A Wind is Blowing

We all have wind from time to time

It’s a natural part of living

It only becomes a problem

When the smell is unforgiving

Tussock is the older dog

And her body is loosening off

As she climbs upon the sofa

Her bottom gently coughs

I rarely hear Talulah parp

Unless they are always silent

But I’ll never know for sure

Because they’re certainly never violent

Skara does some pips and pops

But nothing too alarming

They are quite like the rest of her:

Sweet and cute and charming

River has been known to cause

Some night time entertainment

I only wish I had a box

For gaseous containment

I woke last night to noxious fumes

Arising from her bum

A slow and thick and heavy gas;

Which left my senses numb

But Sisko was the King of Farts

Nobody would deny

His emissions after a knuckle bone

Would bring tears into your eyes

Nobody ever told him

That a bone was just to gnaw

His mission was to eat the lot

Leaving little for the craws

He would come in looking chuffed to bits

At conquering such a feast

Then settle down to have a sleep …

…whilst brewing his inner beast

And just in time for guests arriving

He’d suddenly wake up again

And dash out through the open door

Like a supersonic train

At the point the guests walk through the door

You understand his hurry

The gasses milling round your feet 

Are reminiscent of slurry

They grab the bottom of your legs

And climb up on your clothes

Heading to their destination:

The innards of your nose

They hang on to your nostril hairs

Bringing tears into your eyes

And through the haze of evil gas

You suddenly realise

The guests think you’re the author of

This fetid smelling fog

And all that you can think to say -

“It was the bloody dog.”

Missing Dog

We are slightly bereft this morning - we have no Talulah!!  And how we miss her.  But don't worry, she is just a quarter of a mile up the road, having a weekend with her "dad".....

People have often asked me how I cope with four big dogs.  I don't really see it as coping, rather it is just a way of life.  I have had some folks say that at least I wouldn't notice it if I lost one - I would still have three more.  That says more about them than me and most dog owners that I know.  Would you say such a thing to someone who has lost one of four children?  No.  Each child and each dog is an individual and brings their own touch to a cohesive unit.  Granted, if you do lose one, then yes, you still do have others to love and cuddle, but it doesn't stop  you missing that lost individual.

But back to Talulah.  Chris and I have often discussed her having some lone time with him.  As she gets a bit older, she has been showing a preference for "me time".  She stays downstairs at bedtime for a few hours, she sometimes doesn't want to go in the back of the vehicle with the others, often does her own thing out on a walk, gets a bit grumpy with the younger ones, goes up to the bedroom in the evening, or if it is summer, stays out in the conservatory.  She also loves to go visit Chris.

I have often left Tussock and Talulah with Chris if I have been taking the two youngsters to a show, and lately, on returning, Talulah has actually been quite "off" with them on their return.

Anyway, we decided to give it a go this weekend and Chris picked her up on his way home from work last night.  How strange it was without her last night - and the other three dogs noticed it too.

I missed the 9.30 reminder that it was nearly supper time.  I missed my special cuddle time that I have with her before going to bed.  I missed the grumble from the sitting room as I came down to the loo in the night.  I missed the gentle woof at the bottom of the stairs as she asks me to put the light on when she is ready to come up in the night.  I missed the jostling for position that she and Skara perform on the bed.  I missed the pre alarm clock whines and whistles as she tells me it is nearly breakfast time.  I missed the frantic scuffle as she finds my slippers to take downstairs and presents them, foot-ready, in the sitting room.  I missed the fight for my socks.  I missed the vertical jumps at the door as she waits to get outside.  I missed the increasingly loud whingeing as I prepare their breakfasts.  I missed the paddling she does with her front feet as I go to put her bowl down.  I missed the growl as she bursts back through the door when I let her in the house when she has finished, and she aims for the other bowls to see if anything has been missed.  I missed her morning grumpy sounding growls as she wishes everyone good morning and how it increases in volume as she vies with Tussock for the morning bum scratch.  I miss seeing her and Skara have their morning play session, with River voicing her jealousy.

And it's only 9.30 am...... Going to be a long weekend!

And the other three are very quiet too - there is an air of puzzlement about them.  Part of their team is missing, and it will be interesting to see how they adjust, and who will fill in for each of her duties within the unit, and in what way.  It will be also interesting to see how they will be when she comes home again.  Will she tell them all off for invading her space, or will they tell her off for going away?

It isn't a permanent arrangement.  She will be generally be better off with me due to our different jobs and lifestyles, but it may well be that she will spend a bit more time on her own with Chris at weekends.  And I have to put aside any ego accepting that she might actually prefer to be there!

Who Goes There?!

I wrote the following about three years ago - I never really finished it, and wasn't really happy with it, so shoved it in the draft folder and forgot about it.  It was only reading a facebook post by a friend on a similar kind of subject that reminded me that I had written something similar at some time.  For me, it is fascinating to realise how much has changed in three years but will update on that later.  This is how it was:

My dogs have their own hierarchy of greetings, and each of them has their own vocabulary and body language for these varying occasions.  I will talk about Tussock here, though, partly because I know her best, and partly, because she is the boss dog, it is often her body language I watch to see how a situation may evolve, although that also is very fluid as sometimes it is one of the others I need to watch!

I suppose to a non dog person or someone who doesn't know Tussock's personality will not be aware of the enormous vocabulary she possesses - which any dog has, for that matter.  The tiny movement or the specific tilt or level of the head tells me that something is coming, going, happening or happened, and how she feels about it.  Or the half note change of pitch in the bark can say a similar thing.  Of course, as in communication between humans, I have to be listening or observing, and to do that we have to be alive in the moment - not digging in the past, or meddling with the future, or going round in endless circles mulling over a problem of the present.  I am guilty of all three and I have to work very hard to stay in the moment.  Of course, when I do, it's brilliant!  I see more, hear more, feel more and notice more.  You'd think we would learn the lesson.... ha ha ha!

But back to Tussock.  Out on a walk, if her head position is up and right back with ears raised, it means high alert!  Unidentified person/dog/animal/situation/prey/ in sight.  That tells me to get my act together NOW and get her attention before she legs it and acts on her own initiative.  If she does that, it isn't always a problem - but it could be.

Head long and low with ears lowered tells me her focus has increased and this probably means it is a dog approaching.  Down in a crouch is the precursor to moving in towards the dog and I have often considered this as the time to get hold of her!  She isn't a troublemaker in any way - indeed, recent interpretation from a trainer friend suggests she is a tad anxious, but if I don't know the approaching dog, I have no idea of the "conversation" that might take place in the ensuing moments.

In the garden all the dogs are quite vigilant at keeping their patch free of intruders -

Tussock in particular has an enormous vocabulary in this department.  It is fascinating to watch her subtleties in all situations.  Again, I can usually tell by the position of her head that there is “something” out there, something she feels she needs to keep an eye on.  Or she might let out a low growl intended as a warning to me that the something is getting close.  The single bark means “Oi!  I’m watching you” or “Mum – you might be needed”.    Then we get to the real ferocious deep bark which means there is a dog going past.  She is actually pretty okay with other dogs, but not on her patch, thank you very much.  The mid level bark says it is a person – if it goes up in pitch it means it’s someone she knows and the higher it gets, the more she likes them.  If they are outside, I can tell where the “something” is, who it might be, and at what point they reach the gate and if I am needed to give them safe passage – just on the volume and tone of voice.

River is enthusiastic in her greeting, but hasn’t fully learned the subtleties required of her.  She is all noise and bluster – a mix of her own fear and insecurities and an adolescent attitude.

Talulah generally lets the other two go onto the front line but it is her antics that are the funniest.  She does bark, but the rest of her energy is spent jumping up and down on the spot, and gathering as much stuff in her mouth as possible.   I doubt she could ever bit an intruder as it takes her long enough to empty her mouth.

The Wood Pile

A few days ago, I took some time out to try to get to the bottom of my woodpile.  I don’t often see the pallets at the bottom as, more often or not, more wood is dumped on before I get to the bottom of the existing pile.  All my wood is collected by hand, and cut by hand – never using a chainsaw.  Lots of people think I am crazy, but I don’t think so.

If I am collecting driftwood off the shore, I am simultaneously exercising the dogs, exercising myself, enjoying the fresh air, watching the gulls, the heron, listening to the wind, or to the quiet.  I find myself reflecting on where the wood might have come from, how long it has been in the water, or, indeed, how long buried in the sand before being washed up.  I can look in among the seaweed for anything of interest.  I look at the shape of the wood, imagining where it once stood when it was part of a tree.

If I am collecting in woods, or fields, I can watch the sheep or cattle and listen to their conversations, or listen to the birds, keep an eye out for buzzards, ravens, pine marten, squirrels, deer.  Sometimes I don’t see anything because the dogs are playing boisterously around the grass or trees.  But once again, it is an opportunity to be outside with my dogs.

The collection is often left in piles to dry out a bit and then eventually piled up in the vehicle to go home, and once again all handled onto the wood pile just inside my gate.  My hands invariably smell of earth, or sea, or both, and my clothes covered in moss or seaweed – or both.

When it comes to cutting it into lengths, because I don’t use a chainsaw, it means the dogs can be outside with me.  They know to keep out of the range of the bowsaw, and if they do get too close, it is easy enough to halt in my movement.  As I handle the wood onto my sawhorse, I often remember finding that bit, sometimes I remember an incident attached to it.  I rarely cut rhododendron without remembering the cut to the bone of my finger in a momentary lapse of concentration.  I think I was rushing that day….I should know better.

The Cutting Room Floor

And The View From The Cutting Room Floor

I like to cut wood in the morning sunshine – we have had precious little of that this year, hence this late push to get some more done.  As I cut, I often put pieces aside, with thoughts of something else I might do with it. 

Might find another use for this.

Each season brings its own entertainment; the courting birdsong of early spring, the rush and push to get as much food as possible for baby birds, the neighbour’s chickens, the wind in the trees, the joy of a line of washing blowing in a warm summer wind, the oystercatchers down on the shore, visiting children next door.

I watch Tussock sleeping at the foot of the house steps, gradually turning from black to speckly black as sawdust drifts over and settles on her.   Talulah curls up to the side of me for a time, watching what I am doing.  River and Skara watch out for intruders.  Or they all sunbathe on the path.

I think they were watching a passing crow here.

Or sometimes we have a bit of play time.

I think this might have been a hot day.

And once it is cut, then it is sorted into which pile it will go on – good and dry goes in the early winter pile, seasoned but a bit damp goes in the mid-winter pile, not quite ready, but will be in a month or two goes in the late-winter pile.  Then there is the next-winter pile. 

Early Winter Pile

The Middle One

The Later Pile

Still needs a bit of seasoning.

During the winter, when the stove is burning 24 hours a day, I can take satisfaction in knowing that all my heating and hot water has come from my own efforts.  But more than that, each hour I spend out there by my saw horse, I am forced to slow down, to pace myself, to be aware of what is around me.  I feel grounded, and connected.          

Time to put the feet up.