on my experience their capacity for victimhood is incredible!
The Domestication of animals actually goes much further than simply feeding them and letting them sleep inside. It's actually a complex, multi-generational process using training and selective breeding to produce animals which best suit Human's needs. A lot of animals that aren't allowed to sleep inside and you wouldn't think of as pets, such as Cows, Sheep, Pigs etc, are Domesticated Animals.
The domestication of animals actually gave rise to the pseudoscience of; "Eugenics." Embraced by the likes of Planned Parenthood in the US and the National Socialist (Nazi) Party in Germany Eugenics led to the Nazi Holocaust. With the Israeli Defence Force's (IDF) Southern Command still using a Fox as its emblem discussions about domesticating Foxes can certainly get rather loaded.
My Mothers own a Gundog. I don't mean she is of a breed which have traditionally been used as Gundogs. I mean that if you attend a Pheasant of Grouse shoot in and around Salisbury the chances are you'll be relying on one of her siblings for help.
So strong is this Dog's sense of purpose that it can lead to her being, what those familiar with Dogs will recognise as, a bit of a pain. Basically she just gets bored very easily. She's not interested in sitting around curled up by a warm fire, getting strokes and belly rubs. All she wants to do is the job she's been bred over generations to do. Search the undergrowth for prey to scare up into the air, so her Human can blast it with their shotgun.
My Mothers have quite a nice enclosed garden. Roughly the size of one of the gardens in my compound. Their Dog has a doggy-door, essentially a Dog sized cat-flap, so she can go and play in the garden whenever she likes. However she has no interest in that. Her work is of absolutely no purpose unless she has her Human there to serve.
I'm not allowed to smoke in my Mothers' house. While the Wi-Fi from their house reaches out into the garden. So unless we're in the middle of a Winter storm when I visit I pretty much just set up shop out in the garden. Sitting on the patio furniture with coffee, possibly a beer. My tablet, possibly a book. Sitting and chatting with my Mothers in that rather inane way you do with family members and close friends.
The Dog obviously thinks this is great. With a Human there to serve she is free to search every blade of grass for any prey which might need scaring up to her heart's content. So I'm one of her favourite Humans. When I'm around she gets to live her best life.
The main barrier to her living her best life all the time though is really her personality. With lots of rural common and farmland just thirty minutes walk away her life could be made up of lots of long walks, running around off the lead.
Unfortunately she is quite a lowly Dog. Whenever she finds herself in a pack of Dogs she normally finds herself at the bottom of the pack. Meaning that whenever she encounters another Dog, or any other sort of mammal, she immediately feels the need to prove she doesn't deserve to be at the bottom of the pack this time. So she really needs to be kept on the lead, to stop her from starting trouble.
Her fear that she needs to attack all other Dogs before they attack her worsened in February 2020. When another Dog walker set their Dog to attack her and the Mother of mine that was walking her at the time. Not only did this very nearly result in my Mothers Dog being killed it very nearly resulted in my Mother being killed. Bacterial infection from the bites resulted in her being in a hospital's Intensive Care/Treatment Unit (IC/TU) for about a week with septic blood poisoning, Sepsis.
Although I cannot vouch for it myself. Apparently my Mothers Dog is much calmer when I'm around. It's as if she has the confidence that if we are subjected to another Dog attack then I'll just kill the other Dog. Then, probably, its Human too. Rather than just apologising, as my Mothers did.
I think I'm actually providing something of a bit of a public service here. Reminding any city dwellers who might be tempted to take their Dogs for walks in the countryside. If your Dog is being a nuisance, let alone dangerous, and I or a farmer with a shotgun kill it. Then that's just a form we have to fill out on the police's website afterwards. There won't be an investigation, we won't be arrested, you won't be suing for compensation. It'll just be you having to pay to have your dead Dog removed and cremated.
Also. If you open a gate, close it.
Obviously I don't know if my Mothers Dog is actually less calm when I'm not around. So I certainly don't know why it is. However it could be due to the fact I'm clearly bigger and stronger than my Mothers. They need to keep the Dog on a short leash because if she does get into an argument they need to use both arms to pull her away. Whereas I can lift her off the ground with a one armed yank on a long lead. A lead attached to a chest harness rather than a neck collar, I should point out.
It might be entirely possible that a woman of the same size and strength would have the same effect. However it might be the Dog picking up on the fact that as a man I'm biologically pre-determined to be more prone to aggression and violence. Animals do seem to have a very strong understanding of clearly defined gender roles. They do seem to get rather nervous and upset around things which do not conform to those clearly defined gender roles. Such as Homosexuals.
I once had a friend who had a pet Staffordshire Bull Terrier. Deep within their souls all Bulldogs are terrible bullies. This bitch was no exception. The problem was that my friend was a gay man. While his Dog seemed to be deeply homophobic. So whenever he was flirting with a guy his Dog would become very territorial and aggressive, trying to chase the guy away. The issue wasn't men, it was men flirting with her Human. She was fine with me and other straight men he knew.
Conversely whenever she was walking off the lead and saw any single woman or group of single women she would charge right up to them and be all cute, insisting on strokes and cuddles. Which obviously forced her Human into conversation with those single women. Seemingly the Dog's way of saying; "At least give it a try, you weirdo!"
Needless to say. This guy never had any trouble finding a straight male friend to walk his Dog for him.
Apparently my Mothers' Dog also gets to live her best life when she's visiting my Sister. It seems that even she's realised that Horses are too big mammals for her to fight. So when she's with my Sister she can follow her around her stable yard, serving her Human by making sure there's no prey which needs scaring up.
My Mothers have also served as butlers to a long succession of Cats. When they first moved to Salisbury they had just one Cat.
As a rescue Cat he was sort of a; "Feline: Origin Unknown." However we think his backstory was that as a Kitten someone had brought him in a pub, thinking he'd make a great Christmas present for their children. After discovering, in January, he wasn't he was dumped at a rescue shelter. Eventually he was adopted by another Human and moved to his forever home. Only for that Human to die suddenly and unexpectedly. Leading to him being dumped in another rescue shelter before being adopted by my Mothers.
So we all liked him and he liked us. However it was clear that he'd learned early on that Humans come and go. So there's no point getting too attached to them.
He actually provided the greatest animal story I think I've ever heard. When they were planning to move out of London my Mothers looked at houses all across the country. This included one house they looked at in either Kent or Essex, definitely somewhere right on the South-East coast of England. They liked the house, they liked the people selling the house, they even like their Cat. However they weren't so keen on the area. Essex in particular hardly has a reputation for being Britain's gay capital.
Eventually my Mothers and their Cat moved to Salisbury, which is in the South-West of England, near Wales. Almost the opposite side of the country to Kent/Essex. Soon after moving in they discovered their Cat had a new girlfriend. A Cat he would sneak into the house after they'd gone to bed. Eventually they caught this other Cat and had its microchip scanned. Discovering that it was the Cat from the house they'd looked at!
The mind boggles as to how this Cat made its way across the country to move in with my Mothers' Cat. Let alone how she even knew to try. It's not as though my Mothers knew where they'd be moving too when they met this Cat. They certainly didn't bring their Cat with them when they went to view her house.
After moving in, after getting the Dog, my Mothers decided to become butlers to two Kittens, a brother and sister. Which they dubiously acquired in a coffee shop. From the start the difference in these two Cats personalities was very apparent.
You can get these Cat toys with are basically a little furry prey like thing attached to an elastic string which is attached to a plastic rod. So when the Cat pounces on the prey the elastic springs it away. Causing the Cat to try again to catch its escaping prey.
The girl Cat tied herself up in terrible knots trying to catch the constantly escaping prey. While the boy Cat hid under the sofa. Whenever the prey was nearby this paw would shoot out from under the sofa. Slamming the prey into the ground and dragging it, immobilised, under the sofa. Even then it was clear; He's going to be fun!
To this day the girl Cat is sweet and a bit ditzy. She'll sort of wander up to you and go; "Oh, hi. I'm a Cat, I'm really beautiful. You're really beautiful too. Do you want to be friends?" She's even like this with Mice and Birds. Mice and Birds who are like; "F*ck off! This isn't how this is supposed to work!"
While the boy Cat has always been the master predator. Quietly waiting for the older boy Cat to die. So he can take on the mantle of; "Boss Cat/Mao Laoban (貓老大)." With the older boy Cat dying of old age a few years ago the territory has its new 貓老大.
The girl Cat is utterly obsessed with the guest bedroom. A near mythical dimension, the door to which only opens when there are guests. At which point she rushes in and takes up residence on the bed. We've decided that her obsession is with the room, not the guests themselves. However if any Humans do appear in the room she'll be like; "Oh, hi. Do you want to be friends?" Meaning that if any guests do want to get anything from their luggage in the guest bedroom they do need to schedule around 10 minutes for Cat stroking.
While the boy Cat is very distrustful of guests. Choosing to study them from afar, in case they start causing any trouble in his territory.
So normally when I visit I get the company of the girl Cat in bed at night for strokes. However when I visited back in May last year I found myself awoken by the boy Cat sitting on my chest, licking the inside of my nostril with his rough Cat tongue. This seemed to be the feline equivalent of dragging me from my bed, shining a bright light in my face and demanding to know; "What are your intentions towards my sister?!"
After a few strokes and a bit of a chat he seemed satisfied that my intentions were good. So I was allowed to stay. With him joining his sister curled up on the bed.
The Dog is not allowed upstairs in my Mothers house. While the Cats are allowed downstairs, yet choose not to go there. When I visited a couple of weeks ago the boy Cat, unusually, presented himself at the foot of the stairs. Keen to discuss with me the various goings on in our respective kingdoms.
That night I got his company in bed, for stokes and an in depth discussion. Before he went off to patrol his outside territory, giving his sister a turn. The following night we had Storm Eowyn with winds that actually managed to wake me up. I was then woken up again by a very wet 貓老大. Keen to show me how hard he'd been working to keep us and his territory safe.
Thus proving that if you take the time to learn to address 貓老大 by their proper title. You'll have their respect for life.
My Mothers also own a Horse. Which is actually a pretty puny number of Horses. My Sister owns two.
Many years ago I brought a rather impressive ankle length lace-up front boots. These are made by Caterpillar who are rather controversial for making the D9 armoured bulldozers for the IDF. Who use them to destroyed illegal settlements, of both kinds, in the Occupied West Bank. They're almost the exact same tone of Tan as the boots of the IDF's Golani Brigade. Something of a status symbol amongst the elite brigade
In my mind this only made the boots more impressive. Managing to be so inappropriate it's swung all the way around again into being funny. Plus they were really, really good boots. At a really, really good price. Something like 5% of retail.
These boots are so impressive that even people who don't know about the IDF link get intimidated by their and my beauty whenever I wear them. Meaning I almost always, immediately, get the sarcastic comment; "Nice boots. Do you wear them when you're riding your Horse(?!)" Leading me to dub them my Cowboy Boots. Even though they're absolutely nothing like Cowboy Boots.
When my Mothers got their Horse they insisted I must ride her. So I decided to wear these boots while riding their Horse. Not just to give me a witty comeback to the inevitable comment.
When I was visiting back in May 2024 the sole of one of these boots, finally, cracked. While walking the Dog rather than riding the Horse. I think when I brought them one of my cousins was an unmarried young man, presumably still a virgin. He and his wife and currently quite happy that their eldest daughter is graduating High School. So I think even the best boots have earned the right to be a bit tired by now.
At the time I said that I would get them repaired. Failing that I would by some actual fast fashion Cowboy Boots, in order to really embrace the joke. As is, almost the, law.
I ended up being really busy during the Summer of 2024. So didn't really have the time to visit my Mothers. Let alone get my boots fixed so I could then try and find more time to go and visit my Mothers.
The decision to go and visit my Mothers at the start of this year prompted me to finally try and get these boots fixed. The quality of the boots is actually making that quite a difficult task. The succession of shoe repairers I've spoken to have all said they're too high quality for them to want to touch. Meaning I'm probably going to have to find a dedicated cobbler. No easy task in this fast fashion era.
In making this discovery amid the Winter, January sales I discovered I could get actual Equestrian Paddock Boots for less money that fast fashion Cowboy Boots. So that's what I did. Technically they are actually safety equipment.
If you ride a Horse you will often sit in this thing called a; "Saddle." You will put your feet in these things attached to the saddle called; "Stirrups."
If the Horse decides that it's time for you to leave and you don't have a decent heel on your footwear your foot can slip through the stirrup and get caught. A best you're going to end up with a nasty sprained ankle. Realistically you're going to end up with a broken ankle. You can even end up being dragged for miles with your head banging against the rough ground.
At which point things start getting a bit Christopher Reeve. All jokes suddenly become a lot less funny.
I don't know if you've spent much time loitering around outside the entrances to British construction sites. However you will often see a sign reading; "No Hat. No Boots. No Work." You get pretty much the same sign outside Horse yards. I do often find myself standing there in appropriate boots with a Hi-Vis vest and Site gloves balled up in my riding hat thinking; "This all seems familiar."
It's not actually the law that you need proper boots and a proper hat when riding Horses in Britain. However if you don't have that sort of gear the people who do have a good idea of what they're doing will immediately lose all confidence in you.
Paddock Boots, sometimes known as Jodhpur Boots, are something which were designed to serve a practical purpose only for them to cross over into fashion. Even if you don't know the name you're familiar with the style. They're ankle length leather boots with elastic on the sides of the ankle to make them easier to take on and off.
However the ones I brought are designed specifically for riding Horses. So from a fashion perspective the heel is a little too high, the arch is a little too steep and the ball is a little too narrow. However from a Horse riding perspective these are the best features. As are the zips on the front. Not great for fashion but excellent in terms of not falling on your arse in a muddy field while trying to get them on and off.
I can get knee length leather chaps to wear with them. Should I ever want to look like I'm about to invade Poland. Or just stop the tack rubbing off on my jeans, as the seam of my jeans rubs into my calves.
In preparing to visit my Mothers I thought I was going to be really clever. Ordering these boots online and having them to delivered to my Mothers' address ahead of me. However, for the life of me, I couldn't get the website to work. After talking my Mothers down from buying me a Horse we agreed they'll buy them online and have them delivered to my address, ahead of my return.
That all worked as planned. I'm actually wearing them now, to break them in. All we need to do now is figure out a way to get the boots and the Horse in the same place, at the same time.
Once that happens they'll stay with my Mothers and become sort of collective property alongside the riding hat. Available to anyone who needs them who can fit into them. My Brother will learn to ride, whether he likes it or not. Although I seem to remember him losing that argument already, when he was much younger.
Hopefully they'll meet a better fate than the walking boots. Prior to getting their Horse the big activity when visiting my Mothers was taking the Dog for long walks in the country. While doing this is trainers and poorly fitting Wellington boots I was constantly debating whether it was worth getting dedicated walking boots or whether they'd be so rarely used it would be a waste.
Once while visiting I found an okay pair of walking boots at an okay price. So I brought them to leave them with my Mothers as collective property. That was right at the end of 2019. I didn't visit my Mothers at all in 2020. By which time they'd brought a Horse. The new big activity that the walking boots are completely inappropriate for. So I think they've been worn about four times in total.
Due to the lack of boots and Storm Eowyn I didn't ride my Mothers Horse this time. However I did go up to the stable yard to help turn her out. Make her bed, give her breakfast and put her out in the paddock with the fellow members of her pack.
I'm not exaggerating this to make the Olympics look bad. Growing up I did spend a serious amount of time around Horses. It wasn't just my Father and Mother. My Maternal Grandmother also rode. Until she was forced to give it up after breaking her leg on a riding holiday across Italy. While well into her seventies.
For my siblings and I this was our extra-curricular activity. When some kids would spend their Saturdays at football practice, Cello lessons or ballet classes we would go to the nearest stable yard to ride whatever they thought would be funniest at the time.
In Britain schools get two weeks of holiday in the Spring, around Easter. We would spend this time, essentially, living on a stable yard in Wales, close to my cousin's farms. Although we weren't officially on the staff, even then that would be very illegal, my siblings and I were each assigned our Horse to look after for those two weeks. Everything had to be organised around turning them out in the morning and bringing them in at night. Along with exercising them. Which meant riding them, for free.
So I have done all the advanced Horse stuff you can do at that age. Things like the Show-Jumping you see at the Olympics. Only with smaller jumps, smaller Horses and smaller people.
However that was all a very long time ago now.
So, despite insisting on it, my Mother is always a bit nervous about me riding her Horse. As she finds she can be quite nervous. Prone to bolting, running off, and spooking, essentially turning in on herself suddenly, in a way that makes it really hard for the rider to stay on.
I though find her to be one of the most calm and level headed Horses I've ever met. Whoever trained her initially did a very good job. She has a clear work mode. I like her and she likes me, despite her knowing that I can't really remember what I'm doing. So when I'm involved her work mode is all about being nice and gentle with the idiot.
I've noticed that when I'm the one taking the warm blanket off her to put the cold blanket on her. All while she's trying to have her breakfast and rush out to be with her pack. Then she is not in work mode. A different side of her personality comes out. So I did have to give her a bit of a shove. To stop her crushing me against the side of her stall.
In the absence of riding we did have an indoor activity planned for the storm. My Mothers have finally joined me in getting cheap Mp3 players. Rather than streaming music on their phones.
Streaming music on your phone uses a lot of data. It also uses up a lot of battery. Whereas the battery on my cheap Mp3 player lasts for 23 hours of continuous play. Which really translate to about a week. If it dies then the battery on my phone, which lasts for about a month, still works and vice versa.
The only problem is that you have to manually load CD's onto the computer and then onto the Mp3. Which can be a laborious process, particularly if the CD isn't identifiable by the computer so you have to enter all the song information by hand. Although that's actually something I quite enjoy doing. It gives you a mindless task to do with your hands while you're sitting there listening to other music.
So a lot of my visit was spent teaching my Mothers how to do this. Now they're not that old. They've used PC's with Microsoft Windows operating systems throughout their working lives. However since retiring they've fully embraced the Apple cult, iPhones and iPads etc. To the point they seem to have forgotten how to use PC's.
I hope they're not too embarrassed by me telling you I frequently had to use the phrase; "There's no point tapping the monitor with your finger. You need to use the mouse."
19:07 on 6/2/25 (UK date).
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