Not Dead

Just a public service announcement:  I am not dead.  The past week I have been sock-knitting (turned my first heel!  and it still looks like a sock!), riding other people’s horses and falconry-ing.  I’ve upped my number of volunteer days with the hope that in a couple months a job might come out of this if I make myself useful enough.  As a result, I’m learning new and unexpected things.

Such as:

– I can feed The Grumpiest Eagle Owl without losing fingers.

– I can make jesses and anklets out of a mere sheet of leather.

– I know what a creance is, and how to wind it back up properly.

– I can now butcher both quail and rabbit, at least for avian consumption.

The last was something I hadn’t really known how I’d feel about, as a self-confessed animal lover.  Gutting and dismembering little feathered/fluffy things?  I thought I’d be too sad and a bit queasy.  Turns out I’m not.

I’ve realised that my time spent with the birds of prey has given me a somewhat raptorial outlook in life.  I no longer avert my gaze from roadkill, for one.  Not only am I not squeamish anymore, but I’m also less sentimental about things dying.  I appreciate the cycle of life better; one thing dies so another thing might live.

But, back to the topic at hand,  I’m not dead.  I’ve just not been writing lately, what with being busy, and thus feel like I don’t have much to say here.  Hopefully this will change.

And now I’m off to watch The Husband give a talk about religion and politics.  He’s freaking out a little, but he’s a big smarty-pants so it’ll be fabulous.

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