Noisy Night

 Weather plays tricks.

Mother Nature on the war path.

Winter moving in before time.

Sound closed in.

Every little noise becomes gigantic.

Rain brings out the devil from the usually sane people.

All the noise kept interrupting my sleep. Curled up beneath the blanket to warm the chilled body I closed my eyes listening to the rain pelting down on the roof. The wind rattling the windows. I thought of my recently potted plants. Would they stand the gale. Had the roots begun to settle into the new soil. Prayed each of them stayed the distance of the force of the wind. Or were they being ripped from the pot to lay deserted on the ground. These were the last thoughts before sleep claimed me, again.

With the rain came the devils.

Devils who believed they were invincible. Strong. Beyond danger finding them. Only their enjoyment of the excitement of the chase brought to them. Car engines roared. Gears changed. Tyres skidded around the corners. Were they being chased. Playing chicken with the traffic lights. Did friends egg the driver into dangerous action. Had they been drinking. By the time the car reached my street the occupants were yelling encouragement out open windows. When the noise petered out sleep claimed me once again.

Later, I was woken by the truck brakes. The lights had turned red to stop their progress. Engines revved when the lights changed. Mange gear changes while the truck gathered speed to the next set of lights. Somewhere in the distance chimed in another sound before I drifted to another cat-nap.

The whistle of the train came next. The roaring sound when the train charged along the tracks going south. Or was it coming down the street. On closed in nights, whether by low clouded overcast skies, or fog in winter, you have this feeling of them coming down the street. So real. So disturbing when woken from a deep sleep. The heart pumps fast. Has the train come off of the rails. Taken a wrong turn. Not likely. But the fear is there for a short time. Until sleep come, again.

Morning come but the sun doesn't.

Rain is threatening.

Clouds block out the sun. The heat.

You curse the birds squabbling. Or singing. Why should they be so happy. This is still the middle of the night.

A lawn mower starts.

The grandmother clock chimes the hour.

You count.

Groan.

Another miserable day has arrived.

Eyes sleepy from all the noise during the night.

I crawl from my warm cocoon to face the chill. With foggy brain I try to plan what I can do.

Washing. Another dryer day.

Gardening. Well, the weeds will still be waiting for me another day.

Television. Nothing interesting.

Craft work. I shake my head. The fog doesn't clear.

Oh, well. I smile. Another day at the computer. I have a good excuse to be sitting around.

I ignore the phone. Don't want to have the story flow broken.

A Part of The Past.

 I really didn't want to get out of the car.

I'd been here previously.

I didn't like being here.

Cold shivers ran through me. I felt eyes watch me from the branches of the trees. Eyes burned into my back.

Big trees grew on three sides of the house. Limbs hung over the roof. I was chilled to the bones. I didn't want to go inside. I'd prefer to sleep in the car. The car had windows.

The house was built of corrugated iron on the outer walls. No lining. Windows were wood, not glass. The windows were pushed out to be propped open with a stick. Fresh air. Flies. Frogs. Snakes. All of them able to enter the house, at will. Through the open windows. Or crawl up the corrugates of the iron.

I hated going to bed. If I didn't have an animal in my bed when I went to sleep, I prayed for the bed to be empty at dawn. Except for myself.

The toilet was a nightmare. A well like round hole was dug. A wooden construction surrounded by corrugated iron was placed over the very deep hole. When desperate, I made my mother hold me. I had visions of falling down never to be pulled out, alive. Sometimes, I squatted behind a car, drum, or any other object, beg enough to hide a small child. At night, I held on so I wouldn't have to venture out in the dark.

Electric lights weren't an option. Either a lantern. Or a pressure lamp were the go. Heating came from the combustion stove.

The shower.

Very inventive.

Dangerous.

Corrugated iron was built around the posts of the tank stand. The floor was made of cement. A shower system was hooked up to the rain water tank. Well water filled the tank when rain refused to fall. A container was used to pour in petrol. I think. It must have been. The noise it made when a match was dropped in. A loud roar echoed up the spout. The heat from the fire heated the water.

I preferred the one at home. It wasn't as dangerous. A wooden pallet for the floor. Corrugated iron for the walls. No roof. A shower bucket hung from a cross beam. The buck was filled with warm water. A rope was pulled for the spray to wet the person. Very chilly in winter. Had to watch for frogs. Toads. Snakes. Spiders.

With out toilet at home the only worry was the vermin. Spiders were a big problem. Especially, the red backs. Had to make sure there weren't any on the seat. There we had a pan. Not a hole in the ground. A hole had to be dug to empty the smelly, worm infested mess. You had to quickly shovel in the dirt. Wash out the pan before replacing it. This was not one of my mothers favorite jobs. She kept wanting to hurl out the contents of her stomach.

Nightly Visitors

This house sunk into the ground during the January floods, 2013. Not part of the story. Didn't have an available photo of a ghost.

 The bed shook.

Adrenalin rushed throughout my body.

My pounding heart echoed in my ears.

Muscles ceased. From head to toe I couldn't move a muscle.

My eyelids refused to open.

Some weight. Or was it a ting. A ghost. What manifestation had entered my bedroom.

Groggy from being woken from a deep sleep.

I waited.

I listened.

Feeling every change.

Movement.

I waited for the ax to fall.

A shot to explode breaking the silence.

A knife to be held to my throat.

I hadn't heard a window break.

No door bashed in to gain entry.

Nor any noise coming up the steps.

How was entry gained?

With vocal cords frozen I couldn't scream.

Nor any footsteps coming up the steps.

How was entry gained?

Whatever fell across my legs, pinning me to the bed, moved. Slid over to the other side of the bed to fall to the floor. Claws dug into the quilt. I don't own a cat. The animal clawed its way up on to the bed. Walked across me to reach the other side. Made itself comfortable on the unoccupied bed space.

Lights flashed. Were they in the room? Or did truck lights flash through the window. A light show behind closed eyelids. Within seconds the light disappeared. I felt a pin prick to the side of my neck.

My muscles relaxed. I could move my legs.

I became angry. Who would want to terrorize me?

I came out of the horror at the sound of my voice.

“If you've hurt me. I'll kill you.”

Opening my eyes. I searched the gloom for the intruder. I was the only human in the room.

Taking a deep breath. Sighing. I went to sleep. I had a feeling of comfort. Well being. I was being guarded while I slept.

Remembering the adrenalin rush in the morning.

The fright.

Sound of my angry voice.

Words I'd never use when awake.

The movement.

When the sun rose so did I.

I searched through every room of the house to look for evidence a human had entered, somehow. Nothing was broken.

Was it a manifestation?

A healing.

Seeing into the future.

A nightmare.

Or someone protecting me from an avenger from the dark side.

                     

Forever Moving

 What is new in town? Is it new business. A road. A building. Moving to another location. I moved to many places throughout my life time. There wasn't much in the way of buildings, or people. Where ever Queensland Rail needed workers, my father had to move us in a hurry. We had to travel lite.

Growing up, I lived in tents, and caravans. Every few weeks, or months, depending on the size of the job, we moved to another area, where most of the people were railway employees. Some men camped in rail wagons set up for living. A train shunted into the siding, or loop line, to take them to the next destination.

With each change of location, I had to make different friends at new schools. I was graded by some of the students to find out if I was allowed to be a friend. Or to be discarded like a skunk. Moving was a great education on how to, or not, meet strangers.

Thinking back over the years, I've likened my life of moving to an animal, like a cat, dog, or a tiger. When strangers move into their territory, the locals sniff around to either accept you, or black list you. A recognizable member was sent to survey out the situation for the leader. The leader received a report. Your life was safe if you passed muster. Not accepted. You find much trouble is headed in your direction whether you are guilty, or not. You learn who you can trust, or can't.

I learnt to go with the flow like lava spilling from a volcano. I'd have a friend. Then I wouldn't. The days, my supposed friend had been dragged back to the fold, I acted like I didn't care. I learned to keep my mouth shut, and my opinions to myself, so not to have any rumors spread, or exaggerated. I have a built in radar on who to trust, or not.

What happened in the past I handled, or never brought to the light of day. Now, there is a name for every wrong. Everyone is more vocal. I found by handling change my way the bully didn't get a high for his/her trouble.

New places. New People. Life moves to a different beat. I fit into changes. A different way of life with strangers means I don't have to be perfect. I become adaptable to each situation. I watch for the bends. Be careful of the cliffs which cross my path. Maybe those changes were a way for me to experience different types of living to add fantasy to most areas of my writing.

For the past few years, my travelling has been curtailed to one area. I do have a few excursions. I am taking time to re-evaluate where, or what, I'd like to do, next.

Ark Needed

 The wind howled. Battered against all standing it the path of destruction. Trees swayed. Bent to the force of wind, and rain. Rain showed no mercy for those beneath, or the fast rising of the water. Waterlogged earth gave way. There was no power on earth to decrease the damage wrought by Mother Nature.

I prayed. “Please, Gods. Angels. Who ever is listening out there in the universe. Stop this savage attack before the world is no more. To my Guardian Angels, if you can hear me. Please protect me, and my home from disaster. Can you also protest Noelene's house. She won't be happy to return to find rubble where her home once stood.”

Not able to sleep from the noise, I climbed from my bed. Switched on the lamp. I walked the floor to peep out of rattling windows. I removed large pictures from the wall atop my bed. Didn't want to die by falling framed pictures. Had another look to check the water level, and damage. Finding a book, I read, to try to block out the continuous roaring. A least, I was ready to dash for cover if the roof disappeared.

Day became night. Hard to tell the time. Did I build an ark? The days of rain mounted. The last time an ark was needed the world changed. Not having a plan on how to build one. Not a shop open to supply the materials. What was I to do? The neighbors wouldn't have been happy with me if I did decided to construct the ark on the street. More thing would have bumped in the night with cars running slap bang into the construction.

“How are you, Mum?” Worried family called. “We've been watching the floods on television. Do you have a problem with the flooding?”

“Other than a lack of sleep I'm fine.”

“But there a lots of people moving from their homes. Are you sure you are safe?”

“Sure. As long as the roof stays I'll be fine. I had to cover my head with pillows to try to block the roaring of the wind. It's like trying to sleep in a war zone with low flying aircraft. My house won't go under. Watch the post office. If the roof goes under you won't have to worry. No one will be left in the town.”

A family of staving, drowned Magpies adopted me during the storm. There wasn't food to find. Feeling sorry for them, I fed them scraps to tide them over until the sun appeared. I have been trying to retrain them not to depend on me. I am serenaded when they want to be fed. If ignored they will finally go away. But one baby has started to destruct a couple of my pot plants. I moved the plant. I ignore even if they drown out the television.

The Last Laugh

Mother platypus had been busy all day digging her burrow deeper.

She placed sticks and stones to stop the water washing away her hole.

“What are you doing,” Turtle asked.

“Protecting my home. The water becomes less each day,” replied Mother Platypus.

“We need more rain,” suggested Turtle. “The heat is drying up the water. The leaves on the trees have turned brown. Dust where the grass should be. No clouds appear. My home has turned to muddy water. Why won't it rain?”

“Did you see the dust cloud. A funny dust cloud, it was. No wind blew at the time,”

said Mother Platypus. “Can't imagine what can cause so much dust.”

“We won't have to worry when the rain comes,” replied Turtle. “If the rain doesn't come soon I'll have to move to a new home.”

“I don't see why we should have to leave our homes,” grumbled Mother Platypus. “We've lived here all our lives.”

The hot rays of the sun scorched the dry land to dust.

Creek, and waterholes, became cracked, hard ground around the edges.

Less water each day for the animals to drink.

Lobbies burrowed deeper under the rocks to stay alive until the next rain fell to fill the creeks.

Fish gasped for oxygen in the water.

Some animals had moved away to find new home with water, and food.

The days passed.

No rain came.

Mother Platypus became more worried.

She decided she needed to act to save her home.

“Mister Kookaburra. Will you please come down out of the tree,” called Mother Platypus, from where she sat on a log.

Mister Kookaburra glided down to perch on a lower branch of a tree.

“What can I do for you, Mother Platypus?”

“We need to find out what has caused the water not to flow. There has to be a reason the water stopped so quick. We need to search the area.”

Mister Kookaburra flew up to perch high in the gum tree.

His call to arms echoed through the bush land.

He called all the animals to come to a meeting.

Mother Platypus slapped her tail on the tree branch near the drying creek.

“Oh, please,” she shouted, to have the animals quieted to begin the meeting.

“We need to know where the water is disappearing to. Water has not been a big problem for us in the past. The water had flowed no matter how hot the summer.”

“I agree,” interjected Old Man Kangaroo. “The creek has never been dry in all my years of living here. I have witnessed many long, hot, and very dry summers.”

“Yeah,” said other older members at the meeting.

“We need to search along the creek,” encouraged Mother Platypus. “The faster animals take the top end of the creek and work backward. The slower ones of us will work up from here. Who ever finds the problem will send a message to the other searches. Good luck.”

The animals scattered far, and wide, to search out the reason why their water had slowed to a trickle, threatening to dry up.

The birds flew high above the treetops searching for evidence.

Word echoed through the bush land reporting their find.

Ground animals scurried through the undergrowth.

Mother Turtle struggled through the muddy water to make her way up the creek.

The animals stopped their search when the sun dropped below the horizon.

The animals were exhausted.

They decided to spend the night where they were to keep watch.

To make plans to solve their problem.

The rumbling noise echoed through the bush early the next morning.

The earth vibrated beneath them.

Rising dust swirled through the air coating the animals.

Bulldozers crawled across the land like hungry monsters.

Large sections of ground had been ripped bare.

Trees had been bulldozed to lay discarded in heaps on the ground.

Birds had flown for their lives when each tree fell.

Small animals scurried down the trees to reach a safe place.

The animals watched in horror.

Their homes were being torn down.

The animals watched from a safe distance among what trees still stood.

During the time the machines stood silent the animals made their way to the water to quench their thirst.

To have a swim to keep their body cool.

When the men had left the site the animals were busy with their plans.

Each animal who were able to dig began to work on the dirt barricade which spanned the width of the creek.

“Old Man Kangaroo,” called Mother Platypus.

The huge kangaroo hopped over to where Mother Platypus sat on a log while she directed operations.

“I want you to visit our human friend. Bring him here. He may be able to help us.”

Old Man Kangaroo set off through the bush land to find the house of Peter Toss. Peter was walking toward his land-rover when Old Man Kangaroo arrived.

Peter stopped walking.

He waited for his friend.

“Hello, Old Man Kangaroo. Long time since I've seen you. Where have you been. What can I do for you,” Peter patted the back of the kangaroo.

Thick, dark clouds of smoke rose above the top of the trees.

Old Man Kangaroo guided Peter toward the construction site.

Red angry flames ate a wide path through the bush land.

The animals moved fast to reach safety.

Water animals plunged into the creek where the water had been dammed.

They prayed the fire didn't jump the creek to spread to the bush land on the other side.

Peter jammed his foot on the brake to bring the land-rover to a stop.

He needed help.

Reaching forward, peter grabbed the radio to call for back-up.

“Come in, sire service. We have a bad situation.”

“Fire service. What's up Peter?”

“Large fire north of Pine Creek Racing fast toward the creek. Need help to stop it.”

By the time Peter arrived to where the animals were hidden the helicopters had arrived.

The helicopters flew over head dropping water from big bucket to put out the flames.

To stop the fire before it reached the creek.

Fire trucks arrived.

People arrived to help put out the smoldering cinders to stop the spread of the fire.

Others used hoses to dampen the ground to slow the fire advancing.

The fire people hard for many hours to bring the fire under control.

The men were surprised when they returned to their work site.

A large welcoming committee of people, and animals waited for them.

Each stood guard to make sure no more damage was done to the bush land.

The first of the men to arrive stayed locked in their cars.

An urgent call was made to the boss.

The boss arrived to sort out the problem.

“What are you people doing on my construction site,” yelled the boss, moments after slamming the car door.

“To stop this destruction,” said Peter, moving toward the boss.

“What destruction. We have been given permission to build a golf resort here,” growled the boss, heading to the site office to find the proof of his words.

Peter and the crowd followed.

They waited for the boss to produce the draft plans.

“There.” The boss held up the map with the area marked for the gulf resort.

Peter took hold of the map.

He turned the map around.

“This is where you are,” Peter pointed to the spot on the map.

“Here is where you should be.”

“Oh, no,” cursed the red faced boss. He had made a very bad mistake.

“You are destroying National Park Land,” explained Peter.

“Right, officers. He's all yours.” Peter stepped aside for the police to put the handcuffs of the boss before taking him away.

The people, and the animals, showed their joy when the boss was placed in the police car to be driven away.

The workers of the construction site were ordered to dig away the barrage to let the water flow. Water which had been dammed to use at the construction site.

The flow began with a trickle when the backhoe dug into the dirt wall.

Mother Platypus led the cheer squad when the first big gush of water flowed down the drying creek.

The construction company had to plant trees to replace the ones which had been torn down.

The whole area was to be regenerated to cover the ground to stop the topsoil from washing away, with the coming of the next rain.

Peter was cheered by the animals for the help in saving their homes.

For restoring the water to the creek.

The animals went back to their homes ready to fight another day to save their homes from destruction.

The Funny Farm

My name is Amos.

I live on a farm with my family

I am seven-years old.

My sister Kate is three-years old.

We live with our mother who takes care of us, And the animals.

On our farm there are many animals. We have pigs. Ducks. Chickens. Birds. Horses. Cats. The animals have to be fed every morning, and evening.

Our mother rises early every morning when the sun is reaching above the horizon to welcome in the new day.

The laugh of the kookaburra echoes up the valley to the top of the hills. We can't tell if he is happy, or sad.

One day, after a shower of rain, mother went down to feed the animals to find two baby kookaburra's in a deep trough of water. Each of them were flapping their wet wings to stay afloat. To keep their head above the level of water.

Water dripped from the feathers of the kookaburra when mother scooped them from the trough. She placed the both of them on the nearest, flat corrugated iron roof to keep them safe until they dried. When the feathers were dry both the kookaburras flew away to land on a high tree branch.

In the summer the heat burns the grass brown. We have to give the animals more food. With no green grass on which to feed all day, they had to wait until feeding time. Or nibble of the dry grass.

When the rain returns the grass turns green so the animals can eat all day. The horses are not so dependent on us for feed.

We have two horses. Kate helps to feed the horses because she like to pat them. In the warmer weather we hose the horses to keep them cool, and clean.

Goldie is a mare. She used to be a race horse in her past life. The owner retired her because she had been injured racing. She is brown. Nine-years of age.

The other horse was called Dawnella. She was a foal. Her mother died not long after her birth. The death was cause by the bight of a tick. I had to feed the foal with milk from a bucket. No way did she accept to be feed with a bottle. She didn't even like being watched while she fed. When I walked away leaving the bucket on the ground she'd eat. Her coloring was chestnut with a white blaze down the middle of her forehead.

The both horses galloped around the paddock. When they couldn't see each other one whinnied to call to the other, then return to walk, and feed, together on the grass, of hay.

In each sty I had a number of pigs. The pigs loved being sprayed with water. They stood in the way when the stall was being washed clean. When the cement was still wet they rolled around then lay in the sun to dry.

The piglet were very small. They kept escaping from the sty. Everyone had to chase them to put them back with the mother. Their mother was a large sow called Snorkie. She had a very long snout, She had given birth to ten piglet. Some white. Other black. Some black and white.

All the pigs rushed to the side of the sty to be patted, and scratched behind the ears. Most of the pigs had been born in the wild before coming to the farm. They had been tamed. Liked all the attention given to them.

There was a dog called Sam. He was jealous of all the other animals. He chased the horses around the paddock when no one was at home. Sam also chased the chickens, and the cats. Kate, and I, chased Sam to keep him away from the other animals. He was placed on a chain to let the animals have some peace.

On a winter's morning sneakers would be soaked when we walked through the grass to feed the animals. The blades of the grass white from frost, and dew. Beads of moisture fell toward the ground when the sun rose above the horizon. The birds chattered, and squawked to bring in the new day.

Sam trotted along after mother's heels watching for the first movement from any of the animals who may have escaped. He'd chase them before he was stopped. His pink tongue hung between his sharp teeth which lined his powerful jaw. Once his jaws had closed there was no way anyone was able to open them.

On arriving at the animal pens, and sty’s, Sam ran around the fence barking.

He snapped at the chickens, pigs, and ducks.

Drool dripped from his mouth at the thought of eating the animals.

He cast them a look of challenge.

Greed showed in his eyes.

He hoped for one to escape for him to chase.

Catch.

Kill.

Eat.

Sam was very fast.

Sly, and cunning.

“Sam. Leave the chickens alone.”

Sam didn't listen.

He grabbed one chicken by a wing

Mother grabbed him before he was able to hurt the chicken. “You naughty boy. Leave the chicken go.”

Sam looked guilty.

No way was he going to lose his ill gotten gains.

He wouldn't open his mouth.

He looked daggers at mother from where he cowered on the ground.

Sam had been watching for us to be too busy to keep an eye on him.

He had dived quick to grab the escaped chicken.

Sam was smart at playing dumb while waiting his chance to catch his prey.

He had waited until we walked over to the shed to collect hay for the horses. Gaining an opportunity Sam grabbed for the nearest chicken.

He ran around with the chicken hanging from his mouth.

The chicken tried to escape and made a lot of noise.

He lay on the ground ready to make a meal of the chicken.

Sam dared anyone of us to try to take his catch.

Mother straddled Sam.

She knelt on the ground to wedge Sam between her knees.

Took hold of his upper, and lower, section of his mouth to pulled open his mouth.

The fought a battle of wills, and strength.

Finally, mother won with her determined effort to pries open the mouth to set the chicken free.

The chicken was too scared to move.

The shock of a near death experience had frozen her movements.

Still holding Sam to the ground she picked up the chicken to put in the pen out of harms way. She placed it in one of the nest boxed to rest.

After the episode with Sam the chicken became known by the name of Roly-poly. Ever time it moved it toppled over to roll in the dirt.

“Look mother. The chicken is funny. He goes roly-poly.”

“The chicken was hurt. Naughty Sam hurt the poor chicken,” mother told Kate, who had not been there when it was saved from the jaws of death.

“Bad Sam. He hurt Roly-poly.”

From that day forward, the chicken was called Roly-poly.

The injured chicken turned into a proud bantam rooster. Every time he escaped from the pen Sam lay in wait to catch him. But Roly-poly was able to fly to escape to the roof of the pen.

He stood there to crow down at Sam.

Proud of his escape tactics.

He'd beaten the dog.

Last week, Roly-poly nearly met his Waterloo.

He fell off the fence around the sty.

Roly-poly fell into the feeding trough of the pigs.

The pigs were standing near the trough waiting for more food.

Roly-poly fell.

The pigs dived their heads into the trough to fight for the food.

Once again luck was on his side.

He missed falling into the trough.

He was wedged between the trough, and the fence, out of reach of the hungry pigs.

Mother climbed over the fence to save him from being eaten.

Even though he had been in many scrapes, he still stood up against the much larger roosters in the pen. One day while they were fighting, mother grabbed two plastic buckets to place over the roosters to stop them from attacking each other. When she had stopped the fight, she placed the roosters in different pens. Roly-poly stayed with the hens, and the other rooster was placed in the pen with the ducks.

Being a proud rooster Roly-poly struts around the farm. He is free to do so now Sam has been given away to a new home. A place where there weren't any animals for him to chase.

Peace reigned again with all the animals.

The cats are also free to roam without being chased by Sam.

Jade is a tabby colored cat.

She produced a kitten which became known a Smoggy.

Smoggy is a tortoise shell color. Mostly black with ginger, and white, patches.

When tine went by more kittens arrived. One called Ginger because of the coloring of its coat.

Stripes was the other. He was a striped tabby cat.

The cats followed mother every where.

To feed the animals.

To hang out the washing.

Stripes, and Ginger, thought they were helping by swinging on the towels hanging from the line. Or try to crawl in with the washing to play.

We had a rain water tank at the side of the house. If the rain didn't fill it we had to turn on the windmill. The tank was made of cement. We had to keep check on the level of the water to know when we needed to refill with the windmill.

A ladder stayed propped against the side of the tank for us to climb up to look in the hole, or use a stick to measure the level. On one occasion, when mother had taken her turn up the ladder to check the water she had company.

She had finished cleaning the leaves from the strainer.

Went to step down to the next rung.

“Look out for Stripes,” yelled Amos.

Mother turned to look what happened below.

Stripes was on his way up the ladder to reach the top of the tank.

He didn't stop.

He pushed his way between mother, and the ladder, to reach the top

When he had achieved his position on the tank he turned to look down.

Ginger raced around the tank to find a different way to make to the top of the tank.

He tried the large gum tree close to the tank but it wasn't close enough for him to jump.

Finally, he took a chance with the ladder to make his way to the tank.

The two of them made their way back down the ladder to reach the ground.

We had a duckling called Squeak.

He was the first of the batch to be hatched.

We took him away from his mother because she still had a job to do.

Mother didn't want her to walk away from the not hatched eggs.

He was placed in a box with a light bulb to keep it warm until big enough to put back in the pen when the other ones arrived.

Squeak was lonely for some time because he didn't have a mother, or friends, in the box to keep warm.

He was happy when he was big enough to put in the pen with the other ducks.

We had to make sure he was locked away where the foxes didn't catch him.

Squeak is happy in the coupe with the hen, and chickens.

They make a happy family.

No more duckling were hatched because Willy water rat sneaked into the nest and stole the eggs.

We were moving the piglets from one pen to another when one escaped.

He ran toward the bush.

He didn't escape for long.

He came racing home with Jade, Stripes, and Ginger chasing him toward the sty.

The piglet squealed to his mother for help to save him from the cats.

The scene looked so funny with the cats chasing the piglet.

His little legs scooted across the ground.

Dodged around bushes, and logs, to find his way home to his mother.

We like living on our farm.

You never know what is going to happen next.

Some of our friends call our home the Funny Farm. They have seen the antics of our animals but is hard for them to believe what their eyes were seeing.

“Those animals are not animals,” our friends tell us.

“We know that. They are our mother's other children.