Surprise! Surprise

I was talking about needing a positive attitude a few nights ago to a close friend who phoned to tell me he had just been diagnosed with cancer. I'm not sure how I would deal with the situation he suddenly finds himself in but remaining positive will only help. Speaking to him doubled my resolve to walk Offas Dyke for a cancer charity this June.

It was hard to find a positive Saturday morning when I opened the stable door to feed the goats. They were allowed out Friday afternoon to enjoy the spring sunshine and stretch their legs but by morning June was dead.

I have said before I feel sometimes Fate is creature that watches over smallholders, listening to our conversations, watching our every move. It seems Fate has gone all hi tech because only Friday I emailed another smallholder from down Devon way, who contacted us through this site telling us about their poorly pigs. I shared some thoughts, one was how annoying it is that animals come with a self destruct mechanism built in and told them about a goat we had that died.

It was the same fate that befell June over night. Entrotoximia is sudden, fatal, and despite vaccinating against it there is no guarantee your animals wont get it. The goats have been housed for two months and fed on milled feed and hay. June must have gorged herself on greenery in the short time she was out. This upset the PH level in her stomachs and a bacteria they have within them multiplied out of control which set of a chain reaction causing her internal organs to shut down, her respiratory system to fail and she died. In less than eight hours. From healthy happy house goat to so many portions of dog food overnight. Thankfully, unlike Fuchsia our first goat, she didn't seem to have suffered and simply curled up in the corner and passed away.

I wracked my brain to see if we could have avoided this tragedy. June was in herd of nine, five adults and four kids who all ate the same food and they are all fine. June probably just ate a little bit more of one thing, or sampled something a little different to the others which just tipped the balance of the chemistry in her rumin. How often this happens is a worry, twice to us in two years. Goats are not like sheep who gobble up their food, goats pick and choose, nibbling at all sorts of plants. They also know whats bad for them and avoid poisonous plants. We have over ninety animals here so death stalks the Rock with horrible frequency, something we don't suffer in isolation given the number of animals I saw donated at the Hunt kennels where I dropped June off.

On a much lighter note I'm sure my colleagues at work get bored of me singing the praises of real food, but once you have tasted it you want it more. I can, hand on heart, say I will never ever buy pork or bacon from the supermarket, no matter how desperate I am for my bacon buttie it could never match up to the real bacon we make ourselves.

Even the simple boiled egg is a joyous experience here, the colour of the yolk is sunshine captured. Mind you its taken me 45 years to get my head around the fact that you can actually boil a duck egg.

Quite where this cognitive dissonance came from is hard to say. Cognitive dissonance is simply distorted thinking which in the face of evidence you still hold onto.

Examples, well the Inuit have 47 words for snow, elephants never forget, no two snowflakes are the same and my personal favourite, Lemmings commit suicide by jumping off cliffs. None of these are true. Really, they are not.

So where did my firmly held belief "You cant boil a duck egg" come from. If ever I was asked "What does a duck egg taste like?" I would automatically reply that they were fantastic, fried the best, used in cooking they are unbeatable, well they are beatable but you know what I mean, and I would always without fail add a stern warning, you cant boil them.

Now as we are about to take delivery of up to 20 Runner Ducks who are little egg factories I was starting to worry that my Sunday morning would suffer without my two soft boiled and three buttered slices. I questioned myself, where did this wisdom come from as I advised a work colleague who purchased six duck eggs from me, remember you cant boil them.

My Dad.

He's the one who probably led to this improper attitude to the offerings of ducks. He was the one who, lets not forget, told me as a child that Limpets bit. Yes the humble shelled mollusk that clings to the surface of rocks decorating rock pools were in fact according to him vicious monsters who bit the unwary rock pool explorer. I cannot even begin to tell you how many days on the beach were ruined by my fear that the seemingly inert Limpet would suddenly leap from its rock and savage my throat out. By age ten I was curious that despite lots of trips to the coast I had never been bit and by age 12 I wondered why there were no warning posters up informing the public of this lethal danger. At 13 I was in direct confrontation with the shelled lurking menace, finding a safe spot on the rocks, limpet free and with a clear line of site free of obstacles in case I had to I run screaming back to the car, I would lob rocks at them, goading the Limpets and its chums to take a bite. By 14 I was sitting next to them with my arm held out saying "Go on then" in a soothing voice trying to hide the rock in my other hand, just in case.

I now know that Limpets don't bite and it was one of those stories Dad's tell you to keep you quiet, stop you running off or just to show how knowledgeable they are.

So sat at my desk after my colleague left my office and I repeated my mantra, "You cant boil a duck egg"

Why?

What could happen? Do they suddenly turn poisonous? Will the kitchen explode? Will the duck egg police turn up and arrest me for improper use of eggs?

It was, it has to be said, with some trepidation I put the two duck eggs in the pan of boiling water this Sunday morning. I even held my breath as I cut the top off.

I now know what happens, you get the most delicious breakfast.

Cheers Dad.

Next week I am going to boil a goose egg. Don't try and stop me!