It’s now nearly six months since we lost Arthur (whose 17th birthday it would have been yesterday), and fifteen months since Roley died; and every creature within a ten-mile radius seems to have worked out that our garden is a dog-free zone. The squirrels have been having a laugh for years, to be honest, and are now positively arrogant; but we also have a regular and nonchalant parade of the cats which Arthur used to delight in chasing up trees – and recently, an expanding flock of pheasants.
Today there were three cock pheasants mooching about the place, all looking grumpy and out of sorts. Whether that was to do with the weather, which was vile, or the fact that the lady friend they brought with them when they came for lunch yesterday seemed to have an alternative engagement today, I’m not sure – but they spent a lot of time standing stock still in the flower beds: “Doing the living statue thing,” as R put it. After a while this one took up a station on the patio wall and stayed there for about quarter of an hour, during which time this was his sole moment of animation. Eventually he flumped back down onto the lawn and stomped off down the garden, leaving me wondering what kind of decision-making process was going on.
I spent much of the day trying to choose entries or a couple of photo competitions, and I’m now at the point of feeling that if I never to have to look at another photograph I’ll be well able to bear the disappointment. Grumpy…. moi?