Tag: Cats

Out on a limb for leeches

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Dad loved his garden pond. Here he is feeding the fish a couple of years ago.

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on 2nd February 2018, & the Gazette & Herald on 31st January 2018.

I went through the ‘frogs and snails and puppy dogs tales’ phase with each one of my three boys when they were at primary school. They were fascinated by ‘minibeasts’, which was a new word to me, but referred to what we would have called creepy crawlies. They had no squeamishness about picking up spiders, worms, slugs, snails and wood lice and presenting them to me with great glee.

Even more excitement was to be had whenever we came across a pond, as there were more fascinating minibeasts to found in and around it. When my oldest was a toddler, we lived in house with a pond in the garden and I can’t forget the noise the frogs used to make, and the undulating surface of the water, during mating season. The females are attracted to the males with the loudest croak, hence the cacophony! They also lay up to 2000 eggs, so soon our pond would be teeming with tadpoles, although not all would make it to adulthood, and those that did risked a messy confrontation with the lawnmower if they ventured far from the water.

My brother was also fascinated with such creatures in his youth, and in his February 4th 1978 column, Dad recalls the occasion when he built his own pond. Finding that a hole in the ground lined with polythene was no good, my brother resorted to using an old, Belfast sink, sunk into the rockery outside Dad’s study window. He filled it with with plants and pond life gathered from a local disused swimming pool and nearby lakes. He was very proud that soon his family of great crested newts had started breeding. He wouldn’t have known that 40 years later, if he disturbed the habitat of a great crested newt, he’d face up to six months in prison and an unlimited fine!

Alongside newts, frogs, sticklebacks and minnows, he also unwittingly rehomed a number of freshwater leeches, thankfully a small variety which were harmless to humans.

In medieval times, doctors were called ‘leeches’ due to their custom of treating all manner of ailment by bleeding their patients with the sluglike bloodsuckers. For many centuries, it has been one of the most effective treatments for a number of reasons, and this medical practice continues to this day. There is a farm in Wales which breeds medicinal leeches for this purpose, which is known as hirudotherapy (from the Latin name for these leeches, hirudo medicinalis). As well as supplying the NHS, the company sends them all over the world for use in surgery. The leech, which is about three and half inches long, is particularly effective in treating areas of poor circulation, especially in parts of the body with delicate soft tissue, for example when surgeons are trying to repair or reattach a severely injured limb. They clean up the wound by removing the clotted blood that is inhibiting blood flow, and then encourage circulation to restart.

It is the mechanics of mouth of the leech, a curious biological triumph, which makes it so effective for medical treatment. It has a circular, overlapping lip, and then three jaws, shaped a bit like the Mercedes-Benz logo, each with a row of 100 tiny teeth, perfect for making clean incisions into the skin at exactly the right depth. As they bite, they secrete a local anaesthetic, making the bite painless, alongside another substance, known as a vasodilator, which stimulates blood flow. Once the leech has filled its boots with blood, it then simply drops off to digest it. However, it leaves behind two important chemicals called hirudin and calin, which prevent further clotting and continue to stimulate blood flow for up to 48 hours after the leech has dropped off, which is so important when when it comes to success in treating these kinds of injuries. Although it all sounds a bit gruesome, it is one of nature’s amazing accomplishments, far more effective than many other medicinal treatments, and in fact the leeches only consume a relatively small amount of blood before they become full, around 15ml.

Incidentally, trials have shown that the anti-inflammatory and anaesthetic properties of leech saliva have been shown to be effective in treating pain and tenderness in the joints of people suffering conditions such as osteoarthritis. Vets are also finding them useful during surgical procedures on animals.

Now my question is, how would you feel with a leech let loose on your injured limb?
(Sources: biopharm-leeches.com, guysandstthomas.nhs.uk).

Know Your Onions

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This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on 26th January 2018, & the Gazette & Herald on 24th January 2018.

There is something about slow-cooking onions that is always mouth-wateringly tempting. Whatever dish they ultimately end up in, a pan of chopped onions gently sweating in butter just smells so divine.

As well as possessing substantial nutritional value, onions are reputed to possess remarkable healing qualities, some of which have been backed up by proper science.

In my dad’s column from January 28th 1978, he recounts the story of a friend who had visited the doctor with heart problems, and the doctor recommended that he eat lots of onions served any which way, be they boiled, raw or pickled (perhaps they didn’t ‘sweat’ onions in the 1970s!). It seemed to Dad that what many people saw as an ancient Old Wives’ Tale was being proved to be true through modern science.

Onions, which like leeks and garlic are members of the allium family, have been renowned for their health-giving properties for centuries. In 1653, the notable English herbalist and physician Nicholas Culpeper wrote in his book, The Complete Herbal (1653), that although onions increase flatulence, they also eased the bowel, increased sperm, helped soothe bites from dogs and venomous creatures, and killed worms in children. Inhaling the scent would also help clear a fuzzy, cold-ridden head. He added: ‘The juice of onions is good for either scalding or burning by fire, water, or gunpowder, and used with vinegar, takes away all blemishes, spots and marks on the skin: and dropped in the ears, eases the pain and noises of them.’

The ancient Egyptians raised the status of the humble onion to that of a god because if it’s health-giving benefits. Onions feature in paintings on the walls of the pyramids, and symbolised eternal life due to their circle-within-a-circle structure. Mummies have been found with onions hidden within their pelvic regions, suggesting they were associated with fertility, and King Ramses IV, who died in 1160BC, was entombed with onions in his eye sockets.

That onions help you live a long life is a common belief in folklore, as is the theory that it promotes hair growth. It is also supposed to be an excellent slimming aid, as this quote (unsourced) that my dad mentions: ‘You who are fat and lymphatic, eat raw onion; it was for you that God made it.’ (I am hot-footing it down to the grocer’s to buy a kilo right away!).

Last year, in a Canadian study quoted in the journal ‘Food Research International’, extracts from a certain type of red onion were shown to be able kill bowel cancer cells by producing an environment in which they self-destructed. But according to Dr Justine Alford, Cancer Research UK’s senior science information officer, results in a lab setting do not always make it into an effective treatment.

“If scientists can tease out which molecules in onions have these apparently beneficial effects, then perhaps they can be investigated as a potential drug in the future,” she said. (Source: prima.co.uk)

With all these reported health benefits, it is no surprise that Dad’s archives contain many ancient recipes, including white onion soup, brown onion soup, French onion soup, pickled onions, onions for keeping, roasted onions, stewed onions and even onion wine. They can also be used to clean leather, brasses, windows and knife blades.

The raw version is meant to be the most beneficial, but if you can’t tolerate it, then it is suggested that you roast it whole, within the skin like a baked potato, to keep the goodness in. Of course, the problem with eating too many raw onions, apart from the inevitable indigestion, is the anti-social smell they leave on your breath and hands. It is well-known that chewing fresh parsley is meant to lessen stinky breath, but you can also try chewing mint leaves or drinking warm water with lemon or diluted apple cider vinegar. To remove the smell from your hands, rub your skin all over and under the nails with either lemon juice or vinegar. Let it dry, then rinse off with clean water.

If you find that any of these methods works, I’d be delighted to know! And if anyone has ever made or tasted onion wine, please tell me if my current taste for prosecco is under any threat of being usurped?

The Mystery of the Disappearing Chestnuts

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Marmalade the cat

 

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Sweet chestnuts

This column appeared in the Darlington & Stockton Times on 19th January 2018, & the Gazette & Herald on 17th January 2018. 

You may remember that in my column from the Gazette & Herald on 6th September 2017 (‘Dad’s swift actions stop a catastrophe’) and the D&S Times from 8th September 2017 (‘Saved from catastrophe by Dad’s swift action’) that I talked about the various family cats, both tame and feral, that lived in and around my childhood home.

Dad recounts a lovely story about our longest-surviving cat, Marmalade, in his January 21st 1978 column. She had wandered into our garden as a very young stray and never left, becoming a much-loved part of the family. She had come from a nearby farm, but the farmer had no interest in the cats that frequented his hay barn and was more than happy when they took up residence elsewhere.

Mum and Dad had been stumped by the mystery of the disappearing chestnuts from the windowsill. What was a full bowl a few days earlier, was now no more than half full, and no-one confessed to having eaten any.

Then one day, Dad saw the cat jump on to the ledge and scoop out a chestnut with her paw, which then fell to the ground. She leapt after it in an uncharacteristically energetic way, and chased it across the floor, flicking it up into the air and batting it from paw to paw, as she would had she caught a mouse. Once the chestnut had disappeared under the furniture, she went back again for another one. What was it about the chestnut that ignited this new obsession? Dad had no idea, and my own searches have shed no light on it.

It brings to mind the effect of catnip, often used to scent pet toys. Catnip is a plant from the nepeta, or catmint, genus in the Lamiaceae family, and there are many varieties. In an article by the appropriately-named Kat Arney on the Royal Society of Chemistry website (www.chemistryworld.com), she explains that catnip contains a chemical called nepetalactone, which in cats induces behaviour similar to a person having taken drugs. They act with languid abandon, brushing their bodies against the leaves or rolling around among the stems. If they chew or eat it, they soon become what one might call ‘out of it’. For us humans, the plant can be infused to make herbal tea, and in times gone by small doses were used as a mild sedative. It is not recommended to be taken in large quantities, even though hopeful hippies gave it a go in search of a cheap high. All they ended up with was a painful headache and an upset stomach.

Catmint is a lovely garden plant, but to avoid delirious kitties flattening your borders, it is recommended that you place a small crop of nepeta cataria, the most potent catnip, in a place where you don’t mind them being mauled by frolicking felines, and then they will ignore the other milder varieties you have planted in pride of place. I have no idea if this distraction tactic works, and would be delighted if any readers can tell me!

After Marmalade arrived, she was soon followed by her sister Eric (my brother chose this name. He was outnumbered by females of both the human and feline variety, which might explain why!).

Eric remained feral, and we could never get close enough to tame her. After she had been with us for about a year, she produced a litter of kittens. We’d known she was pregnant and, due to her sudden change in appearance, that she had given birth, but we couldn’t find her litter anywhere. Then, on Christmas Eve 1977, she produced her own feline nativity scene in a very prominent position near our back door. Of course when we found the kittens, we instantly fell in love, and they were named (again courtesy of my brother) Alfred, Rodney (both girls) and Jackson (a boy).

But Eric would never be able to live indoors, and so Dad found the little family a cosy place in our disused henhouse, ensuring they had plenty of straw to keep them warm. We carried the kittens up to the henhouse ourselves, and lured Eric with some cat food on a spoon. She stayed there for about a week, before bringing her kittens back down to the back door on New Year’s Eve. So we repeated the process again, and this time she stayed. The young kittens thrived, and although they never became household pets, they became very much a part of our family history.