Jungle fever!

So, I wake right on the dot this morning, knowing the instant I open my eyes that it’s going to be a busy day. The dogs are making a racket and I lay in bed for a moment longer, stretching the kinks out of my back and hoping, against hope, that they’ll calm down some.

They never do, and in the end I roll from under the blankets to head towards the door, scowling my displeasure at the Dane bouncing in front of me. Two other of the pack are snarling at each other, drawing my attention just when I’m bending over the stirring mass of fur to unlock the door.

Sitabah (weimeraner) and Labhana (black Labrador) have been having an ongoing tiff for weeks now, and while I throw the door open, the two of them attack each other, resulting in a fight that has them literally going at it with furor for a full five minutes.

None of my usual attempts to get them loose work, so I give up and just let them fight it out and hope that the damage won’t be too bad. Rather than stay there–possessive dogs fight harder when their master is around–I head back into the cabin, keeping a weary eye on them through the open window.

The growling and hissing finally stops and I step outside to see them whirling around each other, tails and ears held high, trying to put their snout on top of their opponent’s shoulders, now that neither has won the battle, but weariness made them stop instead.

Their paws and necks are filled with small puncture wounds, but all things considered the damage is minor. Thankfully.
With the dogs in tow, the two females still trying to pretend to be the victor towards their opponent but keeping enough distance not to start another fight, I arrive at the house.

Big brother is already in the living area, his dogs making a racket when I open the door and keep Trin Trin firmly on her leash to prevent her from pouncing on the lively Cocker Spaniels that are feinting attacks during our entrance. Another fight this early in the morning is really not something I want to risk right now.

I spend a little time on chores, feeding Yadzia and having breakfast, but then I put the coffee on and set up the computer for the day. My eyes remain half shut throughout the first couple of pages, but the coffee kicks in and allows for proper focus as we set to the task in full.

For several hours we edit, finishing the second chapter, and are pleased with the results of the rigorous changes we decide on. The story is improving every day, bringing the errors down to a bare minimum.
The sibs get up at their usual time–little brother explaining that for the first time in years he actually slept through the night–and after discussing what’s on the schedule for the day, I head on outside with garden tools and gloves to tackle the disaster area of the lower garden.

The dogs rush on ahead the moment I open one of the three gates, and I head down to the old pool with one of four sickle knives grandpa bought this morning for this very task. I stand on the terrace surrounding the old pool for several minutes, wondering where to start, before I sigh and climb down the stairs to just pick a random spot and have at it.

One by one the sibs join me, steadily getting into the task as the familiarize themselves with the handy tools that will literally cut through anything–and are therefore dangerous to use when working amidst a large pack of nosy dogs.

For hours we make a joined effort to cut our way through vines and undergrowth, hacking away and digging in until we’ve created a path that will at least allow us to get from one part of the garden to the other. It is no easy task, working side by side with dangerously sharp instruments, and it shows when, by trying to evade a curious dog, middle sister’s sickle knife slices through the sleeve of my T, and draws first blood.

Another curious dog–things would be so much easier if they could stay at the house, but they love their freedom so much–earns big brother a nick in his upper leg, and middle sister damages her trousers with the sharp device too, when a vine suddenly gives way and sends the point right into the thick fabric.

No major disasters occur, however, and work continues as usual. A job isn’t well done until at least some blood is drawn. Hah.
Blind and deaf Bommel gets lost in the meantime, needing to be fetched by little brother, who literally needs to carry him over where I’m stuck in a massive collection of thorny undergrowth.

The poor Bobtail carefully makes his way towards me–the last few feet that is–and flops down on my shoes, content to stay right where he is no matter that he’s in the way.
Sitabah and Labhana, both injured from their morning argument, sit at a discreet distance from each other, licking their wounds and watching ongoing battle against nature with interest while ignoring the presence of their present enemy.

While big brother uses the chainsaw to cut through the trunks of dead trees, middle sister and little brother help me cut a way through the mass of fines and branches that keep the old tree in place. After a while the trunk is sawed in two and it’s time to wrap a rope around it so we can drag it down the mountain.

Big brother climbs down to a lower level of the terraces that make up our property, taking hold of one end of the rope, while I brace myself halfway to add my bit.
The darn trunk won’t give, however, what with vines and other branches keeping it firmly in place, so both younger sibs begin to hack away at the dead wood while big brother and I literally throw our full weight into it.

Finally the dead tree begins to give way, every muscle in our bodies straining and screaming with every inch it moves from its place. My shoulder blades are burning up by then, abdominal muscles so tight my stomach hurts, but at long last the tree begins a slow slide down the mountain with every vine that is cut by sharp sickle knives.

We breathe in deeply, cheering our success for a few minutes until the next chore needs to be dealt with. Dusk is only half an hour away, and we really want to remove a dead thorny bush as well…even though we know it will be a difficult task with the relentless vines that resemble some alien species trying to take over the world. Hah.
The bush doesn’t cooperate any better than the tree, but after several minutes of dangling on the rope it gives and rolls down to a halt on the terrace where big brother waits for it.

With the sun disappearing behind the horizon we call a halt to our efforts, slowly and wearily making our way back to the house with the dogs in tow and Bommel carried by big brother since the poor old dog won’t be able to find his way.

Since not all dogs enjoy wandering now that age has gotten the better of them, little sister has stayed inside the house with mom, and she has prepared our dinner by the time we arrive sweaty, dirty and more than a little sore from our work. We wash up and then enjoy the pizzas she’s made with exhausted enthusiasm. It always amazes me how good a meal tastes after hard work.

The progress is discussed in minute detail, over the meal. As well as plans for tomorrow, while semi-cheerful complaints are shared about sore joints and muscles, unfamiliar with the industrious labor of the day.

I relax for a bit, watching an episode of “Criminal Minds” and then start on the surprise birthday treat for one of grandpa’s acquaintances that’ll be visiting tomorrow. Ladyfinger pyramids, stuck together with sugared coffee butter and a chocolate cream icing. It’s a task I wasn’t looking forward to, but since I promised, I do it anyway.

Once I’m done, and little sister offers to do the dishes, I settle behind the computer. I find myself to be so physically weary that I can hardly concentrate enough to use the keyboard, but still big brother and I manage to do a bit more editing before the evening is over.

I have to admit that I am rather relieved when the night is through and I can head on up to my cabin to tackle the last chore of the day by feeding my dogs and stuffing medication down the throats of four canines suffering from Leishmania.

A good day. A hard one too, but lots got done and that is always a plus.