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Last weekend was particularly busy for us, Saturday was Alice's gymnastics concert, and although she didn't win anything, gee, she was wonderful with the others when doing her routine. After that, Betty, my Mother-in Law, Alice and I went to the Co-op (a local rural store) and entered Icarus into the pet competition. We actually were there to buy him some egg and biscuit mix, but he won a couple of sections, including most unusual pet, gave one of the judges a pigeon kiss on the cheek and then tried to peck her eye. He was getting hungry!

Then to look at some properties, and finally home.

Sunday morning had the last Sunday School for the year, and we had a Birthday Party for Jesus. Then there was Church, a very quick lunch with Betty, back to the Co-op where Mowgli strutted his stuff (behaving like a perfect gentleman all through it, friendly but not enthusiastic) in another Pet Parade, winning a few consolation prizes including two new leashes and some tins of dog food and a CD on teaching one's puppy how to behave by Dr Harry.

Alice, I and the Mooch Pooch went down to the Breakwater and had a stroll around. After that, shopping for the Church supper, followed by fun at Church with our own version of "Who Wants to be a Millionaire?" with 1000 shekels up for grabs, supposedly, in a general knowledge competition about the Old Testament.

Home to the usual chores on a Sunday night - going down to the laundromat, sorting the clothes... and the poem was written on Sunday morning, in case you are wondering.

Brian finally released the crow he caught, which was no doubt a great relief to the crow, even though he had been living high off the hog, so to speak, getting fed and watered every day!

The pigs were picked up by a friend of ours who lives past Koroit on his deceased parents' property. Poor man has asthma and is undergoing chemotherapy. He is going to let Porgy and Bess free range within a large paddock, so that should keep them happy.

The chooks have also gone, and, an answer to prayer, the roosters are going to Flagstaff Hill Maritime Museum for the kids to gawk at! They won't be killed! has some information on Flagstaff Hill. The last lot was munched by foxes recently, and so they need time to fix up the area and make it fox-proof. There is an active baiting and trapping programme in the area, because foxes have been marauding on the Island and have killed at least five hundred penguins and around that of mutton birds. For more information on this problem, CLICK HERE! Foxes are not native to Australia, but were brought in by a Victorian farmer over a century ago. I'd love to have some words with him, and so would one of his descendents. He did it for the time-honoured English sport of fox-hunting. Obviously a man with too much time on his hands.

The German shepherds, according to their new owner, Anthony, are doing very well indeed, have not killed the rabbit, and have a great mutual love for his children. The neighbours are not so happy, with one having a child who has decided that teasing the dogs is okay, and another complaining that they are barking all night.

So all we have left, really, are some geese, and we are trying to farm those out as well. Now we only have to find a house, move and settle properly. Phew!

I have just seen the most extraordinary photograph in Earth Garden magazine for September-November 2004. It's taken by Bruce Hedge of Newham, Victoria ([email protected] ) and shows a "boiler converted into a massive wood heater at a mudbrick home in central Victoria. The heater only needs filling about once every three days."

Scary!

Last night I hung my trousers
in the kitchen just to dry
I'd washed them very carefully
from the hems to the fly

For it was very wet outside
and I knew I had no choice
of my trousers being dry by Monday
if pegged out on the hoist

So with wood fuel oven stoked so high
it wouldn't take too long
and I fancied that I could see the steam
I knew I wasn't wrong

But alas! the plans of mice and men
will often gae astray
a hint of movement caught my eye
as I looked away

Sure enough! a creature foreign
had invaded my small kitchen
I looked in horror as it made
a beeline for my hitchin's.

It did not stop, nor hesitate
but with furry alacrity
a spider big as a slice of bread
descended merrily

"What ho!" it must have thought in glee
as it headed for my pants
"A place so dark and yet so dry,
this is my best chance."

But I was in a quandary
I knew not what to do
as timidly I approached my garb
I couldn't just say "Shoo!"

With tremor in each of my limbs
I peered into the depths
I didn't want that eight-leg jumping me -
oh horrid pest!

I couldn't see a movement,
I couldn't see a thing!
For when my trousers were hung up there
they'd closed up like a sling

Gingerly I touched and then
withdrew my outstretched digits
my leg attire just stayed in place
but I jumped back fully rigid.

No sign of this tarantula
(so big it seemed to me!)
I crept towards my trousers and
shook them carefully

No feeler, no leg as yet -
the horrid, wretched thing!
If I just see it once, those pants
will dance the Highland Fling!

I shook them all the harder -
no - nothing yet
and opening them to the light
was not the safest bet

But still I took my courage
well within my hands
and opened wide my trousers
to look in foreign lands

I am no pants voyeur
I can tell you that right now
straight-line or with pockets
thin or baggy -
I'm no high-brow.

All I wanted was my trousers
safe for me to wear
I didn't need to be woken up
by a silly spider scare.

No, there was no spider
I don't know where it fled last night
But Monday morn I'll look again
and use some proper light!