#ABS -creative-reflective-contemplative-massive ---- POSITIVE!

Greetings one and all who will take the time to read this passage!

My name is Abhaya Mudra!  I am an extremely well travelled Asian elephant, however I was born in Bhutan and lived there until I was teenager.

I am probably at the larger end of my lineage weighing in at six tonnes and standing ten feet to the shoulder.

I find myself at this time charged with maintaining a blog that is usually written by a bull I met for a short time last week.

Unfortunately, he has gone missing which has prompted a large search by the local community.

I was employed by a charmingly eccentric gentleman called Lord Augustus to use my expertise in teaching the bull to become more at one with the world.

I was to be in charge of guiding him away form his judgemental outlook and to ground him in the ways of accepting people’s strengths and weakness.

In his absence I have been allowed to stay here on the farm and I hope I can help out to the best of my abilities during these delicate times in agriculture.

It is unfortunate that a fresh case of bovine TB has surfaced in Dorset this week.

It seems that there are strong opinions and claims of truthful evidence to both sides of the argument, which features badgers as the vessels of contamination.

It is with much sadness that I have learnt that farmers in this county are having to destroy their animals to halt the spread of this tragic disease.

As his holiness the Dalai Lama is famed for saying  "When we meet real tragedy in life, we can react in two ways - either by losing hope and falling into self-destructive habits, or by using the challenge to find our inner strength."

                                     I am a Buddhist and in my tradition we are quite Iconic!

Let all of us that our on the peripheries of this great industry have hope in the notion that government, trade unions and farmers can work together to fight the issue and look for some positive break through’s as well as some common ground .

However I personally do not have hope in this farm’s trade union representative, Handsome James. He wears too much light yellow, which in my culture, means he needs to take better care of his kidneys.  

                                                Wearing this will cause urinary problems.

I have learnt that the farming community finds its strength in times of crisis. And believe me as a relative new comer to this industry I feel as though it is in a truly global crisis. Not just on a micro level in rural England, with the prevalent spread of disease amongst the nations livestock, but on a global level too.

Our world has a growing population and a rapid spread in desertification. Mouths need to be fed a healthy mix of food types from an ever diminishing source of fertile land.

Some argue that a vegetarian way of life is better off for the planet and that intensive meet production methods cause more damage than good.

I am open-minded as people I meet always talk best with full stomachs. Some of which would not have talked at all had they not had the opportunity to chose their fuel.

Crisis brings creativity and desperation can bring dedication.

We need to take stock of what we are going to have in the future and work as a motivated team in order to utilise it more effectively.

Easier said than done, but the most basic advice is always the best advice.

For example, if you want to loose weight, eat less and exercise more.

It is not complicated to move forward in a manner that will give you good results. It’s just a state of mind that holds us back.

I am relishing the prospect of being a farm worker and helping in the global effort to feed people.

There is much learning to be done but already I have volunteered my services to make plough after harvest.

Some local horses said that they will teach me how. They believe that after a few days in the field I should be at competition level. They seemed really motivated by the prospect and talked at length about it.

I can’t help but think they were somewhat tongue in cheek when discussing the logistics of  this however and that they may be setting me up to fail. A lesser elephant wouldn’t trust them but I will certainly give them the benefit of the doubt, until I actually have a go! It’s a team event so I will be using a human to guide me throughout the discipline.

I like humans, my old art teacher was a human. He taught me to challenge my own conventions and paint in styles that I felt unconfident in.

This taught me to follow new lines of enquiry and I almost ended up becoming an architect. However three months working on a building site soon put a dampener on those dreams.  

Also – you have to use a pencil quite a lot and I have an issue sharpening pencils.

I can use those sharpeners with a handle as that’s sort of a one handed affair, but they are becoming quite rare now and were getting all old school when I was dabbling with the trade. 

                                          Cannot get to grips with these!

  

In conclusion I am looking forward to my time on the farm. Agriculture is a hard industry to master but I am relishing this challenge!

I’m creative, reflective, contemplative, massive and above all positive!

I like the idea of working for a human too! And I know what you are thinking – all those years of working in the creative industries for gallery’s and in circuses must have involved humans at the helm at some point?

Well no! Believe it or not its actually the hippos that ruled the roost in the circus company I worked for, with the clowns a close second in command. This is usually true of the industry, as hippos some how manage to embrace all the facets of management in the most balanced way.

See – you think it would be the tigers, but they were always hungry.

The art gallery I worked for India was curated by a cobra called Hindu Pete. Cobra’s are very lateral thinkers. I think all snakes possess that quality.

In the bulls absence I am going to try and keep the blog updated in his honour.

I am confident in his swift return and have much respect for the work he has done.

I am looking forward to getting my trunk dirty and getting well and truly stuck in on the farm both practically and journalistically!

In the meantime, just like I’m doing with this new venture, follow in the words of the Buddha:

“Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment”.
 

SEVEN FOR A SECRET

 

It appears I have been kept in the dark Jock Strappers.

But as you know the key to all good secrets is what manipulation tactic you use to break them.

For the last few months the farm’s new owner, Lord Augustus has systematically given cool stuff to everyone accept me.

He’s put our manager on an expensive course of professional development, our union rep gets to learn fashion design and our top tractor pilot - TGK got a chance to go one on one with the makers at Manheim, Germany.

What’s more he’s going to hire three new apprentices, a new gamekeeper and sponsor the vicars tea party!

He has systematically disempowered my black ass in the most embarrassing of ways.

The whole beef herd are talking about it. It’s shameful. Its like I was a rank outsider, someone who means nothing to his affections.

Any way two nights ago I was minding my own business chatting to a very drunken weasel at the top of my field when I saw some lights appear in the farm yard below. It must have been gone eleven at night.

They looked kinda like tractors but on closer inspection turned out to be diggers and earth moving equipment.

Massive flood lights were then erected and they proceeded to drive into one of the farms adjacent paddocks, which boarders my field

Any way there seemed to be lots of toing a froing and shit was still going down passed one a.m. I’ve got to admit, this was making me a little nervous.

The anxiety levels had started to rise and I was trying to count cows in order to get some sleep.

Then Jock Strappers, there was an incursion!

There is a stone wall that separates my field with the other paddock, both of which channel down into the farmyard. These fields have always been used for pasture and this other paddock was usually used as an over spill for female colleagues to get some much needed r and r after a hard days work  – if you get my drift – hashtag wink face.

Now, I don’t like incursions at the best of times. Plus this whole new area of getting freaked out about stuff really was starting to get on my tits. Massively.

So I bullied up and ran down the hill to the stone wall and asked politely to speak to the Forman of the gypsy rabble that seemed to be undertaking these earthworks. At this point they seemed to disperse rather rapidly!

Just to digress – if any of you reading this remember going out for country walks as kids and seeing  young bulls over the fence in groups in fields, there would usually be one that stood out right? And say if you were to run at them there would usually be one that didn’t scarper off soon as look at you, one that held his ground as if to say – “By all means come running at me, jump the fence into my field, go on, run at me in my field, see what happens” – sound familiar?

Well it’s like this with gypsy workmen. One stayed, held his ground and didn’t run off at the site of a massive black bull heading towards their newly established fucking building site.

And what a cunt of an individual this man was.

We are talking the worst that a Poole accent has to offer, missing teeth and the tattoo of the goddess of creation ‘Stacey’ on his wrist.

Any way, turns out he was pissed off at having to be there so late at night. Said he’d never really seen a bull before, so wanted to have a good look. Harped on about being brought on site at short notice to prepare the ground for a new shrine and to install a gate in the stone wall. This surprisingly charming gypsie fellow went on to explain that the boss lady said that the installation was in fact, for the bull!

Fuck me backwards Jock Strappers. There was me thinking Augustus was getting all Hindu on me and is building a shrine to worship my bad self.

I could totally see why to be fair, after all – I am very powerful.

Bless them though, these gypsie workers don’t half work fast. Literally by dawn there was a spanking new gate on the sidewall which divides our two fields at the bottom of the hill. By that time I had managed to get some shut eye at least. Then I noticed over in the other paddock was a lovely leather clad marquee type structure  with a kind of bunting on it that looked a bit like streamers. The ground where the machines were was neatly rolled out and made to look as though there had been nothing going on at all.

I was loving this. Knuckles the magpie flew over and landed next to me. He said he had been kept awake all night and was so wide-awake by dawn he thought best to get up.

Hang on a minute; shouldn’t he be up any way, in a dawn chorus kind of way?

He thought it was a good shout erecting a shrine to worship me. Then he started chirping on about married life so I just stopped listening.

What a bell end.

Then he stared moaning about the noises just before sunrise. He was shocked when I told him I had managed to get some sleep as he said these noises were weird. Like nothing he’s heard before. Like music, but clearly animal at the same time.

Then he changed the subject and said he was thinking about finally hanging up his cloak. I was just about to kick right off at him when out of the morning missed and through the new gate to my field came Beth the Manger, dressed in only what could be described as, like… coloured robes.

Following her out of the morning mist Jock Strappers was what can only be described as my gift.

Knuckles’ beak fell to the ground in amazement as though we were in a cartoon.

I was speechless.

My present was swaggering it up behind Beth the Manager wearing a fucking trilby and walking to the beat of a by gone progressive blues ballad that wasn’t actually playing.

Words cannot describe how this became the benchmark that all #wtf? moments will be judged by between now and eternity. 

And as my gift came into my field following my manager walking up the hill towards me, he fucking blotted out the morning sun…

Yeah that’s it Jock Strappers, Lord Augustus has bought me an Indian.

As in elephant!

That’s right we are talking the whole nine yards. This dude was massive. Had tribal tattoos, was wearing the most random outfit, had his toe nails painted, was wearing a gold ring on his finger and was fucking whistling! Yeah -  As in music!

God knows how Augustus has pulled this one off but we are going to get in some serious shit with the RSPCA.

You just can’t go around employing fucking elephants! They are artists not farm workers!

Ever seen an elephant make plough?  – No!

Ever seen an elephant tow a bale cart? – No!

Ever discussed crop yield mapping technology with an elephant? – No!

Got my drift? – Good.

So this guy goes on to introduce himself as ‘Abs’ and says he’s an artist. Said he was named after the Buddhist hand gesture for fearlessness and that his full name was Abhaya Mudra.

So that would be like calling someone ‘high five’ over here. What a dick.

So I was all like, ‘Alwright Sheba, house tricks’?

Then ‘Abs’ just had to put me right speaking with the confidence and calmness of a Jedi. He said that it was in fact Ganesh who was the Indian elephant god and that he himself was in fact a Buddhist. He went on to say that his heritage was Elephas maximus and that he was an Asian elephant, as people get confused and think they just live in India. He said his sort extend quite far eastwards.  

Well excuse my ignorance.

I told him a little about myself too.

I said I was Jock the Bull and that I was very powerful.

Unfortunately, he said he too was very powerful.

And this is true Jock Strappers. Abs was standing a good ten feet tall to the shoulder and must have been around twenty foot long.

#measuringtothetruebaseofthetrunk ;-)

Beth then piped up and said that Abs had been brought in especially for me. She said Abs doesn’t come cheap and that he is here to give me spiritual guidance and build my confidence.

Yeah, because elephants tend to do that.

She said Augustus wanted me to benefit from some enriched wisdom and had pitched the idea to her after meeting me for the first time.

I’m living in a nightmare Jock Strappers

Who does she think she is?!  – She shoulda been like – ‘Sure buy him in some more cows, let him get a laid a few times, he’ll be right as rain after that’.

But nooooo!

She’s all like, yeah so lets buy the services of an elephant guru, cos that’s perfect business sense.

#farmmanager

And that above is irony not subtext!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’m sick to death of people thinking they know what’s best for me. Weather it’s the fact that I’m not profitable in the first instance, or that I’m in need of ‘guidance’ I feel controlled and isolated. Don’t forget the buzzards wanted me out because I was instrumental in rescuing this place. Even they wanted a slice of the lets control Jock pie.

And then, the shocked to death magpie standing by my side is so fucking pre-occupied with his mad crazy missus that it takes a poor old snake, mending a fucking roof to get proceedings going to combat this fucking abuse.

All this just isn’t right.

A couple of years ago Knuckles the Magpie would have eaten those buzzards for breakfast. He would have hand plucked their sorry assess and then burnt them to death all Wicca Man style – probably just with the bear flame of his zippo.

Elephants…. Jesus Christ whatever next?

Things have changed round here.

I’m off,

I’m leaving.

SIX FOR GOLD

Golden opportunities present themselves on a very rare basis these days. 

For the last six months, antagonistic momentum has been somewhat against me. 

I have had to rely on the bravery of a few in order to hold off various challenges to my farm, to my friends and to my own well-being. 

It took an act of sheer mental cruelty during the height of such unfortunate weather conditions for me to finally realise that I needed to take the bull by the horns so to speak. 

Either I take the fight to them or I crack up. 

And this week – the opportunity was there for the taking. 

So like ive said before, I don’t hold birds of prey in much regard at all. Most of them have got some kind of presenting issue. If it’s not addiction problems its personality based disorders. 

Alan and Sharon Buzzard have systematically tried to enforce a medalling presence round here and its done my head in. 

Last week in trying to abduct Jerry the Adder, Sharon Buzzard got a bitten in the arse and carried home with wings between her legs. 

I knew a had a 2 hour window of opportunity in order to orchestrate a strike as the likelihood was that Alan Buzzard in all his square arsed numeric calculating self, would want to lay low and see if Sharon threw a reaction. 

Furthermore, there is no one round here on the farm to try and talk us out of it either. 

All the spring barley has been planted and most of the other jobs are being taken care of by local contractors. 

The Lord Augustus make a wish foundation has sent TGK to the John Deere factory in Manheim, Germany to go up against the best, Handsome James has been sent on a fashion design short course in London (standard) and Beth the Manager has had a load of new studying paid for too, 

#lifelonglearning 

Cut ‘n’ Paste Wayne has had his John Deere 7810 replaced by a brand spanking ’14 plate 6210r and there is even talk of some new ploughs on order too! Cut ‘n’ Paste likes to make plough – if you get my drift. 

                                          7810 - OUT WITH THE OLD.

                                                      6210R - IN WITH THE NEW.

What a mind job. I get fuck all. 

Not being one to harp on about shit like this I have just got on with task in hand over these last few days. 

I sent Princess Cara of Purbeck on a mission to the Buzzards not so secret caravan treehouse hideout #whateverthefuckitis to fuck them up once and for all. She was guided in by Frank the Peacock on the ground all Special Bird Service style. 

What ensued afterwards can only be described as horrific. 

I may have referenced Sharon Buzzards bladder problem in an earlier post but that was extremely context related. Knuckles the magpie had after all, turned her to stone.

But the stench emanating  from the buzzards love nest was truly awful.

Buzzard wee is the worst smelling of all the wee's. I think its because they primarily eat squirels and drink rats milk.

As Princess Cara was making her final approach – laser guided from the ground, she caught whiff of this terrible stench and passed out shortly before impact. She ended up falling form the heavens  and landing on the roof of the tree house caravan, gasping for breath…..

Alan Buzzard then climbed out and onto the roof clutching a machete ready to take her down. 

But Frank had seen all this unfold with his own eyes and flew out of his make shift bunker and up to the house.

Sharon Buzzard then limped out too, arse still swollen and dripping in piss. The recovering Princess Cara of Purbeck was going as blue in the face as Franks feathers as she refused to breath the stench in whilst coming too. Subsequently she passed out again and fell to the ground in a heap.

Frank the Peacock's military training means he can hold his breath for up to twenty minutes.

So it was a stand off of epic proportions. Two buzzards versus one peacock on top of a tree house made from a caravan.

Both buzzards gearing and shouting at a peacock warrior readying himself for warfare. His flight time, limited, his weaponry, non existent – the odds were not in his favour.

Like I said last week Jock Strapper’s – this area needs a better class of animal

However, no blood was shed as from nowhere Mad Harry the Vet and Dave the Piercer turned up, and grabbed them!

Proper bag ‘em and tag ‘em style!

Turned out a concerned by stander had seen them limp back to their caravan last week and called the relevant authorities.

Not wanting to split them up, Mad Harry has taken them both together. With Sharon Buzzards swollen arse and bladder problems I cant see them being released for a while.

Ive just got to watch that they don’t manipulate him and turn him into some kind of possessed demon falcon master vet. Or buzzard master even.

Frank was left seathing, as he was gagging for a good fight.

However he did commender Alan buzzards machete though and he looks rather dashing with it in a sheath around his waist.

#peacockenvy

So it still stands at buzzards 1 Frank the Peacock 0

As for my secret weapon, the regal destroyer that is Princess Cara of Purbeck….. what a fucking let down. To think she once nearly had this village on its knees.

And!

Where was Knuckles the Magpie when all this was going on I hear you asking?

Well, I will tell you where – with his fucking wife.

Turns out she wants kids! And nesting season is rapidly approaching Jock Strappers!

#Godhelpus

25-60% of magpies in a particular area don’t breed and as far as I know, they would both be 

first time parents.

 I really don’t understand what is going on here. Knuckles and Sparkles are poles apart in their thinking and she is directly responsible for his lack of action. Well, maybe not action as such as im sure hes getting plenty of that, lets call it lack of motivation to kill people.

To top it off Cara is back and even though she has history with Knuckles, there hasn't been a single exchange of gun fire.

Its just not right.

If they breed there will be an army of religious magpies around here and that is not got for anyone health.

As I have said – we need a better class of animal round here