Tiger the tabby cat was mine. All soft and stripy and an excellent hunter, parts of various beasts would be found scattered about the garden from his efforts, he was a bit of a messy eater.
Rhodesia TV had a small TV studio in Bulawayo and l would go on the kid’s programmes in the audience quite a bit.
Several times they had a “bring your pet” night and for some strange reason l would take Tiger instead of any of the dogs.
His behaviour was impeccable but l was very lucky, he would have found escape easy had he wanted to. I wouldn’t have had a chance of stopping him. In fact he would have ripped me to bits. When l see people holding cats in strange places l shudder and think how crazy they are and l was.
Tiger had a terrible end. I couldn’t find him one Saturday till late afternoon when l found him lying on Mum’s bed.
I took him down stairs sat with him on my lap and started to stroke him, his whole side and abdomen parted
“MUM, DAD” l screamed panic stricken.
My parents rushed in. I was in tears and too scared to move.
“What” said my parents in unison not knowing what l was going to say, l didn’t appear to be dying but was obviously distraught.
I gently moved Tigers hair, my hands shaking badly, again his entire side and some of his abdomen seemed to open up.
My parents paled and my dad rang Mr Roberts the vet, we took Tiger in as an emergency and Mr Roberts thought it was a skinning wound.
Certain “cults” used to skin animals alive and they had probably had Tiger but he escaped.
Tiger was stitched up on the outside but he had died inside. He gave up on life. We tried everything to get him to eat. Prawns, cheese, tuna, beef, pork baby food any thing we could think of but he wouldn’t eat and faded.
This happened about two months before we were due to leave Rhodesia, we had a lovely home lined up but in the end he was put down and buried under a tree in our garden. I used to call it a fairy tree. I never knew what it was but it had little yellow bell shaped flowers l called them “fairy caps” and it always felt to me to be a special tree.
I carved Tigers name into the trunk with a kitchen knife with his date of his passing.
Showing posts with label Rhodesia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Rhodesia. Show all posts
Sunday, 23 August 2009
Thursday, 19 March 2009
Life's Thread's
Life has some amazing threads that l have been involved in. One of them concerned my horse Tuckys Dream and took about 30 years to pull back into one thread.
My horse in Bulawayo Tuckys Dream, was a lovely grey and bloody minded with it. If l did not concentrate she would go under a low branch and attempt to sweep me off as though l was a fly. I hated using a saddle so if l was wrong footed l could be caught out. She would then stop and have a graze while l de twigged myself. She loved tough fast riding. In other words jumping no not really, hammer round a gymkhana course or red rover (a rough game) ride out into the veld or swim in a dam and she was in her element.
It was Archibald from Leander that arranged the purchase of Tuckys Dream from Salisbury. She had a horrendous journey to Bulawayo. The horse box crashed and at least horse was killed. It took hours (over 20) for the others to be freed, returned to Salisbury and then sent down again to Bulawayo. This gave Tucky a lifelong aversion to horse boxes.
When l collected her l was to ride her from the Show Grounds to Leander overflow stables where she was to live. She arrived while the annual Trade Fair was on.
We started out fine, l was riding her out of the side entrance and setting off along the dirt track towards the main road, CLUNK CHUNG ROARRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr the pump house started up as we went past.
Things got a bit confusing at this point. I am not sure what manoeuvre Tucky used but she changed ends and l swapped horse back for dirt road.
Luckily she headed back into the show grounds and someone caught her for me. Once back on her and with many wary looks and snorts from her we made it round the pump house and headed home.
We had several happy years together getting up to mischief till l left the country and had to sell her.
The amazing end to Tucky’s story was in 2007 l was talking to a friend John in my websites chat room. He is in his 70s and now lives in UK, but was from Bulawayo. He was telling me about his daughter and her horse. Thinking l may have known her l asked the horse’s name, l remember animals better than people.
“Tucky’s Dream” was the reply.
My eyes froze on the screen and my heart hammered, tears formed and l asked for more information. It was such a shock after 30 years. I had known that the people who bought her from us had been unable to handle her and l was told she had gone to Greenway Riding School.
Apparently Archibald had bought her back from the people not Greenway. I was glad l had not known that part, he was scum and l would have freaked.
John’s daughter had fallen in love with Tucky when she rode at Leander. On her eighth birthday John walked her to the paddock.
“Well, what do you think of the horse?” he asked her
“It’s Tucky Dad, you know l love her” said his Daughter.
“Just as well” said John, “As l have just bought her for you”
They had her for many years. I did not ask what ultimately happened to her, that part l am a coward over and don’t want to know.
My horse in Bulawayo Tuckys Dream, was a lovely grey and bloody minded with it. If l did not concentrate she would go under a low branch and attempt to sweep me off as though l was a fly. I hated using a saddle so if l was wrong footed l could be caught out. She would then stop and have a graze while l de twigged myself. She loved tough fast riding. In other words jumping no not really, hammer round a gymkhana course or red rover (a rough game) ride out into the veld or swim in a dam and she was in her element.
It was Archibald from Leander that arranged the purchase of Tuckys Dream from Salisbury. She had a horrendous journey to Bulawayo. The horse box crashed and at least horse was killed. It took hours (over 20) for the others to be freed, returned to Salisbury and then sent down again to Bulawayo. This gave Tucky a lifelong aversion to horse boxes.
When l collected her l was to ride her from the Show Grounds to Leander overflow stables where she was to live. She arrived while the annual Trade Fair was on.
We started out fine, l was riding her out of the side entrance and setting off along the dirt track towards the main road, CLUNK CHUNG ROARRRRRRRRrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr the pump house started up as we went past.
Things got a bit confusing at this point. I am not sure what manoeuvre Tucky used but she changed ends and l swapped horse back for dirt road.
Luckily she headed back into the show grounds and someone caught her for me. Once back on her and with many wary looks and snorts from her we made it round the pump house and headed home.
We had several happy years together getting up to mischief till l left the country and had to sell her.
The amazing end to Tucky’s story was in 2007 l was talking to a friend John in my websites chat room. He is in his 70s and now lives in UK, but was from Bulawayo. He was telling me about his daughter and her horse. Thinking l may have known her l asked the horse’s name, l remember animals better than people.
“Tucky’s Dream” was the reply.
My eyes froze on the screen and my heart hammered, tears formed and l asked for more information. It was such a shock after 30 years. I had known that the people who bought her from us had been unable to handle her and l was told she had gone to Greenway Riding School.
Apparently Archibald had bought her back from the people not Greenway. I was glad l had not known that part, he was scum and l would have freaked.
John’s daughter had fallen in love with Tucky when she rode at Leander. On her eighth birthday John walked her to the paddock.
“Well, what do you think of the horse?” he asked her
“It’s Tucky Dad, you know l love her” said his Daughter.
“Just as well” said John, “As l have just bought her for you”
They had her for many years. I did not ask what ultimately happened to her, that part l am a coward over and don’t want to know.
Saturday, 14 March 2009
A Snake in the Hand
I thought it about time l put up some stories of my life as a kid growing up in Rhodesia. Snakes tended to appear unexpectedly in life in Africa and then slide out again.
One day helping my Mum and the gardener move paving slabs l noticed a tiger snake curled up on a slab. I casually said, “Look mum a tiger snake”
“Don’t be silly” said my Mum not looking.
“Yiiiiyeeeeeeeeeee” the scream from the gardener was followed by a crash as he threw away the slab and went into a sprint that an Olympic runner would do justice to.
The noise made my Mum turn round, she headed off in the other direction.
I did what any sensible child would do under the circumstances. I grabbed the snake around the head. He had enough of humans and was about to slide off in the 3rd direction. African Tiger snakes are lovely golden snake with black stripes on goign across the body, they are back fanged and not particular poisonous, this was an adult roughly 2 foot long.
I asked Mum, who was casting dark looks at me and telling me to put it down "NOW", to find a box and punch some holes in the lid.
As l refused to let go the snake she was in a dilemma so took the easy way out and got me a box. I took it round to Mark for his snake collection.
Mark l knew from my class at school used to have a huge snake collection and lived just down the road. I would visit him with Jane, one of my 2 best friends who lived opposite him. Marks parents thought he had a few non poisonous snakes.
The reality was that he had about 40 snakes, some safe, some semi poisonous and moving all the way up to highly venomous like puff adders, various cobras and similar.
He had been known to have one of his semi poisonous snakes give him a bite so he was feeling ill and could miss tests. I guess the moral of the story is that parents should really learn a bit more about kid’s hobbies. Nowadays problems from the internet are easy to deal with, at least that can be solved by pulling a plug.
One day helping my Mum and the gardener move paving slabs l noticed a tiger snake curled up on a slab. I casually said, “Look mum a tiger snake”
“Don’t be silly” said my Mum not looking.
“Yiiiiyeeeeeeeeeee” the scream from the gardener was followed by a crash as he threw away the slab and went into a sprint that an Olympic runner would do justice to.
The noise made my Mum turn round, she headed off in the other direction.
I did what any sensible child would do under the circumstances. I grabbed the snake around the head. He had enough of humans and was about to slide off in the 3rd direction. African Tiger snakes are lovely golden snake with black stripes on goign across the body, they are back fanged and not particular poisonous, this was an adult roughly 2 foot long.
I asked Mum, who was casting dark looks at me and telling me to put it down "NOW", to find a box and punch some holes in the lid.
As l refused to let go the snake she was in a dilemma so took the easy way out and got me a box. I took it round to Mark for his snake collection.
Mark l knew from my class at school used to have a huge snake collection and lived just down the road. I would visit him with Jane, one of my 2 best friends who lived opposite him. Marks parents thought he had a few non poisonous snakes.
The reality was that he had about 40 snakes, some safe, some semi poisonous and moving all the way up to highly venomous like puff adders, various cobras and similar.
He had been known to have one of his semi poisonous snakes give him a bite so he was feeling ill and could miss tests. I guess the moral of the story is that parents should really learn a bit more about kid’s hobbies. Nowadays problems from the internet are easy to deal with, at least that can be solved by pulling a plug.
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