b3ta.com user gearanach
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not round here much. Trying to be a nicer person. Pet peeves: judgementalism, dishonesty and legalism. No longer go near church but am not to be labelled as 'atheist' ta.

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» Bedroom Disasters

Its not sex thats the problem its the chuffing cats
For the last 18years or so MrsG and I have put up with a large amount of "cat nonsense". This has led to their eventual banishment from the bedroom at night. At one point we even restricted them to the Utility room but the horrible looks in the morning were enough for us to relent and allow them back into (most of) the house. The charges against them largely relate to their nighttime acquisitions:
1. Live mice - hahaha very funny that you want to chase live mice round our bedroom at 2AM when we want to sleep.
2. Live rabbits - have you heard the scream of a baby rabbit as it is being tortured to death on the floor near you? its not a very nice way to wake up.
3. Live birds - I think the phrase was "that bird seems awfully loud". Thats because it was sat on our windowsill (on the inside :-/ ); with three cats sat looking at it.
4. Cat fights. These along the lines of "I hate you and you will die. You may be another cat which lives in this house and I have lived with for years. I now find this time the most appropriate at which to kill you"
5. Cat jumping tests
a)wardrobe to bed.
b)floor to bed and see if we can miss the humans - oh; that does not seem possible; try again. Rpt
6. Dead things - the very worst was a dead rabbit on my pillow. I rolled over to discover this.
7. Live "lost" things - "scuse us be could you get our mouse out from behind that: chest of drawers, wardrobe, bed, bedside table - delete as appropriate"
8. Feed me now!
9. Wake up and play! No reason, but we're just a bit bored
10. I'm senile and need to yowl at the top of my voice in the middle of the night.
I might actually give up pet ownership - its not remotely restful.
(Thu 23rd Jun 2011, 22:31, More)

» Devastating Put-Downs

Devastating put-down?
Has to be the lady who "howled" after I euthanased her elderly Gordon Setter. That seemed pretty devastating for her in my opinion.
Number two would be the horse I had to put to sleep after the previous vet had ripped the colon during rectal palpation releasing faeces into the abdominal cavity - not pretty. The sight of that Mare's foal pawing at its mothers body seemed quite devastating for the foal.

That was all years ago... but the lady who sang to her dog as I put it to sleep this week comes in the top ten somewhere.
Hey ho.

Edits... Saturday morning wasn't much better - had a bloke in floods of tears this morning. He had no real other option so it was very sad. Lost his pal of 15 yrs.

How do I do it? Its quite simple really - I just console myself with the fact that I know I'm doing the right thing at the right time. Ask me to do it at the "wrong" time and then I dont cope too well. Never too happy with my own pets - lost two this year. You just think they are invincible...
(Fri 25th Nov 2011, 20:41, More)

» What was I thinking?

Lights blue touch paper...
Like a dog to its vomit, I'm drawn repeatedly to contribute to internet forums. Its like an addiction, but each time I wonder why in the name of all things stupid, I actually bothered.

A recent case in point was my (brief) foray into the world of /talk (yes here). I had not realised that it was populated by a group of characters who share a number of (not very pleasant) attributes. The very least of these is the overt aggression shown to anyone who has not been "invited" to "speak". I use the word "invited" as it would seem that this would have to be the case. there would also appear to be a great deal of arse-licking back-slapping as well. For a so-called humourous site, there is precious little humour. I did begin to wonder when the majority would actually be thinking about the progression from puberty, but have reconciled myself to the fact that they are developmentally restricted. I figure they have such a small life that they feel the need to express a persona far larger than their own meagre actual existence. Result; no intellectual ability found, above that of the average village idiot.
What indeed, the very fuck WAS I thinking?
Kind of ties in with this: b3ta.com/questions/theman/post761031
I think the answer is therefore: "Fuck off shitcunts".
(Thu 23rd Sep 2010, 17:29, More)

» Dodgy work ethics

OTMSS and why I cant ever eat a Terrys chocolate orange
Not quite my boss, but as they are clients and pay bills, could be reasonably construed as being such; albeit indirectly.

Some years ago when I was engaged in cattle work I was called upon to regularly certify cattle as being eligible for the (lucrative for the farmer) Over Thirty Months Slaughter Scheme. This involved making sure the identification of the animal matched all the available data, so the animal could be slaughtered and compensation paid.

In most cases this was very straightforward and there were no significant problems. However; there is always one. The "one" was a farmer in the southern shires of the UK who owned a large number of cattle. By large I mean in excess of 10,000. This particular meat-baron is (or was) responsible for a lot of the meat on the shelves of one particular supermarket.

His farming practices were usually OK... ish. His stock raising strategy consisted of buying cheap stock of poor quality and feeding them food waste. This food waste varied markedly and one week could be biscuits and another week could be baked bean waste. It was not uncommon for orange peel to be fed and the smell of this peel coupled with the cow-shit gave the location an odour which was slightly nauseous and is the reason I cant ever go near Terry's chocolate oranges.

I digress. Whilst the feeding and stock raising practices were questionable, the business practices were a little more so. On arriving on site one afternoon. I was asked to certify 2 cattle for the OTMSS (thus securing some cash the easy way - from the government). The 2 cattle in front of me were a) too young, b) the wrong breed and c) had the wrong ear tags for the paperwork. I duly informed the stockman of this and he said "they dont care about the age or the breed and by the time they get to the slaughterhouse the ear tags will match, dont you worry". He had only acquired them from 2 dead cattle (no payment for those and there were lots on his farm) and was trying to pass the 2 beasts in front of me as "ringers". I told him I was not signing such a dodgy document, got in my car and drove off. They got over it quickly and I went back plenty of times.

That was about the dodgiest they got but it wasnt good. Now you might think I was being a bit jobsworth but I was actually protecting the taxpayer from being fleeced by a greedy businessman.
(Mon 11th Jul 2011, 22:53, More)

» Ouch!

Very sharp and pointy
Some years ago, when I used to be fit, healthy and able to wrestle cattle easily, I set out for an afternoon of the very same with the added intention of parting the males from their nuts.

On arriving at the farm, I filled my bucket with water and antiseptic and fixed a large (No22 Swann Morton www.swann-morton.com/product/38.php) blade to a holder and dropped it into the bucket.

The farmer and I then made our way to the pen and race where the job was due to take place. The work went well. We would load the race with four or five steers and I would then jump over the side of the race and down between the front end of one steer and the back end of the other. This is a moderately dangerous position in which to find yourself, especially as you are about to handle the bollocks of the steer in front.

My adopted style was to hold the scalpel in my mouth with the blade pointing forwards, then firmly grasp the base of the scrotum and make a firm and positive vertical cut into the testicle to release it and then place the scalpel back in my mouth before grabbing firmly to draw it out and yank... hard... The testicle was the lobbed out into the yard to give the dogs a bit of a feed (they often get a bit overfed on those days).

I've not discussed the relative merits or otherwise of the use of local anaesthetic (If you use it you have to handle them twice and you never make a good enough job to stop it being noticed) or of cleaning the bollocks (only if they were truly filthy), but I wasn't known for post-castration infections and that says it all.

I would then repeat the process on the other testicle and when done move to the next beast in the queue.

There are many points in this process at which you could get injured and the odd kick was a bit of a hazard. However... On this day I could not have guessed what I was about to do.

I had finished the job in question and needed to clean up. The bucket was full of the water and antiseptic mix PLUS some shit and straw from the work done AND crucially, the scalpel I dropped in there when I had finished castrating.

I duly plunged my hand into the bucket and was drawing water out onto my boots when I got hold of something firmer in the bottom of the bucket. I thought it felt like a sharp surface but I had forgotten about the scalpel and I had cut the top of my index finger off.

That hurt, quite a lot

I dont do large stuff anymore and I touch very little without it being completely insensible if I can help it.

length - about minus 5mm
(Thu 29th Jul 2010, 19:04, More)
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