Bye bye puppy...

There were tears this week at Granite Glen.

We said farewell to the first of our puppies to fly the coop.

My cousin Tom came to pick up his little pooch, after being postponed more than once... for multiple reasons, including the fact that not everyone at Granite Glen was mentally and emotionally prepared for the farewell scene!

(And we are not just talking those under the age of 10 here folks!)

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So Tom and his girl Jay finally arrived to get their newest bovine rounderer-upperer (cattle dog). And they chose....

Kink!!

Actually, I think perhaps Kink chose Tom!

The residents of Granite Glen will miss those bright little blue eyes, waggy, broken little tail, and playful ways... but maybe not the chewing and the pooping. (Actually, I think I'm the only one who complains about that!)

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Now at this point I could make some comment about Tom's hair... if I was the pass-remarkable, older cousin-type of person who never let up on her younger rellies... I'm fighting that urge really hard... *smiles through gritted teeth*. I hope Tom appreciates my restraint here... although I somehow doubt it! Hello Tom!!

I have to admit that it looks like a pretty happy family to me...

(OK regular readers: does anyone see what I mean about the women in my life? Check here to see what I am referring to! How gorgeous is Jay?)

Bye-bye Kink!

Be a good little cow-chaser for Tom.

*sniff*

Happy Birthday to my Man

A quick one this morning... in the nicest possible way!

Wishing my man a

Happy Birthday ...

You think you're just a shy guy..

Who really doesn't like posing for the camera...

Some might think you're hot when you grow a beard and look all inscrutable...

But you rock my world when you smile...

You are my partner,

father of my children

and my everything...

Thanks for everything, babe.

Even if you do remind me regularly that I'm a cradle snatcher!

(Lucky I'm such an easy-going chick...)

Beauty tips, the Bush Babe way!

Red Alert: Serious Chick stuff ahead.

If you are male, and not into makeup or beauty secrets, please visit here for wild-looking real bush creatures, here for stomach-churning bunyips stories, or here for some mind-blowing analogies between tractor and sky.
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OK. Are they gone? Just us women-folk and gay guys left?? Okey Dokey.
I have been tagged by the lovely Pencil Writer, a regular American visitor to this humble little blog. She wants to know my beauty secrets. I ’m not sure why PW thinks I have any knowledge about female artifice and adornment (in fact my beauty secrets are still mostly secret from me too!) but I am willing to play the Meme game.
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To preface my answers you should know a couple of facts.

Number 1: I am olive-skinned and I battle the oil demons. I would hate to think how much time I have wasted on trying to blot and mask, and how much money on various “remedies”. Now, you fair-skinned readers out there can stop your protests – I know how lucky I am to be darker-skinned. Natural sun-protection, easier ageing blah, blah, blah. Heard ‘em all from my Ma and my sis who are both fair. I’m now (ahem) in my 40s, and I should be long past worrying about adolescent issues. How is it possible that I can now find wrinkles in my reflection right alongside the shiny forehead?? I AM STILL SHINY. It ain’t right. 'Matte' and 'oil-free' are key-words in my make-up repertoire.

I’m also waiting for the ‘shiny look’ to come back in again.
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Number 2: I am not particularly interested in my looks. I do groom and I do use make-up and try and be presentable, but I no longer get much of a kick out of the result. When I was in my 20s I was “into it”. I still hated my shiny skin, and fretted at my occasional spot (I thought my acne was bad, in retrospect, I was pretty lucky really). But I enjoyed dabbling in “looks” and new products. I was your typical self-conscious young Western female consumer. I worked jobs where people saw me, where my grooming was noticed. I looked in a mirror.

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And then I had kids. I had a kid who needed me 24/7. And then some. And the “me” I once worked on and pampered disappeared. I have no idea where she went, and most of the time, I don’t really care. Occasionally I do glance in the mirror, to tend teeth, comb hair, apply foundation. I rarely take the time to check our the “whole package”. I get a surprise when I see photos of myself. Sometimes, I've gotta say, it’s not a very nice surprise.

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Still with me? Here we go (with a favourite rhyme of my father's ringing in my ears):

"Little pecks of powder

And little pots of paint

Make a girl's complexion

Seem just what it aint."

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Foundation:

Maybelline Mousse in medium. Goes on easy and covers the sins of pimple-popping exploits from my boarding school days. Nice matt-ish finish. Love it.

Mascara:

Have no idea what brand. It’s usually brown-black and only on top lashes. Less to fall in those eye wrinkles. I’m a practical soul.

Day Cream:
Usually Olay or something light and not too expensive. I use eye cream sometimes before going out at night, when I’m feeling particularly old and haggard.

Essential Beauty Product:
Product? Blistex Lip Balm (in the pot). Saves cracked lips and makes it easier to smile properly. And I do like to smile.
Essential beauty Secret? Smile. With your whole face – you may get smile lines but the payoff is that people don’t recall you for your wrinkles, they remember that you were happy. And, to me, that is a pretty attractive trait. I love watching someone’s face transform with a smile. It’s a beautiful thing.

Perfume:

Used to wear Calvin Klein’s Eternity. Still love it. Anything else seems to make me sneeze and gasp for fresh air. But my babies weren’t so keen and frankly, I couldn't be bothered once I had to contend with the scent of baby vomit. So it’s now lavender body butter... when I remember.

Hair:

Used to have very thick straight dark brown hair. If you look real quickly, I still do. But it’s bloody hard work to keep it that way. I went about 40% grey within a couple of months in 2002. You can read why here. My hairdresser nearly cried. I still battle the greys with my bottle of Soft Colour Light Brown. But I don’t want to be one of those women with black hair and snow white roots… am seriously thinking of doing Shave for a Cure and letting it grow back natural. My mother is strenuously hinting that I avoid this course of action.

I’ll keep you posted.

Nails:

Rarely noticed these days. As long as they are reasonably clean, I don’t worry about them. Once upon a time, I would never have had them without polish. Now, if I’m having a night out or attending a wedding, I whack some pale translucent colour (like the pink base from a French manicure set) on. They look “finished” and you can’t see chips easily. Toes get the white-nailpolished in summer. Regular readers will be transfixed to know that my French pedicure is almost gone… sigh. I’ll get over it shortly…

Hands:

Mine are practical hands. Large, squarish and tanned. Am big on washing them regularly – hygiene comes first! They get involved in my speech fairly regularly (I'm not Italian but could definitely pass for one!) so they probably need more attention than I give them. They get leftover face moisturiser if they are lucky.

Feet:
Hate ‘em. Clean ‘em daily. Moisturise ‘em occasionally. Ignore them as much as humanly possible. I need some serious therapy before I can share any more….

Three Products to Bring on a Deserted Island:

Water and lots of it.
Sunscreen (am assuming it’s a tropical deserted island and not an arctic deserted island).
Blistex for lips.

Women I admire for their beauty:

So many… where to start?

Famous faces: Catherine Zeta Jones, Sarah Jessica Parker, Jennifer Hawkins, Marilyn Munroe, Anne Hathaway, Julia Roberts. Girls who can look good laughing – like they MEAN it!
In my world…

My Mum has the most beautiful smile ever. And blue eyes. I love blue eyes.
My sister – if you could see my wedding photos you would see her amazing, serene beauty – something she never seems to be able to see herself (a fact that never fails to give me a twinge of sadness).
My aunt – see below.
Actually, almost every woman I know – not sure how I have managed it, but each of my female friends and rellies is so individual and intriguing and gorgeous in their own way. Really, I am quite surrounded by beauty. Both inner and outer.

Women with the best sense of style:

Bon Bon – blessed with a great figure and eye for fashion, my aunt never fails to look glam and appropriate for any occasion. I have never caught her looking sloppy and she has amazing posture too... even going mustering she looks chic and fresh and right. Despite being in her (ahem) 50’s, she can dress in fashion and look sexy as hell, without ever looking like mutton. This is a real and rare skill - she should bottle and sell it. Shame she hasn’t had much real impact on this particular niece. Not your fault Bon Bon. (Note to self: pay more attention and stand up straight!)

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How I define womanhood:

Helps to be female. The state of belonging to a select group of humankind with a reasonable amount of oestrogen…. Seriously, though, for me being a woman is an amazing sense of being, which really came only after I had my first child. Not that I think you have to have kids to be a woman. But for me, that “comfy in my skin, in my womanhood” feeling arrived post-partum. I finally got it: that strong-but-soft-and-loving thing that is womanhood. That state that complements real manhood. But that’s another definition altogether!

Favorite Fashion Publication:

Been many over the years. Out with Dolly and Cosmopolitan (many moons ago), in with House and Garden and Notebook. I do read trashy mags on occasion and notice the celebs, but take no notice of the beauty tips.

Hang on... hold your horses!

I very nearly posted without thinking this answer through fully... if you expand this to TV, I love... Trinny and Susannah (TV Pommy makeover chicks)! Love, love, love them. Of course I would DIE if they made me over. Or even looked my way. But I love they can make women get their gear off and try something amazing and new. They are The Bomb!

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OK. I’m now totally bored with me.

I’ll leave you with my favourite pic and tip ...

Biggest beauty tip?

Photoshop baby, all the way!!
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Oh, and Debby and Tracey?

You are tagged!

Beauty time at your house, girls...

Puppy Love Volume 54

Been wondering what those pesky pups are up to since your last dose of doggy daycare, Granite Glen style? If you are up to speed, then you know Cruel is back at work. She has left here feeding bra at home, donned her cream Cue suit (OK, her back-to-work outfit looks less like a business ensemble that this Mum used to wear and more like a working attitude. She is a dog, after all! Sheesh!)

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Cause you know, I do read your hints in the comments section. I do understand that, when puppies aren't actually inhabiting your own backyard (or laundry mess room, as the case may be) then you kinda yearn for a fix of canine cuteness. You don't have to hose off the doggy dunnits or hide all your shoes or... but I digress. You want puppy pics. And, as you well know, I am simply here to please...

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The pups - Kink, Roley and Pitch - are looking very well-fed.

As Cruel has already started weaning the pups, simply keeping herself at a distance from the pups most of the time (while still keeping a motherly eye on their antics) we have begun supplementing their tucker. They dive on their twice-daily plate of biscuits and milk like the proverbial 'seagull on a lump of fat'. (This was a charming phrase regularly trotted out by my maternal grandmother, whenever raveous grandkids swarmed her dining table. She was a riot.)

They are very used to posing - or being posed - for the camera. They are stars, and never allowed to forget it...

Mind you, they really don't seem to protest the trappings of celebrity too much...

They bear the attention with barely a murmur of protest...

What do you reckon Pitch is thinking?

'OK, your 20 seconds of cuddlin' is almost up, kiddo!'

'I know I'm cute, but seriously...'

Of course, sometimes there aren't quite enough kids to go round for the bi-daily cuddle session. Sometimes a puppy is forced to wait in line. It's shocking really. Someone should call the RSPCA.

Being forced to wait their turn. Then being forced to get treated like a human baby. Or raggedy old teddy bear.

It's inhumane, or in-canine (or something)...

You know I don't mind a bit of one-on-one puppy love...

But these people, they want more, more, more!

Lie on one, lick the other... put up with the paparazzi...

Call my agent NOW...

This place is insane!

Working mother...

Did you notice anything about the photos from the last post??

Besides the fact that my husband is the Man from (not so) Snowy River?

And besides the totally relieved look on the weaners faces??

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It has to do with one of the workers droving the weaners out to their new paddock...

Not The Little Woman... although she was pretty stoked at being included in the gang..

There!

Can you see?

Recognise that profile?

That bustline??

It's Cruel!

Back at work baby, and lovin' every second of it...

Free and keeping those pesky bovines in their place.

PS Wonder what those naughty little pups are up to??

Drizabones and freedom

I mentioned in a recent post that the weather had turned for us here at Granite Glen... that crackling grass and thirsty ground had been blessed with some manna from heaven.

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The rain has been wonderful - soft, light drizzle over our whole property. And while this has been wonderous for the pasture, it was a little less comfortable in the yards. Where hundreds of weaners (calves old enought to be seperated from their mothers) were being held. Normally we hold them there for a week - to feed hay and handle to quieten.

But as we were planning to be away for a few days, and as the quagmire deepened at the yards, we made the decision to take them out earlier than normal.

And because of the sheer number of animals, we had to drove them to their paddock (i.e. use horses to walk them, rather than use a truck to relocate them).

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Some had to be moved through the very paddocks their mothers still lived in, from whom they had been removed just a few days earlier. Great skill is required to keep the mamas out of sight of the young 'uns as they traverse their very first grown up drive. It's a great lesson in good behaviour for future handling - bad manners (eg breaking from the mob and taking off for the hills) learned here can be very hard to correct. Keeping them seperated is vital, to get them to their destination and allow both the weaner and mum to establish their condition well before the cold weather really hits.

But we had some cool heads and experience surrounding our adolescent bovines, and they tasted the freedom slowly and with a degree of calm control. (Note the granite boulders in the background).

Salina was around to help bring home the first lot (young bulls for me to handle). Hey there gorgeous - well done cowgirl!! We need to get you a proper Drizabone though - that plastic bag I found in the back of the Prado was effective but lacking in the style department!

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Our ankle-biters assisted with the second mob, as they had a half-day journey through our thickly-wooded range country to their warm new home some 10km to the north.

Hey there cowboy... look who's got hold of the reins! Pagi lets Dash manoevre Yvette during a quiet moment on the road...

Dash and the boys... think that's a happy face??

Ah, my inscrutable husband and delighted daughter getting her turn aboard!

The weaners behaving beautifully as they head up the range, with work dogs shadowing and horsemen at the lead and rear of the mob.

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It was a bit of a damp job, but everyone seemed to delight in the chore at hand. I photographed and encouraged from the warm dry safety of the Prado... hey, someone has to provide sustanence and transport!!!

And get photos of raindrops on gum leaves...

Coming over the hill and out to the more open country...

Then, as the destination comes into view, the rain cranks up again. Lovely for soft backdrops, but not great for riders (or lenses!).
Then finally, the weaners funnel through a lane and towards their new home paddock...

Their first lesson in bovine-equine ettiquette passed with flying colours...

And I end up with not much housework done, but some lovely memories stashed away in my trusty Nikon ...

The Aussie bush (and her bushmen)

... inspirational, whatever the weather!

Meet Midnight...

Some of you have been suffering under the illusion that you have met ALL the Granite Glen menagerie...

Sure, you may have met dogs and horses, cattle and emus, goannas and birds...
But there is one particular member of our household I have been tardy in introducing...
Her name is Midnight.

Middy for short.
(And in Australia, everything gets shortened.)
She is not one of your cuddly, suck-up kinda felines.
She was a wild kitten, who adopted my mother about 8 years ago. Well, that's Mum's story - Mum had a bit to do with it too. She would leave out tidbits for this scrap of black fluff, and earned her trust bit by bit. My mother is most definitely a cat person. Actually she's an animal person who harboured dreams of being a vet. But that's another story.
Today we are talking about Middy.

She is quite beautiful - a witch's cat with soft black fur and lamp-like eyes. But she is not a particularly outgoing creature. In fact Middy disappears whenever visitors come to our home. It took her a good week to show her huge yellow eyes near the house after we moved in. And she is particularly not a fan of kids. She has been known to vanish at the mere mention of them.
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But it seems Middy is mellowing in her middle age, and is content these days to curl up in a corner as long as our children (no visitors!) aren't being too rowdy or obnoxious.
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Late at night, often when I am posting on my blog, she'll even deign to climb onto my lap and sit there for a few minutes, contentedly clawing my thigh. We endure this charade of cat-love for about ten minutes (max) and then I get up and find some fresh meat for her to eat. She smiles her little black cat grin and settled down to her hard-earned tucker.
It's our little arrangement.

I do love Middy, but perhaps in a different way to the up-close-and-personal way I adored her earliest predecessor (in this house)... he was a Siamese named Gabriel, who lived to 18 and was positively half-human. Now he loved humans. Couldn't get enough of us. I have a photo somewhere of him lying in one of our doll cots, where we had tucked him in.

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Middy doesn't mind us. So long as we feed her and give her somewhere warm to curl up.
It's really not so much for a wild cat to ask, eh Middy?.