View allAll Photos Tagged Behaviour
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Now I wouldn't typically condone such brazen behaviour of skipping sleep on a school night, but sometime the conditions or should I say the opportunity presents itself and you just need to sacrifice something. Being tired at work today was well worth the sacrifice of no sleep last night...
Rewind a few hours around 8pm yesterday evening as the light of the day was beginning to ebb I succumb to this nagging urge to try an shoot the Milky Way and specifically the Galactic Core. From Worcestershire! - I know right! Milky Way hunting in the Midlands who would have thought it.
The weather and new moon was ideal with the evening forecast suggesting a cooling temperature and light to no breeze. Due to having work at 07:30 the challenge was to find a suitable location within 10 miles of where I live. This location needed manageable light pollution, reasonable access and somewhere I could get back home before 4am to get at least 2 hours sleep.
So come 00:30 armed with a couple of hours trawling google maps and a whole host of weather and astrophotography related applications, I picked a spot, that I thought might give me what I was looking for and set off
Arriving at around 01:00 hiked up in the darkness (new moon) for around 30 mins finally reaching my destination, spent the next few mins trying to work out a composition and dialled in the settings. Come 03:00 its was time to head back to the car!
FDCPCG Contest: 3 Round: 3 Theme: BOUDOIR BEHAVIOR
www.flickr.com/groups/fdcpcg/pool/
Credits: Agnes is a Nightfall Agnes on a Poppy Parker/Darla Daley body. Top and shorts are playline, boots are by Hot Dotz Blythe (ebay).
Immediately after copulation, the male drifted away while the female compulsively used her bill and neck to spoon water over herself, a process that lasted a coupl of minutes at least.
Shorebirds of Ireland, Freshwater Birds of Ireland and The Birds of Ireland: A Field Guide with Jim Wilson.
www.markcarmodyphotography.com
The European goldfinch or goldfinch (Carduelis carduelis), is a small passerine bird in the finch family that is native to Europe, North Africa and western Asia. It has been introduced to other areas including Australia, New Zealand and Uruguay.
The goldfinch has a red face and a black-and-white head. The back and flanks are buff or chestnut brown. The black wings have a broad yellow bar. The tail is black and the rump is white. The female is very similar to the male but has a slightly smaller red area on the face.
The goldfinch is often depicted in Italian renaissance paintings of the Madonna and Child. Goldfinches are commonly kept and bred in captivity around the world because of their distinctive appearance and pleasant song. In Britain during the 19th century many thousands of goldfinches were trapped each year to be sold as cage-birds. One of the earliest campaigns of the Society for the Protection of Birds was directed against this trade.
In the poem The Great Hunger by Patrick Kavanagh, the goldfinch is one of the rare glimpses of beauty in the life of an elderly Irish farmer:
"The goldfinches on the railway paling were worth looking at
A man might imagine then
Himself in Brazil and these birds the birds of paradise" (wikipedia)
An adult Goldfinch on some teasel, Cobh, Co. Cork, Ireland. Taken through glass but It's a photo i've wanted to take for a long time.
too much accomplishes little
1. en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random
The first article title on the page is the name of your band.
2. www.quotationspage.com/random.php3
The last four words of the very last quote is the title of your album.
3. www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days/
The third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.
link to original: flickr.com/photos/31747118@N08/3287611673/in/set-72157613...
In the Kingdom of the Ordovices……………
His mother had proudly named him Raglan. Sadly it had been years since he last saw her, her body lying peacefully in a splash of sunlight amongst the tall dark pines of the ancient forest. But it had broken his heart to see her there, especially when the black crows had cruelly pecked her eyes out. They cawed and danced on her body as they stripped her of her dignity, delighting in their feast as the herd sombrely moved on from the southern side of the great mountain, Yr Wyddfa. By day they trekked north through the pass, grazing on small patches of heather and wild grasses amongst large grey boulders that had tumbled and rolled from the heights above. At night they sought protection behind these rocks, lying silently under heavy scudding grey clouds that regularly released cold showers that chilled them to the bone. Or on other nights they lay under inky black heavens full of sparkling diamonds that let icy crystals form on the grass and mists to soften the sight of dawn in the morning. But Snowdonia was always beautiful, tall and rugged, grey and dramatic whatever the weather it was blessed with, and these goats were part of that magnificent landscape.
They had found their new home by chance, coming down a narrow green valley from the mountain pass above. It was punctuated by a pair of silvery lakes that turned turquoise blue under a sunny sky and were fringed with Welsh oak, mountain ash and birch trees. They had been there forever forming ancient woodlands green with mosses and lichens due to the considerable rainfall and humidity. And rising above was the big dome of Elidir Fawr rising over 3000 feet, it's dark side a multitude of slate greys. With water to drink in the lake, trees to strip leaves from, mosses, lichens and low lying gorse to munch and chew on, and multiples of high ledges and terraces to retreat to or sleep on, Dinorwic was the perfect home for this herd.
Life had been pretty good so far, Raglan thought. Things were fairly relaxed although they had a daily routine, which made one day much the same as another. They didn't rush to get on their feet in the morning but would gradually saunter down through the quarry towards the wooded glades on the levels down towards the lake. Sometimes they loitered around the ruins of the old stone barracks, or on other days would head over towards Vivian quarry and trek along the track of the narrow gauge railway down the side of Llyn Padarn. There was no danger for them anywhere, and even the sound of Hefin, in his little brightly painted steam engine, Dolbadarn, rumbling on the rails wasn't enough to make them scatter. After all this was their kingdom as far as they were concerned. Most of the people who crossed the fences into the quarry were regulars and it wasn't unusual for no human to approach to within less than 200m of them. The quarry layout, huge as it was, with so many vertical edges, giant holes and natural barriers made it hard for humans to approach without being detected, and as far as the goats were concerned, well, they knew the place like no one else. They just roamed where they wanted. Although there are fences all over the place, the main ones very well maintained, these goats could cross them easily. They had learnt how to work as a team, one adult goat standing alongside a fence so that the others could run and jump, up onto its back and over the top strand of the fence. And when the herd had crossed that just left the 'runner'. Raglan had been a runner for the previous two years, meaning that when the rest of the herd had jumped on his back and over the fence it left him stranded on the other side, and so he would run the long way round to meet up with them again often using the quarry's tunnels to catch up.
He hadn't minded doing it on a regular basis as it got him noticed by the females for being 'special', and a male they depended on. And the herd leader, Arnold, recognised Raglan's contribution too, silently appraising Raglan as his Number Two, and potential chief. Mind you they were only a small herd and the choice was not great. The girls, amongst them Gwendolyn, Isobel and Marianne, would chatter quietly while chewing their cuds on a sunny ledge, they would have anyone as leader as long as Steve didn't get the job. They would concede they found his antics funny, but the goat was stark raving mad! He had a habit of disappearing for hours, they thought down behind the Ceiliog plume. It was well known there were some rare and strange plants down there, but Steve always reappeared lurching, with glazed goat "Come to bed with me" eyes and smelling of funghi….that strange musty aroma, that Isobel confessed she found arousing. No, they were agreed, the leader in waiting, the goat they would most like to mate with one day was Raglan with his gentle smile and slightly weird behaviour and wild horns. The males tended to sit separate to the females, protectively around the outside of the herd. Arnold told each of the males which was their arc to watch. He was careful not to rely on Steve too much, taking up his own position to allow Raglan to be a little nearer Gwendolyn than might have been appropriate. But he had noticed how the two seemed to have some connection between them, sharing a little smile, perhaps bumping shoulder against shoulder on the narrow tracks in the quarry. He didn't mind: Raglan was a good guy and he deserved some happiness. He knew he could trust him. Mind you he had to admit to himself Gwendolyn was the 'looker' in the herd. She looked so classy with a white stripe down either side of her beautifully sculpted nose, lovely eyes, multicoloured scraggy hair, such elegantly curved horns and the most amazing zebra-like black stripe down the front of her white legs. Yes, Raglan seemed to be making a cracking choice, if she would have him.
Both Isobel and Marianne had kids, sired by Arnold but they preferred not to talk about how that came about, but under their breath had told Gwendolyn it was nothing to look forward to if he came to her. Looking across at Arnold they knew he had their respect as he had always made sensible choices for the herd, but boy, there wasn't much fun! Every day was pretty well the same. They had food, water, shelter amongst the trees and in the old quarry ruins and a corner of the world to themselves that was just perfect for their way of life. Seasons came and went. Sometimes it was idyllic and they bathed in the warm sunset light. Or were bashed and washed by gales and rainstorms. Or sometimes the land turned white and icy cold. But their lives never changed.
Until one night.
It was a filthy night. The wind had been getting fiercer all evening, as it rushed in over the mountains, bringing the darkest, noisiest night and the heaviest rain. The water washed down the slate all around where the goats lay hunkered down, faces tucked round towards their legs away from the wind. It was horrible...an evil night. And then there were flashes of lighning and crashing thunder that boomed and echoed through the stony bowl of the great quarry.
Raglan had closed his eyes against the lashing rain and he just wanted to sleep. But the night wouldn't let him. Crashing sounds all around. Howling wind. Falling rocks. A grunting noise. The sound of cascading slate. More grunting.
Whaaaat! Grunting??!! His ears pricked up and he strained to make sense of the sound. And he was listening to hear the next sound when two terrifying yellow eyes framed in a big black bearded face with huge sharp horns appeared in front of him as lightning arced across the sky. Raglan was shocked out of his wits but he immediately stood, letting out a loud cry to wake the others. He tried to block their path but the dark shapes pushed past him into the middle of the herd. He counted five, all dark and shady in the night, threatening and scary. Henchmen. He moved round the side of them as Steve joined him to form a protective wall in front of their females.
"Who are you?" demanded Arnold from the other side.
The biggest, much bigger than Arnold, rounded on him aggressively. "I'm Backbeard! And these are my men. You will do as I say now: for your own sakes!"
Arnold dared to ask, "Where have you come from,...and why in this weather?"
And a snidy sidekick they soon would learn was called Rory, answered. "We're from the mountains by the coast down at Nant Gwrtheyrn. Lived there all our lives. But four days ago some Italian trophy hunters came with an English guide and shot at us with crossbows. Two of our guys took bolts to save Blackbeard here as he was obviously their main target. But we got away, out of the hidden valley and over the top to Castell Trefor. We've been on the move since then. But the hunters will come here soon. 'Culling' they call it. Bastard murderers, I say!"
The herd were shocked and uneasy at the intruders. There was a menace in the air. They gathered a little closer in the dark and Raglan made sure he got Gwendolyn snuggled up behind him to sit out the storm, his body between her and the incomers. Gradually the wind eased and the howling stopped, and sleep came to them eventually.
And so they were late to rise in the morning. and the herd rose to trek down towards the woods to find food as it always had before. But as they moved Rory blocked their way. "You're not going down there! The hunters will come!"
"But we have to eat!" said Arnold.
"No, you will do as you are told!" barked Blackbeard. He had looked scary in the dark, but now that the others could see him in daylight they could see just how sinister he looked, and henchman Rory was pure evil on shifty trotters. And always in the back ground were three silent dark goats hovering. Our goats were prisoners in their own home.
By early afternoon they were all starving. Arnold had been pacing up and down looking over the edge down towards the lower levels. There had been a few walkers but no one that looked like a hunter to him. Everything looked normal. Making up his mind he commanded his herd to follow him down to the trees.
But what happened next, happened so fast that they were all left in utter and total shock. As Arnold turned to lead, Blackbeard leapt down from the rock he was resting on, bounded two paces, lowered his head and hit Arnold at full pace and with all his mass behind him and butted Arnold in the side so hard that he toppled off the path and over the edge, and was gone. Straight off a vertical edge. One hundred feet down onto jagged rocks. Death was certain. Eyes wide, and speechless in stunned shock the others were rooted to the spot in complete disbelief. Isobel wailed first, then Marianne and Gwendolyn. Raglan stuttered, gasping for breath, but then moved forward, but Steve leapt in front to hold him back.
"Now, come on guys, no need for that aggro". he said. "Why don't you leave us in peace and go find somewhere else? There's a nice pad over at Rhosydd: ruins, tunnels, nice lake....eh?"
"No!" said Rory "We're staying! You do as we say. And your girls are ours now!"
As the girls recoiled in fear, Raglan thrust forward, pushing Steve aside to confront the monstrous Blackbeard. Face to face with the thug, it was pure anger that made Raglan shout. "Touch any of them and I will kill you!" he spat. And he meant it.
It caused an immediate reaction. The three dark henchmen rushed in between Raglan and Blackbeard, collecting Steve as they went, ramming him towards the edge. He fought back, twisting and turning, frantic to save himself, a cry strangled in his throat, as he teetered on the edge......and then he was gone falling down, bouncing on the rocks to lie, lifeless, beside Arnold.
Raglan couldn't speak. Eyes wide with horror, all fear vanished, all care for life was gone. He flew at Blackbeard. But he was like a rock. Their heads cracked against each other just once but then the henchmen piled in. It was an unfair fight, four against one. He took a heavy blow to his side and another in his shoulder and suddenly he knew he couldn't win on those terms. It was an involuntary reaction. He turned and fled, but for that he had the advantage: he knew the quarry. He sprinted up the nearest scree, sending loose slate down on his pursuers. Quickly he ran along the level at the top, finding the rusty old steel quarry workers ladders bolted to the cliffs. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the three henchmen advancing at a gallop. This was going to be tricky, but he knew how to do it.
Fortunately the 150 year old ladders had corroded, the dry rust being quite rough and grippy and he hooked his forelegs over the upper rungs as he started to climb with his rear feet on the lower rungs. He had learnt to do it years ago when a passing tourist had shown him a photo of Moroccan goats that climb argan trees (and eat the fruit so that the kernel passes through their system and drops out in their poo which is then collected by village women, dried and ground up to extract argan oil to make into expensive ladies facial beauty products).
Any how I digress. Raglan quickly made it up the three rusty ladders, seventy feet up to the next quarry level, and then on to the next set of ladders. None of Blackbeard henchmen were able to follow. He had escaped. But he continued to walk round the top of the quarry and down the other side to eat in the woods above Vivian, his thoughts very much on what had happened. Isobel, Marianne and Gwendolyn were at the mercy of the invaders. He couldn't abandon them. Leaving Gwendolyn to those thugs was unthinkable. He had to do something.
As the evening approached he moved carefully down towards where they lay on a ledge. He kept downwind and out of sight, sniffing the air as he got near to check who was where. He worked himself silently into a position, from which he could see them yet remain concealed. He watched and observed, disgusted how that vile Rory herded Isobel and Marianne towards Blackbeard who seemed to have requested their company. No doubt that vile Rory thought he could have Gwendolyn for himself. They must all be terrified what the males might do, he thought. And very hungry. It had been an horrendous day. Arnold and Steve murdered
The night sky was clear. There was a bright moon. Just a light breeze. Raglan waited. He let himself doze a bit. He wanted to be awake later.
When he awoke the moon was high, it's glow shining silvery on Llyn Peris. Looking down on the level where the herd were he could see the white of the two girl's coats but he had to watch intently for a while to work out which dark shape was a rock and which were the rival goats. He could see that Blackbeard had Isobel and Marianne hemmed in against the rock face, his side-kick Rory only a discreet distance away. Gwendolyn, with her smaller patches of white, he made out, lay in the middle of the ledge, three dark shapes of the henchmen outermost and fencing her in with the rest. But Raglan's mind was in turmoil. What could he do? Any attempt to release the girls would be nothing but suicidal. Agonising, he knew he had to do something but...………… He could just turn his back and wander of the mountains. He would find a herd somewhere, and perhaps live peacefully. He had heard rumours of trophy hunters but never actually seen any. Surely there was somewhere he could live happily, free from danger. Wasn't there? But what about his girls....Gwendolyn? He would never find another goat like her. No. He would give his life up for her. And that made his mind up. No matter what the outcome, he was going to try.
Slowly he backed out of his observation point and skirted round the lip of the quarry using the light of the moon to move carefully and quietly. He would approach from downwind to carry away any slight sound he might make on the crinkly slate and prevent his goat smell being picked up by the guarding henchmen. Hardly daring to breath, he came down the incline, zig zagging to use tumbledown ruins and rocks to keep him out of line of sight and away from being silhouetted against the horizon. But damn his big horns! He could lift his head slowly over a rock to look, but his horns stood eighteen inches above his head, or peer from around the side of an old slate buttress but the tips of his horns, two feet out to the side of his head, were always exposed first before he could look at his quarry.
But as he got close he stopped at an old ruin and went inside. In the dark shadows inside he was able to look through an old window directly at the herd just sixty yards away. They all seemed to be asleep with just Rory letting out a rasping cough every so often. But then...…………….was it his imagination?...…...he watched...…..was his eyesight deceiving him in the dark? He was sure Gwendolyn was further to the left before...…...but now she was closer to one of the henchmen.
Raglan watched......hardly daring to believe...…….and then he knew....Gwendolyn was moving! Very slowly, and silently! His heart leapt! What a woman! So as not to stand up, she was inching forward on her front knees, pushing with her back legs, between one dark guard and another. God, he willed her on! Now she slowly glided to the side of the last sentry. He didn't even flinch, no doubt tired out from the march over from Nant Gwertheyrn. Gwendolyn carried on on her knees another few yards before standing up and striding very carefully away from the herd. Raglan hurried out the back of the ruin almost colliding with her as she came by. But she showed no surprise, no shock, no fear, whispering to him, "Follow me!" It stopped him in his tracks: how had she known?
"Come on!" she hissed, and turned to go. Behind Rory let out one of his horrible coughs, it catching in his throat. It stirred one of the henchmen mid-dream, who just caught a lingering whiff of Gwendolyn's fragrance hanging in the air. That switched his mind on and suddenly he lifted his head and looked around. Where was she? He swung round the other way and just caught the movement of a shape moving away further down the level. He jumped to his feet, blaring out an alarm and raced off in pursuit.
Now there was no need for stealth. Gwendolyn raced ahead, speeding across scree, leaping off stone buttresses, running across levels and down the inclines. Raglan fought to keep up but she was more nimble than he, and less bulkily built who was hampered with those ridiculous horns he carried everywhere. Behind the three henchmen hurried as best they could, unfamiliar with the terrain, tripping and tumbling on the jagged and disrupted landscape. Their bloodcurdling threats and sheer fear made Gwendolyn and Raglan fly! Together they knew this quarry inside out, leaping fences, hurrying down tunnels, twisting and turning to throw off their noisy pursuers.
By the time they reached the trees they knew the worst was over: they had almost made it. The chasers were floundering around in the dark high up the mountain, long ago fallen off the scent. But, Raglan thought, in the morning, in the light they would make a proper search. They would have to make sure they couldn't be found. They eased down from a run to a steady walk once they were amongst the Welsh oaks, with the moonlight filtering through the dark shapes of the trees, allowing them to catch their breath. Raglan was the first to talk. "How did you know I would be there?" he asked her, and she just turned her head without stopping, and smiled. "I knew", she said, and carried on. He just stopped on the track for a second, unable to comprehend. She had always amazed him, but now he just could not believe the way things had worked out. But his mind turned to more practical things. "Where are we going?" he asked. Her answer, when it came, was unconvincing. "Just away. Anywhere away from those murderers!"and he thought he heard a stifled sob, a crack, in her voice.
"It's OK" he said trying to console her. "I know a place. I know where we can go. We'll be safe. Follow me!" And thirty yards down the track he added, "We mustn't leave a trail. Don't leave any droppings. And we will have to wash our feet in the lake.
And so they made it down through the old Anglesey barracks, and down the zig zag slate paths to the lakeside. There, they trotted along the railway track way down to Fachwen where they entered the water. "Just wash your legs" he said. "Don't get your hair wet, as we don't want our scent dripping onto the ground". satisfied she had done as he asked they cleared the bank and set back off up the railway track, the way they had come. By backtracking any searchers would be led off far in the wrong direction. Back at the head of Llyn Padarn the two goats skirted around the slate museum, walking in the shallow water where they could until they were round the far side of the lake and approaching Llanberis village. It was still pretty dark, and there was no movement amongst the houses. They spotted a fox raiding some bins, and a few cats waiting near front doors, but Raglan led Gwendolyn through the streets to Capel Coch Road where it narrowed and climbed uphill between small dark slate worker's cottages. Up they went, further, and into Ceunant Street where it became a narrow lane hemmed in by rough stone walls. There were scraggy hill sheep asleep on the dewy grass to either side, the odd farm house, and the looming shapes of the surrounding mountains growing as the dawn light appeared.
She had been silent all the way, probably horrified by the turn of events, and the violent deaths of Arnold and Steve....and her fears for her girlfriends left behind but now Gwendolyn spoke in a weary voice. "Where are we going?" Raglan stopped and looked at her. "Not far now, I promise. We'll be safe and we can rest when we get there." He saw her eyes fall and she looked like she didn't have much faith in his words. But he had never let her down before, and so they trudged onwards, up the hill to the top of the track. It ended by a house sitting high up above the village, at the mouth of another great valley, Moel Eilio to one side and the massif of Yr Wyddfa in the distance. Turning south, the trail led into that valley and once again they walked on. It wasn't far, but suddenly they could look across towards a dark shape across a small river, sat between two trees either side of it. Gwendolyn couldn't make it out too clearly in the pre-dawn light but as they neared it she could see it better: a little old cottage covered in ivy, sat isolated in the middle of the valley, mountains all around, two trees, a river...………..it was Bobblehat Cottage! Raglan led her inside, and she collapsed in a corner in exhaustion. He fell beside her, holding her close. And he put his head against hers, their souls touching each other as they fell into a deep sleep.
They were woken quite suddenly. It was bright daylight. A dog had barked nearby. An excited bark. A voice called. Quickly they got up and went to the window. A man was approaching, a bright orange coat and baseball hat. A small grey dog was bouncing up and down as it bounded through the long grass and rushes, excited at the scent she had detected. She was the Goat Hunter! They retreated and backed into the far corner as his shadow fell on the empty doorway of the ruin. And then he was there, peering in, his eyes lighting up as he spotted the two goats there. Raglan and Gwendolyn looked back as slowly a kind, friendly smile appeared on his face and widened. "Hello!" he grinned, "Don't I know you two?"
And he stood, before them, a friend, just thinking things over in his head. And after a moment, a little nod of the head as he seemed to sum things up before he looked straight back into their eyes. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me! Be good to each other" and with that, he turned and was gone, calling "Come on Darcy. Let's go find some squirrels!"
used my Mind the Scrap May kit to create this grid style page for todays LOAD prompt.
Used photos of my daughter on stage with Nutty Noah and told the story of how she was better than expected and did exactly as she was told even when he didnt want her too lol