Monday, 3 June 2013

the mystery of the tatty turkey

This is going to be a very quick blog post, as I want to finish in time to be able to sit out on the veranda, before it is too cold.  The Systems Administrator, who was sitting out in the front garden with the chickens, says that it already is quite cold, but the veranda is on the sheltered side of the house, and I have been thinking about sitting on it since around four o'clock.  It is nice to have finished my thirty hour week in three days.  One of the benefits of having a job, even a part time one, is that you appreciate it when you stop.

I discovered why the turkey is looking so shabby, and it is not that he is suffering from some sort of turkey mange, but that someone let their dogs off the lead near the house, and they spent half an hour chasing him.  Apparently he was so traumatised by the attack that he could not gobble at all for three days.  That should really not be allowed to happen.  Apart from the fact that it is unpleasant and unfair to the pets and domestic animals that get chased, if the dogs worry livestock in an agricultural setting then sooner or later they are going to come up against a farmer who considers himself fully within his rights in shooting them.

Once I knew what had happened to the turkey I felt sorry for it, and tried to give it some sunflower seeds from a supply sculling around the back of the shop, out of a bag which had burst.  The turkey clearly was not used to being given titbits, and didn't respond to the sight of my hand casting grain down like our chickens would.  I wouldn't choose a turkey as a pet myself.  They are ungainly birds, and their droppings are monumental, but this one did look pathetic.  He sat for a long time wedged between two tables, peering through a window into the shop as if he thought it might be safer in there.  Yesterday he got into the shop, and crapped on the floor, a nasty puddle of liquid yellow that suggested that all was not well with him.  I got the job of clearing the pool up.  Today's turds were more solid and looked healthier, but I think his nerves are still bad, as he became very anxious when the gardener drove the tractor round with fresh supplies of compost in the trailer, and stood bolt upright on the spot, making tiny pathetic cheeping noises.

Sales do seem to be slowing.  June and July are never as good as the spring period, and while Saturday still traded as if it were spring, summer seemed to start on Sunday.  The manager will rein back on plant orders accordingly, which will be frustrating for customers who want particular things that we don't have in stock, and will have to wait longer until we are ready to place an order with the relevant supplier.

I helped out sales a bit, buying a useful collection of plants, all to fill identified empty spaces, except for one Primula which I shall split.  And an impulse purchase of a pineapple sage.  They do rather undermine my aim of planting out all of my stash, since I bought about the same number as I planted out last week, so am back to square one.  Never mind, I do want to fill the gaps, and a full garden takes less weeding, in the long run.

I went home via the home of another signatory on the beekeepers' bank account, to get a cheque countersigned.  I'd been really organised, and left myself a note on the driver's seat of my car so that I wouldn't forget, but when I got to her house I discovered that I'd taken the wrong invoice, and she wasn't at home.  I searched hopefully around her garden, and wrote her a note attached to the box of eggs I'd taken for her, when she reappeared, having gone to put a super on her bees because she thought I'd forgotten.  I think she may have not noticed that I'd said I'd call round after six, rather than after five, since it's only for these three months that I finish work so late.

And now the veranda beckons.  Have a nice evening yourself.

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