The Jump

The snow is almost all gone now from the lawn. Every day I rake for about an hour or so, then scritch round in the beds for awhile to awaken the soil. things are beginning to look alive around here. At the foot of the hill out back, the remains of the jump that Colin and Soe made this New Year's Eve have lingered, refusing to melt, and this has all been helped along by the fact that it lay in the shadow of the pines. Yesterday did it in, however!! This morning, when I went out for my daily raking ritual, I was kind of sad to notice that all that remained of the jump was a dark, damp spot on the lawn to show that it had existed and had brought with it lots of laughs and great entertainment.

Spring's sprung, the grass is ris

Spring's sprung, the grass is ris,
I wonder where them boidies is?
The boidies is on the wing.
Don't be absoid, the wing's on the boid.

I don't remember where I heard that, but it was a very long time ago. But it certainly is a verse that's in harmony with today. The sun has been blazing all day long, and we can now, finally, walk around the field without having to walk on snow. The ladybirds that came in droves last autumn, have now reappeared, basking in the lovely sunshine. So have the cluster flies! Somehow, I don't welcome them with the same amount of eagerness!

The daffy-down-dillies, tulips and snowdrops are pushing their way up through the iron-cold earth, and many of the perennials in the beds are already showing new growth.

My brother, Richard, has hatched 6 goslings, and they are under a heat-lamp in the woodshed. How long does it take a gosling to develop that amazing honk? His little ewe lamb, Minty (short for mint sauce!), is still being pampered in the paddock, being bottle-fed by Naomi, the 10 year-old daughter of Frank and Miriam van Nes, who farm the neighbouring land. We met the van Nes family while we were in England this month: Frank and Miriam, 3 sons, 16, 14, 12, and 10-year old Naomi. We were totally enamoured by the whole family, all of whom, except the younger 2, were closer to 7 feet tall than 6 feet! Frank and Miriam come from Holland, and they now farm 3,000 odd acres of spectacular land in the south of Dorset. We went over for supper one evening a couple of weeks ago, and immediately felt the warmth of their home and family. The 2 older boys play basketball for England! I feel like I've known Miriam all my life, she has a lovely warm character, and I wish we didn't live 6,000 miles apart! Perhaps they'll come and stay...

I have stuffed some fleece into a couple of bird feeders around the place, and the birds are having a great time with them, pulling out long strands to help line their nests. There was a spider in the bath this morning: where on earth did he come from? A couple of ducks flying overhead, quacking joyfully 'We're Back!'

Everywhere we look, evidence of springtime abounds....at last!

Leave it to Moses!

Remember the grouse? I had wrapped him tenderly in a Russian muslin, to wait out the bitter winter on our side porch. The plan was to bury him as soon as the frost was gone in the spring, but unfortunately, for not only the poor grouse, but also for my need to do what was right (or ridiculous), something found it and took it away. I have to say that I felt a deep emotion of loss at this point. After all, it was my responsibility to have the funeral, along with full sporting regalia, to honour his noble life, and ponder on his abrupt demise. Sorrow was brief, although questions did arise as to the nocturnal thief's identity: our friendly(!) bear, raccoon or skunk, all of these having recently come out of their various hibernations. I thought it was the bear, because he had paid us a visit that day, sitting on our lawn licking his lips and swaying rhythmically from side to side.

That afternoon, the puppies and I were returning from our walkies, when suddenly Moses put his little 10-week old nose in the air and sniffed. He dashed under the side porch, and reappeared with the grouse in his mouth. This was a treasure indeed, and he held his little head up high as he ran for the front door! When we caught up with him we said 'Dead!' and he dropped it! I cut off its wings to attach to a tennis ball toy, and threw the rest unceremoniously into the bin along with my duty and loyalty! Moses later retrieved the Russian muslin, which joined the grouse in the bin.

Moses in the Bulrushes

Moses came to live with us yesterday. He is a delightful 10 week-old black Labrador, who has stolen our hearts away. He is utterly enchanting, and has a lovely docile spirit, although we are not fooled, and he certainly shows off his high spirits by jumping off the highest snow bank, and landing splat, having failed to negotiate the landing techniques used by older, wiser dogs. Our 9 year old yellow bitch, Sadie, has welcomed him into our midst, with a slight disdain for his foolish antics, but has generously allowed him to play with her duck, and he, in turn has offered her his new pheasant.

My brother, Richard, is slightly concerned about his name, worrying about a possible state of confusion when we ask him to get in his basket. We have, however, come to a good conclusive solution to this potential cause for rebellion: we are never to ask him to get in his basket while it is floating downstream. This will eliminate any fear of being found in the bulrushes by Phaeroah's daughter, with the resultant coddling.

He has settled in very well to a strict schedule of eating, walking, flying!, outside chores, chewing any one of his new toys: duck, pheasant, lamb, a nasty 'thing' that looks like a hand grenade which you stuff with a treat encased in peanut butter, it keeps him happy for quite a while, and takes his mind off any idea of chewing anything untoward!, at which point he falls into the lovely contented sleep of the truly happy.

His heritage is English, but I'm afraid that in his short life, he has picked up some extremely un-British habits. The way he boistrously laps his water, would prompt any Royal Marine to inflate his life-dinghy right away. I'm not quite sure how to correct this highly foreign behaviour, and so for now, the mop will have to be on hand to swab the deck of our kitchen floor at all times.

He and I are in the middle of a very exciting book by Minette Walters called 'The Breaker', and we think we know who dunnit! But we can't reveal it here, firstly, coz it might disappoint anyone who is almost at the point of recognizing the culprit, and secondly, we wouldn't want to appear foolish when the truth reveals the folly of our guesses.

We have wandered far from the bulrushes on this very sunny Sunday afternoon, but everyone is sleeping off our walkies, and this seemed an appropriate moment to introduce all and sundry to Maestro's Moses: Canto Della Terra.