One Year On…

Scooby on a family camping trip to the mainland. He was so excited to have been included that he didn’t mind at all being put on a lead for mealtimes along with his three canine companions.
He was one of the family – taken into the fold and cherished as much as if he were one of the children. Found abandoned on the streets of Newport to fend for himself, once he realised that he was with us to stay he soon made himself at home.
We miss him.
One year today…

Preparing Ahead

Christmas Eve
Waiting, wedged between my feet and the kitchen counter, she sits ready for any vegetables to go astray – it’s almost as if she senses that I’ve had a little too much wine (both mulled and straight from the bottle) not to mention the rather large glass of Tia Maria with my coffee… as expected a carrot does mysteriously catapult itself off the counter and straight into the slavering mouth below.
On to the next root vegetable. An escapee is eagerly pounced on only to be immediately spat out again. It goes back in followed by a crunch or two then three pieces fly back out. For someone who will, at the drop of a hat, snaffle anything within snapping distance of those crocodile jaws, she’s showing quite an aversion to parsnips.
She is not usually this fussy. Horse pooh, seaweed, cardboard, the odd shoe…not to mention umpteen unidentifiable objects that she pilfered from the bin before the dustmen got a look in.
Parsnips, however, are clearly one item off her ‘most wanted’ list.

Bonfire Night Ashes

Loud noises
Make me feel
Relieved my dog’s not

No dogs allowed

Why is there a black dog
streaking through the store,
jaws gaping, tongue lolling
wearing a definite smirk.

Lead still attached, no owner in situ.

Shoppers stand immobilised –
a (curiously
mobilised) security
man follows… in vain pursuit.

Pursued and pursuer
destined not to meet
as the canine races
out of the back door.

Mate waiting patiently
to join in the dash…

Lead in situ but no owner attached.

Seven Words for Sunday – In the Dog House

After attempting to jump in the stream...

After attempting to jump in the stream…

Isle of Wight-20130804-00067

The place to be

A stroll on the beach is accompanied incongruously by pounding europop and the gentle swishing sounds of the sea. Funny how the different sounds take precedence depending on the way you are facing. We leave behind the visiting funfair and walk into the rapidly cooling evening air. The beach is populated with small groups of evening fishermen and families taking their dogs for a last walk like us. Luckily Rosy doesn’t spot the tempting mackerel which sits, trophy-like, beside the first angler that we pass. We laugh and agree that it wouldn’t have been around to admire for very long – hungry spaniels are not fussy what food they snaffle!
We come back to a supper of cheese and biscuits and some bottles of beer; I feel relaxed and happy yet also a bit sad that my visitors leave tomorrow. I will miss them.

At Tinker’s Coppice

We walk up the old railway track until we get to Tinker’s Coppice Crossing. I lean on the gate my companion by my side, “Me and Dylan used to live here Scoobs!” I realise my mistake as soon as the words have left my mouth…Scooby is gone. Dylan is too. My two boys are boxes of dust on my bookshelf. Rosie is a lovely dog but she is just borrowed for the week.
We stand there buffeted by a chill autumnal wind. Even the ivy clings on to its support for dear life – like some multi-handed tree hugger. We start to amble back home and on the ancient trees the creepers have grown conker-casing armour to keep out unwanted attention.
Looking upwards I blink as the rain fills my eyes. I feel…

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