Poor little Rambo. You have had such a hard life, and I suspect this may be the hardest time of it.

Rambo came to us off the veldt. His tail was rotting off, half of his ear was missing and badly infected, he was more sore and scab than actual dog, and terrified of us. Being a total softy, I started feeding him. Give the poor guy a place to die. We had the vet come examine him. She told us that from his wounds, it looked like he was used as a fighting dog. She tried to examine his testicles and he went for her throat. Apparently, he had been neutered with a bread knife, she said. While he was conscious.

But instead of dying as expected, he slowly healed and learned trust. He learned that frolicking on the beach by the river is as close as you can come to heaven itself, that blind cats make good cuddling companions on cold mornings, and that all men aren't evil. Beaded warthogs, however, remained items to be attacked at every chance.

I get outraged looks from people who see him and all of his scars. They think I've done it to him. He may be ugly, but his heart sure isn't.

About a month ago, he changed. He started deliberately breaking rules that he has abided by for years. He would jump up on the sofa, and when I told him to get down, he would look directly at me and piss on the cushion. He would run into the house and poop on the walls. He would bark at people he knows and has loved for years now. I'm ashamed to say that I took it badly. I screamed and yelled at him in frusturaed anger.

Why I didn't suspect that he was in pain is well beyond me. I am kicking and punching myself now. He started bleeding two days ago. At first, I thought it was from an old wound that has been bleeding for years, on and off. Yesterday morning, my porch was covered in blood and clots.

He was thrilled for the car ride to the vet. We brought Gizmo along to calm him, but he didn't seem bothered in the least. We muzzled him for the vet to examine him, I held him and talked to him. "shh, my boy, don't try to bite her. A lot of guys would pay good money for what she's doing down there..." yes, he is bleeding from the worst possible place.

We left the vet in a somber mood. We even took the dogs to mcdonalds. Their enthusiasm for big macs almost made us forget. Almost.

He is on pain meds now, and antibiotics. He is sleeping on the porch in the sunshine, acting fairly normally. Still eating. Still romping with Gizmo. How long he has, we don't know. All I know is that my task of trying to make up for all the times I yelled at him is immense. And urgent.

The cars we have on the farm are all suited, to varying degrees, to their jobs.

My trusty old vw polo is excellent for town driving. Her gas mileage is superb, and she is just so comfy to drive. Surprisingly, she handles the best on the dirt road, gliding effortlessly over stretches where the 4x4s all fishtail.

The blue pajero is the powerhouse. She thinks nothing of towing the tractor, pulling the 500 liter fire trailer over any rocky veldt, or wading through a meter of water. She does have a bit of a drinking problem, though, and fuel is now something like us$6 a gallon...and rising.

My uncle's bakkie (pickup truck), a Mitsubishi colt, can haul things admirably. Be it a load of comport or new doors, she's there. She does fishtail like she's shaking her booty at a disco if you drive over 20 mph on the road, however, and also joins the pajero in drinking binges.

My aunt has had a sequence of beat up Mercedes. It may seem odd, but those old hunks of steel can take a beating and just keep on going and going. Her latest was a 1990 230, a boat that just cruised up and down the road without a care that her exhaust was dragging.

Finally, the time came to replace the last merc, and get her fifth incarnation of the beat up merc. This time, she got a newish old one, a 2001 240. She drove it home yesterday, noting with resignation the flashing "!" on the dash and the odd smell of gas. She parked it up by my house, and everyone came out to admire it. Automatic transmission, electric windows, remote entry, leather seats. All of which are unheard of out here.

Blackson, who drives their car on Wednesdays to the shops, was very quiet, however. "what do you think of your new wheels?" I asked him, to which he responded, "yes, very fancy. But I am nervous of using that lever." not knowing what he meant, I questioned him until the truth emerged: he had never seen an automatic transmission, except for on tv. Poor guy is terrified of breaking it.

So, for all of you that see a standard transmission as nerve wracking, just know that it can be scary the other way, too!

We are enjoying a gentle and balmy May this year. The winter chill hasn't really set in, after threatening to, and the days are still scorching. But winter is coming, and there are firebreaks to cut and burn, herbs to dry, gas bottles to fill, and the last summer produce to be picked and preserved.

The joy of living here, however, is that winter has it's own life, and some of it is very special. In the summer, there is water and abundance in the bush, so we won't see a lot of the shyer creatures. Suddenly, I am seeing hordes of tiny, jewel bright sunbirds feeding on our flowers, as there aren't any more out there. The stately Kudu are back, too, regally thanking my neighbor for putting out hay and a salt lick for them. They were here all summer, but these shy browsers will stay in dense thicket if they have a choice. Back too are the colorful red and yellow barbets, the hornbills, the glossy blue starlings, and the malachite kingfisher. Most of the bright summer birds have either changed their breeding plumage for brown or just left, but a few remain gaudy. I've been hearing Zebra quite a bit these days. I wonder where they are.

The other joy of this house is at we planted our garden in the winter, so naturally chose things that look good in winter. All of my aloes and succulents are getting ready to bloom now, the ranunculus are coming up, the watsonias are making a magnificent neon orange show. Our climate allows for certain crops to thrive in winter, so I'm eagerly awaiting my winter cauliflower, peas, chard, radishes, carrots, beets, and spinach. The basil and sage die, but the thyme and rosemary thrive, the mint lives, but the peppers are doomed.

I miss the noises of the bush at night, the frogs and crickets at full force. I don't miss the mosquitoes and flies, the giant Satan wasps, or the zillions of ants that merrily eat everything at isn't nailed down - and a lot of what is.

And tonight, a dinner with family and neighbors. Smoked warthog flash fried in sage butter, with pear confit and goat cheese, smoked oyster homemade ravioli, and vegetables from the garden. Everything except the oysters is local and organic down to the butter and garlic.

The good life lives on, winter be damned.

Yesterday, I was sealing my kitchen floor (how's that for adventurous) when there was shouting and commotion at the staff houses. I ran over, barefoot, to find Sandries swinging a rake at something. Snake.

I hate to generalize, but in most African cultures, snakes are seen as evil and to be killed. All snakes are dangerous, I've been told by so many. Even a little house snake will kill you. Even a dead one. It must be burned immediately.

I take a different view, with the possible exception of mambas. Snakes are beautiful, fascinating, and more importantly, a valuable part of our ecosystem. I've told Blackson and Sandries this many times, and to call me to deal with snakes, and just get incredulous laughter.

Funny how you can talk about how you gently catch them and release them all you want, but when you are faced with a cornered spitting cobra, you start to waver. This one was fairly small, but as I approached him with a bag and a rake, he indicated that he wasn't in a very good mood.

Mozambican spitting cobras are fairly common here. They have potent venom that they spit into the eyes of whoever annoys them with surprising accuracy from about 10-15 feet. This venom can blind you. I ran back to the house to get good snake boots, an easy to close and secure bag, and goggles. Due to the chaos of building, however, I emerged a few
minutes later with sunglasses, heels, and a laptop bag. The snake wasn't very pleased about my whole catch and release idea. I told him that it was a choice between the laptop bag and the rake, he replied with some very foul language, telling me exactly where I could shove that bag. I told him he was a beautiful creature that belonged out in the veldt, and not in Sandries' bathroom, he called me the c word.

Eventually, I nudged him into the bag with the rake. After much bungling, I flipped thhe bag closed, and threw a blanket over it. After some terrified grappling with the blanket, I shoved it into a black plastic bag, well inflated to give him air, and taped it firmly shut. The bathroom was warily inspected and pronounced snake free. Hooray! The staff think I'm certifiably insane.

Brevis came home half an hour later and we put the bag in the car to go release him. We drove out to a remote part of our reserve, and with a great deal of trepidation, cut open the bag and shook out the bundle.

Then shook out the bag. Then shook it out again. Then shook out the blanket. Then looked at each other in confusion. Then slowly turned to the car.

I'm driving the other car this week, thanks.

The other night, I was driving home after dark. We were in the Pajero (I think it's called a montero or something like at in the USA -apparently, "pajero" is slang somewhere for "wanker") which is pretty tall off the road. Driving up our driveway, maybe 30 feet from our house, a giant Kudu bull, roughly the size of a moose, suddenly emerged. He jumped over the damn car, then bounded out of sight. Hot on his heels was, of course, gizmo. Yeah, the dog slightly smaller than a toaster.

Development in other parts of the area means at we have more and more game pushed our way daily. The caracal and hyena are around, there are hippo sightings often, a few leopard sightings, so many more antelope, mongoose, and in terrifying news, two Honey Badgers.

I don't care about leopard. I don't mind the hyena. Cobras, whatever! However, after seeing my neighbor's photos of the honey badgers, I am installing a fort Knox type fence around the house. Though it probably won't help. Honey badger just gonna come climb the fence, and eat my dog, then run backwards..

(oh my GOD, what's that he's eating? Is it Charlotte's HEAD? Ewwwww.)

I'm sure you northern hemisphere types are delighting in the changing of the season. Well, I'm not, dammit.
It is 6am. The sky is still dark, The veldt is quiet. I'm in my living room in sweatpants and a pink sweater, huddled around a hissing gas heater with both cats huddled around me. The days are still hot, but the nights are down in the 40's, which is a bit of a harsh return to reality.
I hear that up there, it seems like you went right from winter to summer. Well, same here, in reverse. We had awful rains this year, which have already pretty much dried up. The grass is brown, which normally happens in late May, and the alien trees are all going yellow and brown. Our native ones mostly either keep their leaves, or just shed them without ceremony. We have all of the impending doom feeling of autumn, without at least the lovely colors. It's just not fair.
Yes, I'm whining. I'm really just jealous of your spring, your planting and pruning, your smell of new growth and decaying leaves, your lengthening days. There is such promise in spring, and a tiny tinge of regret in the fall. Did I use that lovely long summer as much as I could have? Did I take the sweet sense of what's ahead that spring holds and use it to it's fullest? Did I really savor every hot summer night that I looked forward to last winter?

My summer is past. I've lifted the dahlias, put compost on the flower beds, and pulled out the gloves and scarves. Yours is only beginning. Go forth and enjoy it this year.

A little bird has adopted us recently. He is a male Cliff Mocking Chat, a handsome little black and chestnut bird with bright white shoulders. Very dapper. He first seemed to decide that our porch made a good cliff, and moved in there, flitting about all day catching moths. His singing is divine. He sings sweetly about being a bird, then sings with all of the calls of the other birds. In the middle of a trilling melody about eating bugs, he kwaaaaas with the harsh cackle of the lourie, he chick-woos like a puffback, he whoop-doodoos like a pair of barbets. I've even heard a rooster in there.

One day, he decided to explore his cliff a bit more, and swooped into my bedroom via the top window over the sliding door that is always open. Unlike a normal bird in a house, he wasn't fazed by this, he merrily explored the rafters, occasionally exclaiming in seeming delight. He took particular notice of the cat bowls in subsequent visits, and has become another part of the household. He even has a name: Rufus. His girlfriend Ruella moved in as well, after discovering the delights of the cat bowl. They sleep elsewhere, but freely fly in and out all day.

Blind kitty and siamese kitty, of course, noticed this. Rundu has become an adept little hunter, despite his blindness. Moths and grasshoppers are easy now, he's come home with a rat, and even a giant rock pigeon. But the little chat seemed unbothered by their chattering attentions.

There is also another kind of chat who hangs out on the porch, a little brown familiar chat. He is mostly notable for his habit of flapping his wings elaborately after landing. Very droll. He is not so handsome or melodic, but has nonetheless also become used to us.

Yesterday, I witnessed some odd behavior. I heard a frenzied squawking of birds while sitting on the porch, and the brown familiar chat came zooming around the corner from the side of the house. He perched on a chair next to me and squawked like I've never heard
him. He was jumping up and down and making a terrible racket. The next thing I knew, the siamese cat came tearing around the same corner - with the mocking chat in his mouth. I started squawking loudly in a more human tone, and the cat dropped the bird, who flew safely away.

The bird is fine today, back to eating from the cat bowl and singing on the porch. Did I witness one spices of bird try to help another species of bird by appealing to a human? I'm sure animal behaviorists would say probably not, but if you had seen the way that little brown chat was screeching, you may also come to that conclusion.

Having Elin here is a wonderful excuse to do fun things. I can run my silly errands, or we can say "stuff that!" and go play with Elephants. You know how it goes, you don't really go see your local attractions until someone comes and visits you.

We've been to Maropeng, the museum in the Cradle of Humankind. That's basically the opposite to the creationist museum, it tells the story of the earth from the big bang until today. Part of it is a terrifying boat ride through a tunnel representing the formation if the earth (I didn't know about this, and am a bit bad with caves) then a vortex tunnel representing the big bang I think, which make me shake for ten minutes. Elin keeps looking at me, astounded, and saying things like "I thought you were fearless!"

I may be ok with things like lions, but fearless, I am so far from, it's a bit like calling the Pope Jewish. I'm, uh, bad with ladders (I shake like a leaf) bad with caves, awful about needles, scared of dentists, and when a four foot tall stork chased me the other day with his wings out, I bolted, leaving Elin laughing.

I digress. We have also been to the Lion and Rhino nature reserve, a lovely little game park nearby where we played with lion cubs and cheetah a bit, saw lots of game, and, well, got attacked by a stork. I did, at least. He had a beak a foot long! And he was chasing me! And flapping his six foot wide wings! Elin is just brave.

We also went to the Apartheid museum, which is utterly fascinating. The history is brutal, and important for people to remember. You can lock yourself in a real solitary confinement cell, or in the back of the monster armored vehicles they used to use.

Tomorrow, we have sundowners at the castle, though I really want to also try to sneak off to the monkey sanctuary or the crocodile farm. She's a lot of fun, this Elin.

Confession: we're also doing a jigsaw puzzle. On her dream trip to Africa. Yeah, just don't tell Facebook. She's as much a puzzle addict as Brevis and I are.

These days are a rush of fetching and errands. I have two teams out working on invasive plants, which sounds good on paper, but the reality of it, well, sucks.

It means in real terms that I go out at 7 to the shop at the end of the road, a 15 minute drive, and load ten guys onto the truck. I drop them off on two properties, making sure there is enough chemical, sprayers, plastic bags, water, and scissors. There never is. So then I run into town to fetch more of something or other, get back, give it to the guys, who inform me that the sprayers are clogged up, and that I need to fetch the full bags from a spot in the middle of the bush. Then, the truck breaks.

And so on. I do have a lot of plans for wonderful adventures to share with my friend Elin, but then I get the call that I've forgotten that there is a biodiversity assessment on our plot that afternoon, the staff need the car, more bags need to be fetched, and the goddamn truck has gone from clunking to clanging.

It all sounded so easy in the committee meeting. Sure! No problem. All I have to do is pick guys up and drop them off, right? I'm doing something good for our environment, providing jobs for the unemployed, and making a few bucks on the side. Easy!

Elin, luckily, is a real trooper, and hasn't yet complained that all she's seen of Africa is the feed store and the car repair shop, and is making the endless running a lot more fun. I will take her today to look at some lovely giraffe or something. Unless the truck breaks again.

I've been having technological challenges (the e-fairies hate me) so haven't been on much. No worries, will change that.

A darling friend of my late mother, Elin, has come to stay for five whole weeks. She held me e day I was born, lived in my house when I was growing up, and is a big part of my history. She is semi retired, and her daughter, a great friend of my sister, colluded with my sister to send her here for a well earned bit of fun. And oh, the fun we will have.

She arrived last night, absolutely wiped after 36 hours of travel. No time to relax, we had dinner at the bush lodge down the road with the lord and lady of the castle. It was a nice evening, we sat overlooking the waterfall under the clear African night sky. She was a real trooper, poor thing.

This morning, we had coffee while she took in the sweep of the hills, the green of the grass, the flowers and the tomatoes. I think she is delighted to miss a bit of winter. We had coffee from about 6:30 am until 10, then took a drive around the farm, down to the river, up to the main house. We then went to go install her in a cottage, but I couldn't help myself and took her on a detour to a neighboring game reserve and got in some lovely Zebra, Wildebeest, and antelope. I mean, it's Africa. You kind of gotta. We missed the giraffe though. Next time. I mean, what's Africa without a few giraffe?

We arrived at her cottage, a sweet little two bedroom house in my friend Lynne's garden, to find a monkey giving us a curious look. Lynne has a local troupe of Vervets that are starting to get naughtier by the day. I showed her in, then we went to go examine the chickens. But we had been watched, unbeknownst to us, and the instant we walked away, the monkeys crept into the kitchen and grabbed...the candles. Lynne caught them as they were leaping through the trees with their prize. After taking a bite, the candles were hurled down at Lynne. Elin will have to watch her food!

We had a coffee on the porch, then Elin decided it was nap time. Oh, the adventures we will have! I am so excited to show this awesome woman my little chunk of this crazy continent. I'm so lucky to have her here.