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Tales of Blackmoor Gate

25 16:33:37

Tales of Blackmoor Gate.

By Blind Dave.

February 2012.

Have you ever been in a car and passed a little road with a white signpost pointing to a place that you have never heard of and just for a second you wonder what it is like, then you forget it, never to think of it again. The world is full of people who do that to places like that. We are one of those places, it is called Blackmoor Gate and it is on a crossroads in deepest darkest Devon. My friend tells me that over 3000 cars each day drive past, almost all of who have no knowledge of Blackmoor Gate. Years ago there used to be a train station, a hotel, a petrol station, a busy market, tearooms and everyone knew where it was.

 

That has all gone and now all that is there is a pub, a few well-spaced houses, and a 'sometimes' sheep market. It is a place you pass through on your way to a 'proper somewhere'. The passers by do not know anything about the world we live in? I must introduce myself, my name is Dave, I live in the garden of the Old Coal Shed at Blackmoor Gate and I am blind, that's to say I can see a little bit, my food comes in a blue bucket so I can see a bit of blue. When I'm put to bed at night my friend shows me the way home with a torch. If I walk away from the light beam, I end up in my house, whoopee! By the way I also ought to tell you I'm a goose. Last year I laid two eggs, but they still call me Dave (they tried Davina but I didn't answer when they called, so I'm still Dave). When I hatched my friend felt the kindest thing was to finish me off, but his children cried, so he didn't and I'm now almost the most important person in the garden. We have ruined the lawn though; I hope it will grow back in the summer. When I say we I mean all my other friends who live in the garden.

I think I must start with Starlight; he is a very handsome young cockerel who we see as a sort of an escaped prisoner of war. When he first came to Blackmoor Gate he lived with 'the neighbours' in their garden. We don't get on with the neighbours, but that's another story. Anyway they had some chickens and one of them, when very young, kept jumping over the fence into our field. My friend put him back many times, but he always jumped back every day. In the end my friend let him stay, but then he started to get bullied by the other cockerels so he moved into the garden.

We live in part of the 'Wendy House', in what used to be the garage for Toby's car, but he got to big for that so it went somewhere else. Toby is my friends son he is 12, he has two sisters Tilly aged 9 and Madison aged 14. Any way we have this snug warm room just next to the Old Coal Shed. Most of the other garden residents also live there. There is Porthos, Aramis and Athos, three, fully grown, tiny boy chickens (barbus d'uccle is the breed, they are a favourite of Lynne, my friends wife, although she didn't think she had bought three boys). They sleep with Starlight who is ten times their size, but always very kind to them. He lets them sleep under his wings so 'blind geese', or other larger birds, that also sleep in the Wendy House, don't tread on them.

Now who else lives in the Wendy House? Well to find out I have to tell you another little story. Last year Lynne my friend's wife had a bad attack of 'Incubatitus' or better known as 'hatch'em if you can' syndrome. It's a fairly common illness mostly suffered by ladies of a certain age, particularly those that did not have enough pets when they were little girls. Any way last year after the normal hatching season (spring and summer), and over a period of some weeks in the Autumn Lynne found little groups of Duck eggs and a few late Goose eggs. Knowing they were probably too old and no longer had babies inside Lynne decided to put them all into the incubator anyway. Over the following weeks the candle and the smell revealed that many would not hatch. Except then 3 ducks hatched, then after a week another 4 hatched with one goose, and finally in late autumn the last two ducks arrived. There followed weeks of shuffling ducklings and a gosling in various cages indoors (till the smell got too bad), then in a range of arks with heat lamps in the garden.

So then we have a group of 9 young ducks (all with no-names) and a young goose, my friend called the goose Lionel, and said he could stay in the garden to keep me company. So to start with all ten birds come into the Wendy House with the chickens and me. The problem is that Lionel thinks he's a duck and the ducks think Lionel is their big brother. Lionel ignores me except at dinnertime when he muscles in on my blue bucket. The rest of the time he roams the garden with his band of no-name brother ducks tearing up what is left of the grass. In our field there is a big pond and my friend thinks the 'garden ducks' would be better off by the pond than in the garden. So he puts the nine ducks by the pond, but they miss Lionel so every day they come back. Every night my friend took them to the pond again and shut them in. Every morning they are let out and come straight back, they can't or don't fly but they waddle fast in a line whilst Lionel watches and calls loud encouragement . Once the posse of ducks with no names gets into the garden (despite my friends best efforts to make entry into the garden 'waddling duck proof') they reunite with a loud welcoming Lionel and then jointly set about destroying what is left of the garden lawn. I have many adventures that I would like to tell about, if you want to read more send an email to my friend the Author.