It had to happen sooner or later, the spectre of rehoming. I've advertised far and wide and no bugger within a 40 mile radius appears to be on the market for a kitten right now. I've just spent some time on the phone chatting to Cats Protection about our situation, the fact that we can't keep them all and of the ones we do want to keep (3, it's just a question of negotiating which 3 - the silver tabby girl and the two runts or the silver tabby girl, the tortie and the black one who's a Binky Mini-Me that are like the three musketeers and always together) is there any help available for the necessary neutering costs. I was a bit loath to go down this road but thinking about it they as an organisation are far better placed to vet and follow up with new owners than we would be as private individuals so would be better placed to ensure that homes found are good ones. Further, they will give us vouchers to get ours done when the time comes and also to take care of Ted and his magnificent if largely vestigial orbs. There is also the possibility of getting Poppy done - that's a tricky one as she's not our cat but the owners don't seem to care about her having litter after litter and unfortunately we are the ones who get to take care of the consequences.
Meanwhile Sid is pressing for them to move to one of the stables not least because he found Dora stressed this morning surrounded for four mittens and Binky standing guard ready to belt the living daylights out of her if she thought of doing anything untoward. The last thing we want is for Dora to snap and attack one of them. Meanwhile Binky has just learnt to use the catflap and the mittens are big enough to be able to get over a stable door so I wouldn't be able to keep them in at night. Arrrgggghhhhh.
On the plus side they are venturing out in the garden regularly and all so far is well.
In other news I am busy making arrangements for the girlz to come home and the arena is much better now with the benefit of a bit of rain. Q and I had our inaugural ride in there while Sid and his mate Rob were putting up an extra line to ensure the electric fencing is on when the relevant gates are open to allow the boys free access to the summer grazing, which involved ladders, rustling and banging. All of this meant that Q had ample opportunity to display a range of impressive spooking techniques and I got to determine just how sticky my seat is when put through a range of impressive spooking techniques. At that stage the arena was riding a bit deep so I didn't do any canter work, so looking forward to cracking on now it's riding better.
Meanwhile T acted as though he'd been worked in there every day for six weeks, bless his glorious heart. He also gets top marks for the mush factor after following me around last weekend whilst I was poo picking and then burying his head in the crook of my neck for a cuddle. I could have died of happiness right there and then.
On the matter of poo picking it's becoming a bit much now having to hump some six-eight barrows per week up the field, a situation which is only going to get worse when we have double the number of horses here. As such we really have no option but to seriously consider the purchase of an ATV. Only thing is, can I be sure that Sid won't do himself some serious mischief on it? Hmmm. If there's anybody out there who can recommend an industrial poo picking solution that is preferably not predisposed to abuse by French people with a tendency towards excess, I'm all ears.
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