Transylvanian horseman

Cat in the feedstore

Yesterday afternoon, after locking up around the premises, our eyes were drawn to the feed store window. Marmalade the ginger and white cat must have slipped in and hidden. Several of the cats are in the habit of doing this. After a while, they appear in the window, patiently waiting to be rescued.

The feed store has a metal floor and plastered walls, so it is relatively rodent free. Occasionally a mouse might fall in through the ceiling, however it is a while since I've seen any sign of rodent activity. But maybe the smell lingers in a way that attracts cats?

I liberated Marmalade by removing the window, which is secured by two hooks. It is designed to be taken out easily for ventilation. We try to buy properly dried maize, however the store can benefit from ventilation in warm summer weather.

This place really is the perfect feline playground, with barns and stables for the cats to explore, play and sleep. They appear in all sorts of locations: up in the rafters, in the hay, in the mangers or beneath them, or on the balcony outside our front door. In the winter, they burrow into the hay to sleep. In summer, they climb onto the lower roofs to sun themselves. In the rain, they sit under cover staring out. It is a good place for cats.

Bad for my work ethic

I returned to my office this evening to find my place taken. How can I work with a clear concience when I have to turf these two off my chair?

Truth is, weak-willed as I can be when confronted by such loveable felines as Zgomotilla and Lucky, I am now working perched on the front of the chair. The two cats are sprawled out behind me, taking advantage of my warmth to luxuriate as only cats can.

Feline filing

The cats greeted me this morning arrayed in ascending order on the back stairway. This is the warmest place on a sunny morning, and a great place to bask after the sun has risen above the eastern ridge.

It has been a surprisingly busy day, the sort where time just flies by, and night falls leaving me wondering where the hours have gone. I've made a ferry trip in the car, received and weighed four carts of hay, checked on the horses, broken the ice on the stream, done some admin, and kept the fire burning. I even slipped in a quick ride on Doru. With spiked ice shoes, he can canter safely on a road surface where I slip and slide in rubber boots. It's safer than it sounds. Just don't let a horse with tungsten spiked winter shoes step on your foot.

This evening I shall spend some time with Danielle, so it will be a short post. As I write, Danielle is watching an episode of Amish in the City, a bizarre series where a group of young Amish in their Rumspringer year give a good account of themselves living with a group of loud spoilt young people from LA. I think that I shall stay here. Unlike the Amish, I like a bit of technology. Like the Amish, I'll steer clear of the big city. 

Not for the fainthearted

Life can be rough here if one is a pig! Here Cornel (my Chief Horseman) and his father singe the bristles off a freshly slaughtered pig using a homemade flamethrower. (I cannot readily think of a better name for this impressive device, which burns wood and is powered by an electric fan.) The singed bristles are easily scraped off with a knife, leaving a smooth pig carcase.

A little later, everyone was gathered around the pig eating the skin, which pulls off readily like latex. It is considered quite a delicacy, and a variety of relatives appeared at the right moment to claim their share.

I have been thinking about my post from a couple of days ago, regarding departure of a guide. It wasn't a matter of laziness so much as a lack of the toughness to survive in what visitors still describe as pioneer territory. Most problems stemmed from her lacking the assertiveness to hold her own in the rough and ready peasant society of a mountain village. I think that most of my regular female readers will understand my point: tough gun-carrying truck drivers, outback cowgirls, horse trainers or outdoor youngsters with cast-iron livers that many of you are. (Though I am sure that comments will appear.) This kind of place, and this kind of job, just aren't right for what some people call "girly-girls". This is a place where a certain degree of toughness is called for. It's a place where one can enjoy the raw reality of life, make friends, eat healthy food, experience living history. But it's not for the fainthearted.

This isn't a place where anyone can live. If it were, it would be boring, sanitised, and pork would come from the supermarket. And it wouldn't taste as good as home killed pork either.

Feline fascination

Many and varied are the distractions that come between me and my work. This little fellow, our new kitten Lucky (our 13th cat, in case you wonder), is one of the cuter, more welcome distractions. He loves to jump onto my desk and bask under the lamp.

Unlike our eccentric, sedentary older cat, Tiger, this lively youngster cannot sit still for a moment. The keyboard fascinates him, of course. So do new letters appearing on the keyboard when I type. He hasn't yet connecting his incursions onto the keyboard with new symbols appearing on the screen. Perhaps that is a bit much to expect of a cat?

Danielle and I do have a great big soft spot for our cats. Frequently there is a swarm of them outside the front door angling for attention: stripey cats, a black & white cat, a ginger cat, a caramel & white cat, and one that defies accurate description. We love them all.

Our guard animals

Here is a typical sight that greets visitors at our front door. A very typical sight.

These animals do not even move when someone uses the door. No, they expect to be stepped over. Carefully.

They will, of course, happily accept petting. This is their role in life. Not repelling intruders or catching mice. Of course not.

The dog does move, occasionally, when he sees a visitor wearing clean trousers. He knows that these need muddy pawmarks.

Luciana

Luciana has been here only since last autumn, which explains why I don't know her covering date. She has looked as if she is due to foal for the last week or so. Coming up the alley from the stream, she has rather a comical air, like a cartoon horse with a big, round body, pointy ears, and stick legs.

However, rather than foaling, she simply gets larger. This isn't a problem, since Huzul horses (and near crosses such as Luciana) generally foal without any difficulty. They are sufficiently close to their wild horse forebears rarely to need human intervention at birth.