Author Archives: Nicole Lobry de Bruyn

About Nicole Lobry de Bruyn

Born in the psychedelic sixties to hard working and conservative parents my sister and I grew up in sleepy suburban Perth, Western Australia. We played by the river, the beach and in the bushland of the cementary. I loved a chocolate Dachshund enough to make me want to become a veterinarian. I did. I became paralysed from the waist down when car hit tree. But not running, walking, standing or kneeling didn't prevent me being a vet. I am still a vet but would prefer to write and read and read and write about walking and not walking, feeling and not feeling, knowing and not knowing. So this is what happens when you enter thechookhouse.

Hospital Corridors

Some people like airports and railway stations and shopping malls and art galleries. Some people don’t like hospitals. I do. I love them. All of them. Old ones, new ones, empty ones, full ones. I see curing, healing, surviving. I … Continue reading

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Happy Hens

I am at a seminar given by a guru in the world of animal welfare. This man is not a vet. He is a scientist and somewhat of a philosopher too. Professor David Mellor says that when an animal is … Continue reading

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Uncinate fasciculus

I learnt about this tract of brain matter while studying for my membership in Animal Behaviour. In a mentor’s recording on anxiety the words slipped past my ear. I had to replay it several times to make it out and … Continue reading

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Rottnest 2015

  Mini Murmurations.   Starlings do this thing. Instantaneously. Like a sheet shaken out. About to be laid over a bed. Thrown into the sky in one action. Graham is sitting on the arm of the couch on the balcony … Continue reading

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Grey t-shirt and Jeans

Today I heard the tail end of Mark Zuckerberg saying he wore the same thing every day to cut down on his cognitive choices. Wearing a grey t-shirt and jeans on a daily basis gave him one less thing to … Continue reading

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Akbar

Swan taxi to the airport. Wagon. No need to dismantle the chair. First question before reaching the end of the street. “That man – he was your husband? And the boy your son?” “Yes.” “What is happened to you?” I … Continue reading

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Yunderup

The lapping of the river is like a giant dog licking itself. A constant slurp. It is skinny milk café latte. Sometimes it shimmers. Sometimes it is smooth, muddy brown. Bottomless. When boys get atop canoes and kayaks it becomes … Continue reading

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This House Of Grief – Helen Garner

I have just finished reading Helen Garner’s This House of Grief. It is a remarkable achievement, especially since the story is so well-known that there is virtually no opportunity to create suspense. Yet it is suspenseful. It is not suspense … Continue reading

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Seven Thousand Three Hundred Days

We drive through constant rain in a car that knows it is raining and switches its own wind screen wipers off and on. So different from the leaking Kombi. No protruding springs through ripped ruby vinyl. No view of the … Continue reading

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Straw House

Remember the story of the three little pigs – each attempting escape from the wolf in their houses – one built of straw, one of sticks and one of bricks. The one built of straw did not fair well. One … Continue reading

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