Autumn is Coming

 I love the progression of the seasons through the year.

    They remind us that nothing stays the same, everything constantly changes and moves on. But also they remind us of seasons past and seasons yet to come.

    It is only a couple of weeks since we were sweltering in Summer heat. Every morning I would look forward to opening the back door, and leaving it open, to encourage as much as possible of the cool, fresh air to flood into the house. They yesterday when I opened the door, there was a distinct nip in the air. And after the door had been open only a few minutes, suddenly 'the factory' struck up into full production. The 'factory' is our central heating boiler, which has been silent for months, but that morning with a whoosh and a vrrrrrm suddenly it was heating water and, for the first time since late Spring, the radiators were beginning to warm up.

    It is true that the leaves on the trees are starting to curl up and change colour around the edges. Growth has slowed in the garden, but the hedgerow fruits are starting to ripen. It looks like a good year for rosehips, and the cotoneasters in the garden are popping out hundreds of little red berries. I shall ask Graham to look out for brambles when he takes the dogs for a walk    

    When I was very little, this is when my dad would call for me to go for a very early morning walk with him. We would set off when it was barely light and walk around the edges of the stubble in the newly harvested fields. The mist would be rising, and the air soft and cool enough to make you want to keep moving, and soon we would come to the field where the mushrooms grew.

    We searched through the meadow, avoiding the cows which were following their own daily routine, wandering slowly and grazing the moist, thick grass at the far side of the field. Dad showed me how to look for tufts of grass, where the mushrooms hid at their base, and to look out for the darker green circles of the fairy rings, so many in this field that they intersected. Some were small, only just big enough to sit inside, others were huge, obviously grown over many years, and following around the edges of the rings was where the white capped mushrooms grew.

    When we had picked enough for breakfast, we would meander home, but sometimes we would go the long way, over the fields away from the houses, until we got to Uncle Bill and Aunty Laura's house. Dad might leave a paper bag of mushrooms by their back doorstep, so they would find them when they opened the door.

    Then home at last to have mushrooms cooked in my dad's special way: fried in butter, then a blob of Marmite, and a splash of strong tea (tea leaves and all), to make a flavoursome liquor which we would eat with bread and butter.

The Owning of Dogs

     The third of July is the start of the Dog Days, the heliacal rising of Sirius, the dog star.
     And on the 2nd of July, Saturday this year, we took our lovely girl, Maeve on her last journey to the vet. It was the last act of love and care we could do for her.
     Maeve was named after the Queen of the Fairies and she was a slender, yet strong and lively, blue merle, rough collie, with a mischevious sense of humour.
     Anyone who has owned dogs will tell you that each one is unique, with their own distinct personality.
     When you take on another dog, after the loss of one, you are never replacing the previous pet. Nothing can do that. It is like saying that a new baby would replace another child. Every child, and every dog, is a unique individual with their own likes and dislikes, and very much their own personality and sense of humour.
     After our previous dogs had died, our breeder friend Angela (Wicani Collies), asked us if we would consider giving a home to one of her adult dogs, China. It took us no time flat to say 'Yes! Please!' and off we went to meet China and possibly (? Who am I kidding!) bring her home with us.

     But China lived in the kennels with another adult female, Maeve, and when China was let out to meet us, Maeve came too.
     China and Maeve were as different as chalk and cheese. China is a happy, placid dog. Not the sharpest knife in the box, but solid, loving and always happy to finish off any food Maeve might leave. China was also the boss of the pair, even if it was Maeve who was the brains of the partnership.
     Maeve was a year younger, more slender and delicate in build and with a sharper, more Mercurial nature. She was shy and would hide from visitors, where China would push her way in.
     Maeve was also the dog who let us know if we had visitors coming, or if anyone was passing the house, or the birds were being too boisterous in the garden, usually by 'woofing' loudly, well away from the 'danger' and as near to us as possible.
     China's place was on the sofa, Maeve's place was on the floor. But this meant she had the opportunity to lie on my feet, or nestle up to Graham, since he also prefers to sit on the floor.
And if we were having supper, Maeve would be the one who 'helped' me to eat mine. To the extent that I would look at her and say to Graham, 'Tonight we will have a Marmite sandwich and some cereal to follow.' Then it was a bite of sandwich for me, and a piece for Maeve, and any cereal left over (of course, there was always some) would also go the way of Maeve too.
     One of her favourite games was not-letting-me-get-up-until-we-have-had-a-cuddle. And she loved having the top of her head rubbed while she pushed back against my hand making ecstatic, appreciative noises and nearly falling over.
    When she became ill, I asked Anubis to look after her, and as I write this I have an image of two dogs walking away. One a tall, slender, black, Egyptian hound, with a smaller, fluffy white collie trotting along beside him.
     Of course we are sad when they have to die. I have shed many tears for Maeve, as I have for other dogs and cats I have known over the years. But those tears are largely because I will miss her. I know that she is fine and happy in spirit.
     The joy of having her, and all the other creatures who have shared my life, far outweighs any sadness.
     All those who love their pets know: Our lives are richer and better for having known and loved them.