We took Meg to Instow, Devon. This is as close to dog-world as it’s possible to find in England. There are no signs, but I think it’s possible there is a rule somewhere which specifies that people are only allowed to visit Instow if accompanied by a dog. Most people seem to have two or three. There are dogs everywhere—straining against leads on the path along the waterfront, under tables in pubs and cafes, running along the disused railway cycle-route, charging across the beach. Dog Heaven. If you want to introduce a child or puppy to dogs, this is the place to come. (At night, under cover of darkness, when most people are inside, you can spot all the people with unsociable dogs—mostly the owners of German shepherd dogs—walking along the beach, avoiding snarly encounters with other more friendly dogs.)
Meg is great on trips to Instow. She travels really well in the car—no barking because she’s bored (which my previous dog did), she simply curls up in her crate and goes to sleep. At service stations there is lots to see and smell, so she walks next to me, does not chase cars (no idea why, maybe because they’re all moving slowly) and toilets when instructed. She is on full-alert, but also obedient. A rare combination for Meg.
Alert in Costa services
We stay in a house near the beach which has a fully enclosed garden and hard floors; perfect for a dog. We always take a crate, because although I mostly trust Meg, I would hate for her to chew something structural. I also do not attempt to take her into pubs and cafes. She might be good, but she might not, so why risk it? She’s relaxed in her crate.
Meg loves the beach. We throw sticks, and all her attention is on those—she ignores the millions of other dogs on the beach, even when they run up to her. She charges across the sand, rushes into the water—her whole body is happy. A happy dog is beautiful.
Of course, perfection has limits when it comes to Meg, and getting her from the house to the beach was a nightmare. After the first visit, Meg knew that she loved the beach and was desperate to go there. She would sit in the hallway, staring at the door, telling us she was ready. Whenever we left the house Meg was completely overcome with excitement and used all her strength to rush us to the beach. Plus there were cars, which added to the tension. Plus there were other dogs barking–which although Meg doesn’t bark herself she is noticeably tense about. Therefore every time we walked to the beach, we had this leaping, yelping, twisting, tiger on the end of the lead. Other people (with well-behaved dogs) watched in horror and disapproval. It was at this point that Husband lied. We were having a particularly stressful walk to the beach and a couple stopped to watch, their faces full of fear and disapproval. They probably thought we were stealing a dog, or that Meg was a vicious monster. Husband looked at them and said, ‘She’s a rescue dog.’ Their expression changed instantly, they were full of sympathy and admiration for our kindness in taking on such a difficult dog. ‘She’s lovely really,’ I tried to say, ‘She just wants to chase the cars.’ The woman nodded kindly. ‘Obviously she has had a bad experience somewhere,’ she said. I was silent. The only bad experience Meg has had is that we never managed to train her properly–but I decided not to blow Husband’s cover. When we reached the beach, whatever switch in Meg’s brain that makes her uncontrollable turned off. She became a lovely obedient dog, focussed on sticks, obeying my commands.
Instow is on an estuary, so the water is usually calm. We look across the water to Appledore. At night the lights of the town shine on the water. An image of peace.
We stayed for a few days. We both had some work to do, and in between times we wandered across the beach, ate in pubs, went for long walks. It was a chance to recharge batteries, have a break from normal routine. I like visiting costal towns out of season, and we have visited Instow several times now. I love it. Although I’m not sure if I would be allowed to visit unless I had a dog…
Hope you have a good week and do not find it necessary to lie. Thanks for reading.
Before we bought Meg (sweet naive souls that we were) we tried to plan ahead. Our kitchen is open-plan style, which isn’t great for a new puppy, so some friends lent us their ‘puppy pens.’ They had two kinds, both used successfully with their Weimaraner puppies. One pen was fairly solid and not too big—ideal for in the kitchen. The other was lighter and bigger—perfect for the garden.
We collected Meg from the breeder, brought her home and placed her in the kitchen. After knocking over a plant, running round, peeing on the floor, etc in about two seconds, we put her into the first puppy pen. For a minute or two, all was calm. But Meg had no intention of staying inside the playpen, she wanted to be with us. When I moved away, Meg used the bars of the pen like a ladder, climbing up to the top. I managed to catch her as she fell backwards (very dangerous). Clearly this was not a safe place to leave her unattended. We assembled the lighter, larger puppy pen—maybe the larger slats would be too wide for Meg to climb. They were. Meg did not scramble up the sides, instead she used all her weight to heave into the corner, which obligingly slid across the kitchen floor. Meg triumphantly reached me, dragging the pen behind her. Not a success.
We now had nowhere safe for Meg to be left. She had a crate, for sleeping, but it was small, too small to be left in. (The idea of ‘crate training’ in case you have never done it, is that you gradually introduce the puppy to a crate, which then is their safe place, like a den in the wild. When toilet training a young puppy, you have a bed-sized crate so the puppy cannot sleep at one end and toilet at the other which encourages them to form bladder control. Of course for this to not be cruel, the owner has to very frequently, day and night, take them to an appropriate place to toilet. The timing depends on the puppy. For Meg, it took one night, we never had another accident. For my black Labrador puppy it took 10 years and I’m not completely sure she ever fully understood where she was supposed to pee.) We needed somewhere else that was safe to leave hyper-active puppy unattended during the day.
It was a problem, solved by Husband-Fixer-Man, who set off at about 8pm, determined to solve the problem. He spent some time on the internet, then informed me he had found the biggest crate available, it was available in Argos about 10 miles away, they were open until 10pm, he was on it! Off he went. Some time later, he returned with the biggest box ever fitted into a Land Rover. From it emerged a crate, which when assembled took up a sizeable amount of kitchen floor. It was huge. It was also Meg-proof. She could not climb the walls, she could not move it along the floor, and it was big enough that I felt she could safely be contained with her toys when I was unable to be on puppy-duty. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked.
Over time, Meg moved from the smaller crates, and the huge crate was the only one we kept. It has been useful when we have guests who don’t like dogs, or guests who are fragile, because Meg can be shut inside and everyone is safe. She likes it, and even though the door is rarely shut unless we have visitors, she generally chooses to be in there and sleeps in there every night (with the door wide open). However, the top has become a dumping place for things. Over time old towels have been stored there, toys she no longer uses, odd bits of gardening equipment. I am not naturally tidy, and I stopped ‘seeing’ what was dumped ‘temporarily’ on top of the crate. Plus it took up a huge amount of kitchen floor.
I decided it was time to move it out. Meg rarely needs to be shut away, and when she does she can be put into the utility room. (To be fair, she hates it in there because she can’t see what is happening, so she would much prefer the crate stayed.) I experimented with putting a nice comfy dog bed inside the crate, planning to move the crate when something else had become her bed. She hated the comfy cushion. For a few nights she slept squashed next to it in the crate. Then she abandoned the crate and slept on the doormat. Then she tried to remove the comfy cushion from the crate and when that proved too difficult she tried to eat it.
I removed the partially shredded cushion and put it in the dustbin, replacing it with a towel. Yesterday, we removed the crate. I placed the towel in the same spot on the floor, and told Meg this is her bed. Meg lay on it. Later, while we were eating, I told Meg to go to her bed. She went and sat on the towel. This morning, when I came into the kitchen, Meg was asleep on the towel. Sorted. Very little has been easy with Meg, but being adaptable is one of her strengths. She understands her ‘bed’ is the towel. No crate required. Perfect.
I’m now enjoying my spacious kitchen. Thanks for reading. Have a good week.
I have ducklings, rescued from the pond, in a crate in the garage. Meg is interested. I take her with me, and hold a duckling for her to sniff. She’s very excited, and tries to lick it. I speak very calmly, praising her, ensuring she stays sitting. It’s not (yet) very calm, and I can tell she’s bursting to leap on them. But I will continue.
I had a nightmare. It was very grim—something evil was hovering over the bed and I knew I needed to wake-up but I couldn’t. I screamed (which did wake me). Husband came running. The point of this, is that Meg was asleep on the floor next to me, and her reaction was…zero. I screamed a full-panic, real fear, scream. Meg did not move. I do not find this reassuring in terms of guard-dog duty. I suspect if a burglar came she might join him if he looked more fun than me. She scores 100% for resilience, 0 for empathy, 0 for security. Sometimes I wonder why I keep her.
Considering options
18/4/2026
Walking Meg in the woods is delightful. She is very obedient, especially when off-lead, and will come and walk beside me on command. She still grabs at sticks occasionally, so I wear tough gardening gloves to avoid losing a finger. But other than risk of losing a limb, she is great! I’m especially proud of her when other dogs invade her space, as she will always ignore them and come to me when called.
On a less good note, I still do not feel she likes me much. When no one else is here, she will faithfully follow me wherever I go, and will sleep on the floor beside my bed. But anyone more exciting (which seems to include everyone) Meg is off, looking for better company. This annoys me. I feed her, walk her, pick up her mess—but it is Husband who she greets enthusiastically. This morning, I opened her cage, bent to fuss her—Husband walked into the kitchen—she rushed off to bounce him happily and take him gifts of dirty towels. I was ignored, of no interest whatsoever. I find this odd. All my other animals like me, so I feel the fault is hers. It makes me less tolerant of her bad points (which is perhaps not rational, but I feel she should love me best!)
By the way, introducing Meg to the hatchlings has not changed her behaviour at all. She still views them as things to chase/bark at. I will continue to keep them separate unless she is extremely closely monitored.
2/4/2026
Meg has been fairly good this week. We have a nice routine in the morning, when she comes into the field with me and I water the new plants. Goose and Maverick are out, but behind a flimsy fence (it wouldn’t keep Meg out if she decided to join them, but it’s a psychological barrier, and it keeps the birds contained, even Maverick the fighty cockerel). If I am holding a stick, and I concentrate on directing her, then Meg stays with me, and doesn’t bark at the birds. She walks to the middle of the field with me, then stops and watches me walk the rest of the way. If I call her, she will join me (just to check whether I have anything interesting, then she returns to the middle of the field).
When I need to refill the waterings cans, at the tap right next to the birds, Meg is almost good. I tell her to ‘stop’ and to ‘wait’ in a place about a 100 yards from the bird enclosure. Meg stands still. I turn to walk towards the tap, Meg creeps forward a step. I turn, make unhappy noises, she stops. Every time I move towards the tap, Meg moves closer. It’s like one of those ‘creeping up’ games you played as a child. It’s very disobedient, and as a GSD, Meg should be completely obedient. But she’s busy concentrating on moving without me noticing, which means she is ignoring the birds, so I don’t really care. Life with Meg is all about compromise. She rarely does exactly what I want, but ‘close enough’ is okay.
August 2026
Meg is being hard work. I think this is due to lack of routine—we have been away a few times, there have been visitors in the house and I have been distracted by work and ill family. This means Meg has not been my focus, and she has started to ignore me when I tell her to do something. This week she even refused to come to be put on the lead in the woods, and then almost refused to jump into the car—problems I thought we had cured years ago. She makes me cross, because life has been disrupted for me too, and I don’t have any patience for her naughtiness.
On a brighter note, we used ‘Rover’ and no one died. Rover is an online site, a little like Airbnb for dog-sitters. You upload details about your dog (like whether they can cope with other dogs, or cats, or children) and then you look for a suitable host on the website. They can then ask further questions before agreeing to take your dog. We were going to Cambridge for the weekend, and it was holiday time so all the kennels were completely full, and several friends have recommended Rover. I was nervous. I worried about whether Meg would be safe (although we specified an enclosed garden and no walks, but people might interpret that loosely). I also worried whether the host would be safe—Meg has a lot of enthusiasm and is incredibly strong. There wasn’t a tick-box for ‘Is your dog like an excitable tiger?’ but we did our best. We found a host conveniently near Cambridge, and delivered Meg. I worried a lot. The host seemed very nice, and I felt a cross ‘sergeant-major figure’ may fare better with Meg. She also had a very nice house, with lots of pretty things that a tail might sweep to the floor. I did my best to explain that one of them needed to be the boss and it should not be Meg, and that it was probably best to contain her in the kitchen and garden rather than having free access to her very tidy house. But I still worried. We left.
Later that evening, we messaged (to make sure the host wasn’t weeping). We received a happy message in reply, and a photo of Meg, looking very pleased with herself, sitting in the lounge (though not on a sofa, thankfully). I tried to relax. When we collected Meg, the house was full of visitors, all of them said goodbye to Meg and seemed to genuinely like her. Meg (of course) was completely fine. She is bomb-proof (probably why her siblings are used in the police/army). It would take a lot to shatter her happy confidence (which is one reason why I was willing to risk leaving her—I would not have left my other slightly less robust GSD). After we were home, Meg received a review from the host on Rover. It said she was a happy affectionate dog, and the host had enjoyed having her to stay. That was nice.
Ruth is staying with us again. Meg loves this (and it’s one reason why she has been difficult, because Meg feels she now has options as to whether to obey me). Meg will be asleep in the kitchen, and will suddenly sit up, then race upstairs. Seconds later I hear Ruth’s bedroom door open. Meg enjoys leaning against Ruth, going into her bedroom (which is not allowed) and licking Ruth’s feet (I think Ruth is less keen on this). I will attempt to reinstate some discipline after Ruth has left. Meg sees her as backup in her quest to ignore me.
A very bad morning. I was out, Husband took Meg into the garden. There was a duck on the lawn, Meg tore after it, ignoring Husband, caught the duck, killed her. I am so angry with Meg. I have repeatedly tried to teach her not to chase my birds, repeatedly distracted her so she doesn’t bark at them, constantly tried to teach her to be safe around them. But clearly, she is not safe with them.
The ducks are semi-wild (mostly the offspring of wild ducks which I have rescued from crows and raised on the pond, and they have decided to stay because I feed them). In the Spring, the drakes are annoying, so the hens will fly over the fence onto the lawn, away from the drakes. Usually, when they hear us in the garden they fly back, onto the pond. This one obviously wasn’t fast enough.
By the time I got home, there was nothing that could help the duck, who was lying, terrified, under a tree. I gently picked her up, and laid her in a nest of fresh hay, safely enclosed, so she could die in peace. Horribly sad.
I am so angry with Meg. I know that her instinct is to chase (although not to kill—she must have been very rough to have killed it) but she knows that she must not touch my poultry, which is why she was running away from Husband as soon as she had it, why it became a game to her, something to play with. It shows complete lack of obedience, lack of impulse control, lack of empathy (because I am sure that his tone of voice should have warned her that this was not a game, and she should stop).
After I sorted the poor duck, I went into the house. Meg was shut into the utility room. I told her to go into her crate. Something in my voice subdued her. She knows she has been bad. She knows I am angry with her—her tail is down and her ears and back and she is not making a fuss to be free, even though she would not usually be confined to her crate during the daytime. I am so angry and upset I need space from her for a while. After that, I will try to decide what to do. I have no idea whether there is a way to teach her not to touch the birds—it’s not as if I haven’t tried. I need an albatross to come and terrify her, so she never touches birds again. When things like this happen, I just feel defeated, and want to rehome her. I have not felt like that for a very long time now, but today I could send her back to the breeder and replace her with a normal German Shepherd dog. One who listens to me. Like Kia did.
Thursday 12/3/2026
We needed to go to Sheffield (to collect goose eggs to hatch) and I didn’t want her in kennels again so soon, so we took her with us. She was perfect. (Never thought I would write that!) We put her into her crate in the boot, loaded our cases, and set off. After several hours we stopped at services. I walked Meg round the car park, and through the services (because there was no sign saying dogs couldn’t enter) and Meg was great. There was noise, and people, and sliding doors, queues for food, people eating (so food smells) a games area full of flashing lights and loud sounds—Meg walked next to me on the lead, noticing everything but unperturbed by any of it. Marvellous.
When we arrived in Sheffield, we set up her bed in the Airbnb and had a cup of tea. Then we left her, in the strange house, while we went out for dinner. Meg was fine (I checked). She curled up in her bad and slept.
I didn’t attempt to walk her along the streets (she’s always awful) and I decided that being either inside or in the garden for a few hours was no worse than being in kennels. Meg seemed fine. In the house, we could hear the dog next door barking. Meg growled a few times, but mostly ignored it.
The next day, we put her back in the car and drove home. Again, she was perfect. She sat and watched the traffic, or lay down (not sure if she slept) and when we stopped she walked nicely beside me, toileted on grass next to the road, got back into the car without a fuss. I was very pleased with her.
As I said, we were collecting goose eggs. I hope to hatch some. I also hope that while I am raising the goslings, I can involve Meg in a calm way, and that she will realise they are fragile, and that instead of being things to chase they will be things she guards. (Surely, deep inside, there is some shepherding instinct??) This is my hope. We shall see…
Thanks for reading. I hope you have a good week and all is calm in your world. Take care. Love, Anne x
Meg in field, not guarding geese.New bed. Not sure.Favourite sleeping positionJust plain naughty
Anyone who keeps poultry tends to dislike foxes. I have nothing against them per se, but they kill my birds so I try to keep them away. It was easier before people started feeding foxes, because they are wild animals and had a natural wariness of people. But now people feed them (I have strong opinions about such people, which I am holding in) the fox has lost all fear of humans. Foxes will positively seek out human houses, looking for food. I have seen foxes walking brazenly across my lawn, right in front of the kitchen window—no fear at all.
Screenshot
The trouble is that foxes do not kill for food, they kill for pleasure (like cats). If they see birds, they will kill all of them not just the ones they want to eat. Killing is sport.
The main way I protect my flocks is locking them in a fox-proof cage as soon as it’s dusk, and having a dog. For all her annoyances, Meg is good at keeping the fox away. I am careful when we’ve been on holiday, because the fox quickly learns that the dog is away, and our garden becomes part of fox-territory. I always keep the birds locked inside for a few days, until the fox has learnt there is a mad dog who loves to chase things in the garden.
My new problem is that the geese are now in the field next to the garden—which is a bigger area for the dog to patrol. She goes in there a couple of times a day, and I hope that the scent of her will be a deterrent, but I still worry. Most foxes would probably not bother geese and cockerels—much too much bother, because they are big and noisy and fight back. But a big male fox, or a fox with cubs, would kill them in a flash.
Apparently foxes dislike the buzz of an electric fence, so that is one (expensive) possibility to consider for the future. I did once buy a battery-operated deterrent which claimed to make a noise that foxes would hate. I put in the battery and switched it on—no sound at all. Then all my children (who were teenagers at the time) arrived in the kitchen to ask what the horrible noise was! It clearly worked (on teenagers, if not foxes). I will try to find something similar.
I also thought that maybe, if I made a model of a person, the fox would see a human, and decide to go elsewhere. Afterall, farmers have used scarecrows for centuries. I have no idea whether they actually work, but I have plenty of old clothes, I thought I would try. When we were children we made guys to burn, stuffing old clothes with newspapers (this is a tradition which is impossible to explain to Americans without sounding like we’re very weird). However, I wanted something a little more weather-proof. I looked online for a manikin. They were all over £100, which is more than I wanted to spend (because it might not work). Then I thought maybe an inflatable one would work. I can tell you, looking online for an inflatable manikin shows some seriously dodgy sites! However, Amazon sells some, for using as Halloween decorations. I bought a cheap one. I also bought a Styrofoam head, a wig, some reflective sunglasses—all very cheap, but quite good when put together. I now have a tall thin person guarding my field. Not very realistic if one looks properly—I’m hoping a fox will not pay too much attention but will see it and move on. Perhaps I should spray it with perfume occasionally. Certainly the geese were interested, and all came to chat to the strange person standing in their field. I will let you know how things develop.
Meg is extremely unhappy. On Saturday she went in the garden with Husband. When Husband is in the garden, it is often to destroy something—take down a dead tree, pull up ivy, dig up an old root. Meg seems to have noticed, and joins in with enthusiasm—which means that if she goes into the garden with Husband she is also destructive (but not in a good way). He blames the personality of the dog (but I don’t tend to have this trouble when I am in the garden with her—just saying).
Anyway, on Saturday they both disappeared into the garden (one on a mission to destroy) and I started to vacuum (not my favourite thing). In a very short while, they both came back, Husband saying that destructor-dog had hurt herself during a frenzy of destroying old logs. He wasn’t exactly sure what had happened, but as she blasted her way through a bush she yelped, hopped, charged across the lawn and through another bush, yelped again. She was now limping and licking her front paw.
I checked, but couldn’t see any sign of thorns or tears. I thought she may have caught her ‘dew claw’ on something. (These are the doggy equivalent of thumb nails, and some people remove them because they often catch on things and cause trouble.) Saturday evening passed peacefully enough. Meg licked her paw occasionally, but nothing troublesome, and when we went in the field she forgot about it and walked quite happily and then let me hose it, so I thought all was fine. Probably just a thorn which was now gone, or caught her nail, something minor.
Sunday morning, Meg got out of her bed, and her back legs were weird and she was limping. This was a shock. I am very worried about her back hips, because she has always sat ‘wonky’ so I worry they are not properly aligned or something—but she walks/runs/charges without problem, so I have always reassured myself. Now I was worried—had my fears come true?
However, it soon became apparent that it was not her hips but a back foot that was causing her problems. She wouldn’t put it down, and kept licking it. The licking turned to more persistent bothering, and she made it bleed. Which meant we had to resort to a collar—you know, one of those big plastic cones that fit around a dog’s head and make it impossible for them to lick their limbs. We had an old one from when Kia was alive, and we fitted it onto Meg. She was terrified.
Meg sat, shaking, refusing to move. I tried to reassure her, stroking her, talking calmly, being close. Meg bashed her way into her bed (she couldn’t account for her extra width) and did not move all day. She would not eat, nor drink, nor be tempted from her bed. It was very sad. I worried she would dehydrate, so resorted to squirting water into her mouth with a dosing syringe. I was pretty sure there was nothing urgent wrong, nothing deemed worthy of a trip to the animal hospital (why do animals always hurt themselves at weekends when the vet is closed?). We decided to wait until today, and book an appointment with her vet.
Gradually, Meg began to get used to the collar. After about 12 hours, she left her bed and walked around, bashing into things. Her solution to the difficulty of not-fitting through gaps due to her expanded width was to try and force her way through things, and she was very difficult to guide/help. But she did go outside to toilet, and she did drink. No food though, not even when I tried to handfeed her.
We are just home from the vet. Meg was clearly in a lot of pain, and actually snarled/growled when she was examined (which is the first time she has ever done that). Her temperature was 42 (should be 38) so there is some kind of infection. She did not keep still (this is an understatement—think ‘trying to contain a hurricane’ and you will get the picture). The vet sent us away with antibiotics and anti-inflammatories and told us to return in a couple of days if no improvement. (Their Xray machine is being fixed, but will be ready on Wednesday. Plus I think he needed recovery time after trying to examine Meg.) He said it might be a broken toe, or a thorn—either way the treatment is the same. If no better on Wednesday they will sedate her (never good, because there are always risks) and do a proper examination. Poor Meg.
I fed her a piece of cheese with her pill. She very quickly managed to separate the two and spit the pill sideways out of her mouth, into the cat bowl. (I think this was a fluke!) I then gave her just the pill (she is very good about me putting things into her mouth) and waited until it was gone.
I took her into the garden and she spent a long time attempting to pick up a log while wearing the plastic cone. We have bought a replacement cone, because I don’t think the current one will survive until Wednesday. Nor, I fear, will the door frames which get thoroughly bashed. I am hoping she gets the hang of her increased width soon.
21/1/2026
Meg is still not used to the added width of the cone (which she is wearing to stop her licking damaged foot). She simply rams it with increasing force at whatever object stands in her way. The cone has a huge crack in it—I doubt it will last more than one more day. Luckily, her foot is healing well. She went back to the vet, who said it was extremely unlikely that anything is broken. She has to continue with her meds (penicillin and anti-inflammatory) but she seems to be doing well. It certainly has not slowed her down, not now she is used to the scary cone (which made her petrified for 12 hours).
25/1/2026
The cone has gone. At least, during the day Meg no longer wears it. This is at partly due to the fact that I could not cope with the pain of it crashing into my legs whenever Meg was trying to force her way past me, or round me, or through me. The hard plastic cone would dig into my leg, causing bruises and pain. Therefore, I made the executive decision that during the day, Meg’s foot is well enough to risk occasional licks. We put the cone back on last night, because I worried the foot might get chewed during the night when no one was watching, but first bash at 7 a.m. this morning, it was removed again. It is entirely possible that Meg realises this and is bashing me on purpose—if so, she has won. Such is life with a GSD.
It is rather wonderful to be able to walk her freely again. I have taken her to the woods a few times, and it brightens my day to watch her bounding through the trees, stick (log) in mouth, tail wagging. Her whole body shows her delight, and it’s contagious, I cannot watch her happiness and not feel the joy myself. Maybe this is why God invented dogs, they teach us what joy is. (And resilience!)
Mandy has moved into the house. I have some cats, which originally came from a farm and they have always lived outside. When I have needed to bring them inside (because one is injured) they have been very unhappy, constantly seeking ways to escape. They live in the workshop, and I feed them, take them to the vet for vaccines—just as if they were pets in my home, but they live outside. They do not like Meg, because she chases them. I have tried to stop this, but other than using one of those zappy collars (which seem cruel to me) I can’t think how to train her not to chase them. Luckily they are much faster than her, and can climb trees, so she has never managed to bounce one.
However, several months ago, Mandy left home. I did not see her throughout the whole summer, and I assumed she had either been run over, or had moved home. But then, just before Christmas when the weather turned very cold, I began to see her, in the fields near the house. She wouldn’t come near enough for me to catch her, but she has very distinctive markings, so I was sure it was her. Then one morning, a woman knocked on the door, saying she had found a cat wandering in the lane and planned to take it to the vet (not sure why, as it could have been a feral cat—there are several on the farm)—unless it was mine? It was Mandy. I managed to catch her, and brought her inside.
Now, just before a busy Christmas is not the best time to sort out an animal who wants to live rough. Therefore, after a quick check-over by the vet, I gave her a heated bed and food and water, and left her in the garage. This was fine over Christmas, but she could not live there for ever. I suspect she moved out because she doesn’t like Meg. But it’s not safe for her to live rough, especially in the winter. I am now trying to persuade her to live inside. If I cannot train Meg to not bounce her, and I can’t persuade the cat to be happy inside, then I will have to rehome her. (The cat, not Meg. Although sometimes it’s tempting.) I shall give it my best attempt.
Currently, the cat has her food, water and litter tray in a dog crate, next to the one where Meg sleeps. Whenever Meg is outside, or in the rest of the house with me, the cat is free to wander the kitchen. When Meg is in the kitchen, the cat is shut into her crate. At first there was a lot of hissing, but things have started to settle down.
I had the cat from birth, and she had lots of interaction with Kia, my previous (wonderful) GSD, so she is not scared of dogs per se, just wary of bouncy Meg. Therefore, now she realises Meg cannot reach her in the crate, she simply ignores Meg.
In contrast, Meg is fascinated by the cat. She now chooses to lie, right next to the cat’s crate, poking her nose against the bars. Sometimes the cat slaps her, sometimes they sniff noses. Whenever the cat eats, Meg goes to her own bowl and eats her food. The only times she barks at the cat is if she sees us stroking the cat, so now I am careful not to do that. I am trying to encourage Meg to see the cat as hers, something she needs to protect. I tell her to lie down when she gets bouncy, and I stroke Meg until she is calm.
My plan is to gradually decrease the barriers between them, keeping Meg busy with something so the cat becomes ‘background,’ something normal. Not something exciting to be chased. I don’t think this will transpose to outside, when I am pretty sure Meg will continue to chase anything that moves, but I am hopeful this will be different inside. I will next start with a psychological barrier (the vacuum cleaner—Meg will never step over it, she hates it). Not sure how this will go.
17/1/2026
The cat/Meg combo continues to improve. I am aware that a single mistake, whereby Meg decides to chase the cat, will end the possibility of them both living freely in the house together. But so far, we are making tiny steps in the right direction. They continue to have crates next to each other, and happily sleep/eat with only the bars between them. They seem very relaxed together, although there is usually still a barrier between them.
This week I have allowed them limited time in the same space—always when Meg has been given a ‘mission’ first. This means her focus is on whatever ‘job’ I have given her, and so although she knows the cat is under the table, or on the chair, she ignores her. For example, I will tell Meg we are going in the garden, or to get in the car. Then I open her door, and Meg goes straight to the car/garden, ignoring the cat. So far, so good.
I have also, while I have been in the kitchen, used the vacuum cleaner to divide them. The cat was asleep on the chair, I put the vacuum cleaner on the floor next to her, and released Meg. Meg was perturbed, and kept an eye on the cat, but did not pass the scary cleaner. Eventually she relaxed, and lay down. This gives me hope that I will manage to make the cat ‘boring,’ something to be ignored.
The cat takes no notice of anything. She was born in the garage, and I had read that anything a cat encounters in the first 10 days it will accept, but after that it will never change (which is why a feral cat is always a feral cat, however much it is nurtured in later life). I therefore made sure my kittens encountered as much life as possible in those first 10 days—I vacuumed the garage, Kia my GSD went in regularly and licked them (oh, for a lovely calm GSD again…) they had the radio playing, etc. This means the cat is now very chilled. As long as I can keep her physically safe from Meg, and not allow chasing or bouncing, we should be fine. One thing I learnt is that Meg is jealous. We made the mistake of stroking the cat, and Meg in her crate was very angry and started to bark. I can stroke the cat, but I need to engage Meg first, tell her that I am going to stroke her cat—somehow let her be involved. I don’t know why this makes a difference, but if I talk to Meg throughout the interaction, she seems happy with my stroking or carrying the cat. I try to limit this to a few minutes, and then I go back to Meg and praise her. They cannot become rivals, that would be bad.
April 2026
Unfortunately, the cat now lives outside. Meg and Mandy did cohabit relatively peacefully together, and although they were never alone when unsupervised, they did seem to tolerate each other. However, Mandy decided that my plant pots made better places to poop than her dirt tray. I cannot cope with poop in the house (I was a terrible mother when potty-training my children.) Definitely cannot cope with a dirty cat in the house. We therefore made a safe place in a shed, with a dog-free exit route. Mandy seems happy, and has not returned to her homeless state.
Shame it didn’t work. But that is often how things are with animals. Hope your own plans go well this week. Thanks for reading. Take care. Love, Anne x
I am very happy as I write this—and slightly too busy. You know the feeling? Just a few too many plates to keep spinning… But I can’t complain. The sun is shining, the trees are in blossom, the natural world is busy. The main reason for my happiness today is the incubator eggs are hatching, and this is one of the very best things in life (I think—some of my friends would prefer a designer handbag!)
The eggs started to hatch yesterday. They lie in the incubator, looking dead—exactly like the eggs in your fridge, and then one starts to cheep, or a crack appears, and you realise there is something alive inside, trying to emerge. It can take several days for an egg to hatch, which requires lots of patience (not something I am blessed with). I know from bitter experience that interfering usually ends badly. Although there is a point, after a couple of days, when a hatchling that is struggling will die unless you help—so it’s a difficult balance.
I am currently helping a gosling to hatch. The first crack appeared two days ago, and two other eggs have safely hatched during this time, but this one seems to be stuck. The egg is fairly small for a goose egg. Farmers advise not attempting to hatch small eggs—they only use the large ones for hatching. But I don’t have lots of fertile eggs, so each one is precious. My guess is that the gosling is too big to move around inside the egg, so cannot turn and crack the egg all the way round—like a zipper—and then push its way out. It made a crack, but then stopped, too squashed to wriggle and make more cracks. So I am helping. Each hour, I open the lid (letting out all the warm air and humidity, so it’s a balance) and I crack off another piece of shell, drip some warm water on it (to replace the moisture lost from the open lid) and leave it to rest. The gosling’s beak is free, and it cheeps at me, which is the only indication it’s still alive. I hope to have it almost free by this evening, and then I will leave it, in case there is still some yolk to absorb (completely removing them from the egg is a bad thing to do). I really hope it makes it.
Two hatched goslings are in the garage under a warm lamp, and two chicks, plus the 4 ducklings I rescued from the pond. It’s a happy gang in there. The ducklings are too big now, and ought to be outside, but until Goose gets off her nest, they have to stay inside (because they will disturb her). There are three new trees which need to be watered regularly, weeds which are threatening to engulf the flower beds, insects invading my house plants so I need to buy a spray…A lot of nature to sort.
I am juggling this with trying to prepare work for my first year review, which is a big deal and has to be passed. I need to update my proposal (the document that says what I intend to research, and how) plus a writing sample. In a couple of weeks the university will send the monstrous form it sent last May, so I need to plan time to complete that. Plus I am itching to begin my new chapter—looking at death, and whether animals have life after death, and what is the significance of death in terms of relationship with God.
So you see, I am happy, but busy. (Don’t mention housework—I am making that a swear word!) I will go now and chip another piece of shell from my struggling gosling. I hope you have a happy week too, enjoying all the life of springtime.
I am very keen to have company for Goose, so I contacted the man who kindly gave me her egg two years ago, and asked if I could buy some more. He lives near Sheffield. I looked online, to try and find someone nearer, but I am keen to have more Sebastopol geese. No one local was advertising eggs. (Eggs through the post is always a bit unreliable.)
We had been home from the US for one day. One frantic day of unpacking and washing laundry and sorting animals. Then we drove to Sheffield, planning to collect the eggs, sleep in an Airbnb, drive home. The timing was terrible! I was exhausted, but there was no way to delay (if I wait too long after the eggs are laid, they are unlikely to hatch. These eggs were already 2 weeks old.)
In terms of bird-timing, it was perfect. Goose has laid 4 eggs of her own, and is making a nest. I was very hopeful that adding a few more would be enough to make her grow broody. As she’s an inexperienced mother (some birds get bored after a couple of weeks and abandon perfectly viable eggs) I also put 4 in the incubator. I gave her a child’s paddling pool full of water, so she can wet her feathers regularly.
I decided to also try a different breed of goose, so I ordered two Emdon goose eggs from Ebay. I also decided to order some more Orpington chicken eggs, as company for Maverick (my hens are old now and have stopped laying). They were all ordered on the Thursday, I hoped if they were posted on Friday, they would arrive Saturday and they could all go into the incubator together. Such a great plan. None of it worked very well…
MaverickGoose
Monday, Day 1: Eggs had rested for 24 hours, so I washed them and added to incubator.[1] Ebay eggs not arrived. I put 4 fertile eggs into Goose nest, and scribbled on her infertile 4 with a pencil. Left eggs to warm for 24 hours.
Goose Eggs
Tuesday, Day 2: After 24 hours of warmth, I started to turn the incubator eggs, 3 times per day. Ebay eggs not arrived. Goose seems to be sitting on her nest.
Wednesday, Day 3: Continued to turn incubator eggs. Ebay eggs still not arrived. (Contacted the seller, who said he sent them via Evri the next day. Evri are useless in my experience, so I am worried.) Goose seems to be sitting on her nest, coming off to eat and stand in the paddling pool.
Thursday, Day 4: Continued to turn incubator eggs. Ebay eggs still not arrived. Goose nest a disaster! When I went today, she got off the nest and I could see signs of egg-eating. There are 5 remaining eggs.
I have no idea whether Goose ate the eggs I bought because she knew they weren’t her own, or if a rat got them, or if they were bad (hens will eat bad eggs to stop the nest being ruined). I could not see my pencil marks on any eggs at all. After much debate with Husband (who has a stake in this after driving all the way to Sheffield and back) I decided to remove 3 eggs from the nest and add them to the incubator. They were filthy, so I washed them—which at this stage may have killed them if they have been developing for 3 days but I worried about adding so much dirt to the incubator. I have no idea how many days they have been developing, if at all, so they might be behind the other eggs, or they might be the same as the other eggs, or they might be the infertile eggs that Goose laid. Not great.
Friday, we had a power cut. Big worry! I immediately started to think about whether I could move the incubator to a family home where they had power—but realised that moving the eggs at this stage would kill them. So would getting cold. I thought I probably had about an hour before they grew too cool (I immediately covered the incubator in towels). Husband then suggested it might work on a back-up battery he has for our alarm. I plugged it in, the incubator whirred back to life. Phew! (The power came back after about 30 minutes, but that wasn’t something predicable.) If these eggs hatch, I feel it will be a miracle, there are so many problems.
Saturday, Day 6: I filled the water reservoir in the incubator and noticed water leaking from the other side. Great, it has sprung a leak. The humidity inside was dropping. I added an egg cup of warm water, the humidity rose. But this will only work for a while. Long discussion with Husband. We decided that the incubator is about 15 years old, and has hatched many batches of eggs, maybe it’s time to replace it. We looked online.
There are hundreds of incubators to choose from, with varying reviews and very varied prices. My one is still sold, and is about 4x the price of most others. But it works really well, and regulates the humidity (when not broken) as well as the temperature and turning of the eggs. We decided that it was worth investing in the same one. Deep breath. Ordered it.
Day 7: I shone a light through the eggs. It’s a bit early, but I am impatient. It looks as if the 4 eggs I put straight into the incubator are all fertile. One of the eggs I rescued might be fertile, but the other two look as if they are not.
I really hope the one is, because that means Goose did not eat all the fertile eggs, and potentially might still be sitting on fertile eggs. She is, as far as I can see, sitting on two eggs now. Her eggs seem to be a little delayed, which would make sense if she didn’t actively sit on the nest for a day or two after I added the eggs. She’s very diligent, sits on her nest most of the time, coming off to wash and eat. It’s hard to keep her water clean because she adds lots of mud to it—plus of course there are the two ducks I shut in the cage.
Ducks are fun but terrible. They turn everything into mud soup. They are laying, and have made nests, but no sign of sitting. They are probably hoping another bird will come and sit for them. They race around the cage, digging up the mud with their beaks, splashing in any available water. Very messy. When they go near Goose she hisses at them, so they have stopped running into her nest (which they first did). I’m really hoping they sit soon, or I shall have to release them back onto the pond.
The Ebay eggs never arrived. Evri is hopeless. I informed the sellers—one is being helpful, the other one is being obstinate. I want him to refund my money, or I shall leave a terrible review. I have ordered 2 more batches of Buff Orpington eggs, which I might put into the old incubator as it’s still working (the new one arrived today). They should all hatch about the same time, which will mean two weeks of lots of work, but then they will all be independent by May, if it goes to plan.
Chicken Eggs. They finally arrived, 8 were fertile (out of 18 bought). No idea whether they will hatch, but am hopeful.
Day 10
I candled the eggs. It’s really hard to see inside because the shells are so thick. I do it at night, when it’s dark, and shine a very bright light through them. I think 3 are definitely fertile, 2 were not so I took them out. The rest I am not sure about. They look too dark to be unfertilised, but they are not as developed as the others—but they are the ones rescued from Goose, so maybe she didn’t sit consistently until a few days later. Ot they might be her infertile ones. I don’t want to risk throwing away a goose, so I will wait a couple more days. If they are not clearly developing (they should stop moving and appear as a solid dark lump) then I will take them out. The danger of leaving infertile eggs is they may go bad, and the fumes will kill the other eggs. I hate making these decisions because it’s so awful to get it wrong and kill something by mistake.
In the garden, Goose is firmly sitting on her two remaining eggs (which I fear may be infertile ones she laid). She has plucked out her breast feathers, and lined the nest with soft down. When she leaves the nest to eat and drink she makes a big fuss of covering the nest with hay, so it can’t be seen. One of the ducks is also nesting. The other duck was being disruptive, so I have put her back on the pond.
They build up the sides with hay and sticks, and line it with their own feathers to make a cosy enclosure around the eggs.
I need to decide when/if my incubator eggs hatch, whether to give them to Goose to raise. She is broody, so might raise them (which is the best scenario) but given that she ate the other eggs, I’m worried she might kill the hatchlings. I’m not sure I trust her now.
To add to the chaos, one of the ducks appeared on the pond with ducklings. Ducklings on the pond have never survived to adulthood–the crows and magpies eat them. I left her with 4, and took 4 into the garage where they will be safe. (To date, she has 3 left, so is doing better than expected.)
I hope your days are less chaotic. Thanks for reading. Take care. Love, Anne x
[1] There is much discussion online as to whether you should wash eggs before incubating them. I decided that the very dirty ones should be washed and added straight away. Washing them removes their protective coating, but dirt adds bacteria to the incubator. If you wash them in water warmer than the egg, it stops the bacteria entering the egg through osmosis (apparently).
Meg is in disgrace. We had a couple of workmen in the house and garden, plus her favourite gardener (huge excitement when he arrives) so Meg was super hyper. The birds were loose in the garden, and we discovered that Meg can now open doors unless they are locked. She jumped at the handle, the door flew open. She charged out and leapt on Goose. Horrible moment. I yelled and screamed and shouted all sorts of commands that Meg ignored. Husband hauled her off Goose, and took her inside.
I picked up a terrified Goose, who rubbed her cheek against mine and trembled in my arms. I sat with her on my lap until she stopped trembling, then left her in the hay box for a while to calm down. Poor Goose.
15/11/2025
Meg hardly changes now, so there is much less to write. She’s a lovely companion (mostly) and follows me round the house, sleeping (and farting) in whichever room I am in. Sometimes she dreams and wakes up barking (not at great at night if I am also asleep).
I love how clever she is. One of her annoying habits is barking at dogs that we pass in the car. I try to notice them before her, and I start to talk in a quiet calm voice, hoping to distract her. Yesterday when I did this, Meg listened to my whisper and then barked at the other dog but super-softly, like she knew we needed to whisper. She barked in a whisper! It may have been coincidence, I will let you know if she continues to do this. It would be an improvement.
16/12/2025
Well, to my surprise, Meg seems to have stopped barking at other dogs when we pass them in the car. She does still bark at the occasional one, but perhaps they are particularly dodgy-looking in dog-world. Mostly we pass them without being yelled at from behind.
Meg has been a bit wild this week. I suspect it’s because the wild animals (foxes and deer) are marking/spraying. Even I, with my human nose, can sometimes smell a strong odour de la fox, so I’m sure it’s overpowering for Meg. Not that this is really an excuse for even more disobedience that normal.
We have put up the Christmas decorations, and other than trying to participate when we kneel on the floor to water the tree each day (obviously seen as a time for licking faces) Meg has been very good at ignoring them. She does sometimes carry her chew to a position that is extremely close to the Christmas tree, but as far as I know, she has not touched it. I don’t think I will hang chocolates on it though, that might a too much temptation for her.
We now have use of the field next to the house (the rams are with the ewes). For a few days, this made a very easy walk, as I would walk around the perimeter, and Meg would race the cars on the main road, tearing up and down at great speed. It was definitely racing, not chasing, as she watched and chose which vehicle she was going to race (usually a bus or lorry) and then she gave herself a headstart, beginning to run before they reached the field, charging at full speed along the hedge until the passed her, and then stopping and going back to the ‘start line’ to wait for the next target.
However, the novelty soon wore off. Meg noticed that I did a loop of the field, and she decided this was boring. If we go into the field now, she walks to the middle, and sits, watching me exercise myself, and then she joins me back at the gate to go inside. Not quite the plan. I have to take her to the woods now, otherwise she doesn’t have a walk.
5/1/2026
Meg has become very difficult. Not sure if it’s because she had a lot of restrictions over Christmas due to various visitors, plus the wet weather mean she spent vast amounts of time locked in a room while she dried off after being washed every time she came in from the muddy outside. Or it could be the foxes are still marking ready for mating season. Whatever the reason, Meg has reverted to ‘difficult teenager’ stage. We have lots of stand-offs, and trying to modify her behaviour is just plain hard work.
We walked yesterday across the fields. I am trying to not walk with her on the lead if she pulls, so it took about 15 minutes to cross the farm lane from one field to the other. She is also meant to sit before going through a gate—as a safety feature to give me a few seconds to check for unexpected livestock in the field (plus it’s good manners for her to sit while I unbolt the gates). She absolutely refused to do this. Left her on the wrong side of the gate, and marched across the field away from her, leaving her to frantically try to find a way through the gate. (Actually, she didn’t look frantic at all, more like a bolshy teenager.) Then a man came, and looked very worried that there was a big dog his side of the gate, with the owner halfway across the next field. So had to relent and collect her (the man looked at me like I was mad).
Then when on our own land, I hooked her lead over the post and walked away, returning to tell her to sit before I released her. Took AGES. Eventually she sat, and we continued. I feel frazzled after these stand-offs, and I don’t like her very much. Meg does not appear to be affected even slightly. It feels important, if I have given her a command, that nothing happens until she has obeyed. But it’s not fun, and it makes me want to just give in and have an unruly dog. Hope you have a better week than me. Thanks for reading. Take care. Love, Anne x
