When the pinkies were away...

Sid let out a moan: "Oooooh Christ. What did I drink last night?" He picked the remains of a dead locust off his tongue and blinked as he tried to remember what had happened. He couldn't quite explain why he was wearing a saddle. Nor could he understand why Colin, the pufferfish, was sitting with his back to him in the tank across the room. He was in a strop about something.

His hangover was soon interrupted by a fast-moving blur of champagne-coloured fur. He was bowled backwards across his tank and found himself face down in his water dish with a small fuzzy creature jumping up and down on his head. Not helpful with a hangover.

"Luna!" He groaned. "What the hell's the matter with you?!"

The champagne-coloured rat blinked her red eyes a couple of times. They were naturally red, but their rosy hue was emphasised somewhat by the vast quantities of Haribo she'd been consuming the night before. She never coped well on a sugar comedown.

"They're BACK - they weren't meant to be home until the afternoon, but they're back NOW!" she squeaked.

Sid shuffled his way out of his tank and peered out of the window. Sure enough, that massive, hairy, pink blob was slamming the door of the blue tin can they travelled round in. The little frizzy one was jabbering about something next to him.

"Oh no! We have a code red situation! Everybody, action stations!" Sid yelled.

Colin humphed. Then farted. He was never particularly helpful in these circumstances. He was always happy to eat and drink everyone else's stash but never wanted to help with the cleanup.

With Sid acting as lookout (while desperately trying to shrug himself out of the mysterious saddle), Luna jumped on the heads of her four sisters, who were all dotted around the flat in most unladylike positions. She tried to get the mini puffers (Pig Pig and Sprout) to help, but they just swam against the sides of the tank looking goggle-eyed. "Bloody fish," she muttered under her breath. Puffers are not heavy on brain and are even worse when they've been overdosing on fish flake.

Luna quickly got Beattie to eat the remains of the cream cake that was plastered across the floor, "Make sure you lick up every last crumb! We can't let them know what we're capable of!"

Daisy used her tail to push the last few Haribo under the fridge, "They'll never know," she mumbled, "They never clean under there."

Colin farted again.

Wynnie and Moose, the biggest girls, used their digging noses to push six beer cans into the bin.

"Quickly!" Sid yelled. "They're coming up the stairs! And will someone help me out of this damn saddle?"

Luna ran to Sid, undid the buckles with a flick of her tail then careered across the room to the cage. "Everyone in?" she whispered. The other four toots nodded and then curled up innocently in various positions, being sure that they looked as cute as possible. Luna closed the door quietly behind her.

Sid scrabbled into his cage and pushed the sliding door across, just as the key turned in the lock. The anemones in the marine tank started waving their arms provocatively and the shrimps started dancing. Hopefully this display would distract the pinkies from the piece of pizza wedged on the ceiling.

The pinkies walked in. "Look at them!" said the big hairy one.

"So cute," replied the small, frizzy one, "it's like butter wouldn't melt. Have you missed us?"

"We've got a treat for you," said the big hairy one, as he pushed some clotted cream fudge in through the door of the rat cage.

Luna burped and took it. Then, so she wouldn't hurt their feelings, she hid it in the rat house. Maybe she'd eat it later. Right now, she just needed eight hours sleep and a couple of Anadin....

The perils of photographing animals...

Who here loves their pets? Yay! So do I! With a tiny flat rapidly approaching zoo proportions (containing five rats, three puffer fish, a bearded dragon and a marine tank... oh and two pinkies, also known as people), you would think there would be ample photographic opportunities.

You would be wrong.

Toots (aka rats) are incredibly sweet little critters. Awww, look at these two? Sweet aren't they?

Yes they are sweet until they realise they're being photographed! At this point, you end up with a critter that is less gorgeous and more Gollum...

Of course, you might think that this strange affliction is restricted to one little toot (the lovely specimen pictured above is Wynnie, with a rather prettier looking Moose). 

However, it would appear not, for after struggling with the new and swanky camera a few days later, I set up the shot beautifully to get a snap of Beattie and ended up with this:

So I have come away with a whole new respect for wildlife photographers. I can't even get a good pic in the controlled environment of my own home with a domestic animal. Goodness knows what would happen if I attempted to snap a lion pursuing gazelle across the Serengeti!

Concerning orcas...

Don't get me wrong. I appreciate orcas for their skills as epic hunters, their problem-solving abilities and their behaviour.

But why oh why is the BBC so obsessed with them? Every single remotely watery nature documentary has to contain orcas. In fact, I'd bet that they get more air time than any other creature. And EVERY single time we have to watch them ruthlessly pursue a hapless seal/whale. This is, of course, what they do. But why must it always be this particular behaviour that we see? Why can't we watch calves being born, or playing, or courtship behaviour perhaps?

With the money that gets quite rightly poured into nature documentaries, you'd think they could shake things up a bit. How many times have we seen the same bit of footage of the grey whale calf being separated from its mother by orcas and killed, for them to only eat its tongue?

I've been watching and enjoying the Frozen Planet series currently running on the BBC, but every single episode keeps churning out films of orcas killing stuff. Come on BBC, let's see something different!

The Sid

Here is Sid, the seven-year-old bearded dragon!

He's a gorgeous critter! He had two hoppers today so is looking suitably pleased with himself. Beardies rock! Stupidly he's never been that keen on crickets and is a bit too daft to chase live hoppers (ends up falling off his rocks and logs) but has suddenly taken to dead, frozen hoppers (defrosted before feeding, of course!). He loves them and chases them about. Bad ole Sid!

Any lizardy tales out there? 

Pirate poem

It's been a while, but I'm going to get this blog up and running again. To kick off, here's a little ditty I composed a few years ago while covering someone's lunch break...

A pirate on the Seven sea
Was bitten badly by a flea
He jumped and yelled and made a fuss
Waving his arms like an octopus!

Because he let out such a scream
He caught the attention of a bream
The bream poked his nose out of the sea
And saw the little tiny flea!

The bream opened his mouth up wide
And swallowed the flea deep inside
The pirate looked over the side
And said: "Thanks matey, need a ride?"

Alas, the bream could not accept!
For in the air, gills are inept...
He waved a fin to say goodbye
The pirate waved back with a sigh.

"What a shame fish live in the sea,
I thought he might be friends with me!"
He set the sail, while feeling glum
But soon cheered up with a shot of rum!