A new kid in town...

JACK.

Hello!  My name is Jack and I'm four months old and I got a new mammy today.  She's very nice. She is only going to be my mammy for a week, because my real mammy had to go away for a few days.  It's OK I don't mind, it's nice here, I got treats when I got here 'cos I was a very good boy in the car and sat still for the very long journey.  There is another boy here for me to play with.  He loves me.  He chased me all around the garden when I got here barking very loudly.  So I barked back and put my paw on his shoulder and he fell over and I jumped on him and everybody laughed, except him, I think he was a bit cross, but it was great fun!  There's loads of toys for me to play with too, I love them, I can throw them up in the air and one of them even has a bell in it.  I liked throwing that one the best.  So I kept throwing it and the bell kept ringing.  The other boy, I think his name is Rusty, he wanted to play with that toy too, but I had it first, my new mammy said that we had to share and she threw it for us and we both ran but I got it first.  Rusty was very cross....  There's lots of lovely things to eat in this garden too.  I was really loving here, until my new mammy put me in jail...

Well I didn't mean to eat the flowers, they just looked so lovely, especially the big yellow ones.  I said I was sorry and she let me out, but I was tired then, so I had a rest in this lovely bed that I found in the kitchen.  Rusty was very cross again, so I had to get out of the lovely bed and let him in.  It's not fair!!  I like the floor in the house, it's very slippy, I can run in from the garden and slide all the way into the kitchen and I only stop when I hit something.  It was great fun, so I did it over and over and over, until my new mammy put me in jail, again....

She let me out after a while, because we were going for a walk.  Woo Hoo!  My favorite game.  And we didn't bring Rusty, it was just my new mammy and me.  He was VERY cross this time....  I was delighted, until she made me wear that stupid jacket.  It's not fair!  It doesn't even suit me and makes me look like such a dork.  Oh well, I suppose if it means I can go out I'll wear it.   My new mammy said that I have to get used to wearing it because when I grow up and go to work I will have to wear one all the time.  But that won't be until I'm one year old, and that's millions of sleeps away yet.  And speaking of sleeps, I'm very tired now after my walk, I think I'll put myself in jail for a while and have a rest....

RUSTY.

It started off like any other day...  I had a walk before breakfast, a snooze under the blond one's desk while she worked, another trot around the block at lunchtime, and back under the desk again for my afternoon nap.  Bliss.  Then, the doorbell rang.

She, the blond one, didn't let me run down the stairs in front of her, me shouting "who's there who's there", like I usually do.  No, she lifted me up and we went down together.  We opened the front door, and it all went horribly wrong...

A young pup, that's the only way I can describe him, bounded across my door and straight into the kitchen.  My kitchen!  The blond one didn't seem in the least bit concerned, she even opened the back door and let him out into the garden.  My garden!  I did my best to scare him away, by running round and shouting "get out get out" at the top of my voice, but he just tripped me up and stood on top of me.  Everyone laughed.  Oh the indignity.

Things got worse, he found my toys.  The blond one is throwing a ball for him.  My ball!  But then things got a bit better, for me anyway.  He ate some of her flowers, the prized yellow one's and she put him behind bars.  At last I have the blond one's attention again, now maybe we can get back to our usual routine.

How wrong could I have been.  The ultimate insult.  She took him out for a walk.  Without me!!  And he has a lovely coat to wear while he goes out.  So unfair, I don't have a coat.   I hope the tall dark one gets home soon, I don't know how much more of this I can take.  At least I know I can depend on him for attention....

ME

I decided a while ago that I would do something with the spare time I seem to have now at the weekends.  I wasn't sure what I wanted to do, but I did think that I would volunteer for some worthwhile charity.   Then I saw a tweet from the Irish Guide Dogs Trust, looking for volunteers to be puppy walkers.  Bingo!!  

I downloaded the form, filled it out, gave glowing reports about my very sociable dog, sent it off and waited.

I didn't have to wait long.  Two very nice gentlemen from the Guide Dogs Trust paid myself and Kevin a visit.  They came to check us, Rusty and the house out.  We passed on most of the criteria. Well me and Kevin did anyway.  It was Rusty that failed.  And he failed spectacularly.

Without going into all the details, basically to be a puppy walker, you need to have the right environment for the puppy to learn good behavior.  Do you see where I'm going with this.  Me and Kevin are well behaved.  Unfortunately, Rusty is not so well behaved.  He is, as the two gentlemen remarked, a lovely dog, but very 'vocal'.  He likes to bark!  He also likes to chase birds flies and bees. And he demonstrated this very well while the guys were here.  All that running and barking and crazy behavior would be a very bad influence on a dog that is supposed to learn the sort of behavior that would eventually lead him to be a working dog for a visually impaired person.

So we failed.

But all hope was not lost.  They did say that from time to time they need people to take puppies for a week at a time to give the long term walkers a break, or a holiday, and that we would be eligible for this if we were interested.  So we signed up and waited..

And waited...

And today we got Jack.

Fruits of the forest.

I've been stealing from the park, again!

But his time no wild flowers or tractors were harmed in the process.  The only thing harmed are my fingers and arms, which are now covered in scratches and thorns.

I've been picking blackberries.  Here's my booty:

 

I have been looking at them over the last few weeks, going from flowers to green berries, then bright red, and at last, black.  I was waiting...  And today I couldn't walk by and leave them there, it's such a lovely day and they were begging to be picked.

I know all the rules for picking blackberries, as my Dad used to bring us out on chilly September Sunday afternoons, when we were small, armed with our little plastic bowls, and our wellingtons.   We'd end up in some farmers field and hope we didn't get chased by the cows.

The rules:

1. Don't pick from the bushes near the road.

2. Don't pick from the lower down branches.

3. Don't pick the squishy ones.

4. Don't pick the one's with the spiders on them.  (That's not actually a rule,  I just made it up now, cos I don't like spiders)

You could eat them if you wanted, and we used to, without even washing them first!  Such rebels.

So.

Don't pick from the bushes near the road, well I was in the park, so that's OK.  

Don't pick from the lower down branches?  Well being vertically challenged this rule was hard to stick to.  And all the best one's are up high.  I had to be careful, firstly not to fall into the brambles as I was reaching, and secondly not to fall into the river, as the bushed all hang over it.  Two old men came by and offered to help me with the high up berries, by lifting me up!  I did consider this offer, but then after a further examination of the two gentlemen, I declined.  I though that if I took them up on their offer one of them might have a heart attack from the strain of lifting me and I didn't have my phone with me to call an ambulance.  (And I also thought I might have to share my harvest with them if I let them help).  They also offered to help the pie when I make it.  I also declined that offer informing them that if I did make a pie, there was no way it would make it as far as the park!

Don't pick the squishy ones.  Well sometimes you don't know they are squishy until you pick them.  Hence, I've ended up with purple fingers!

I'm not going to mention the rule about the spiders.

Now, what to do with them is the question.

I thought I could make an apple and blackberry tart, as usually at this time of the year I have a good crop of apples on my tree.  But this year I got these two miserable offerings.  

I'm not having much luck growing things this year.  (I won't mention the Amaryllis, of which mine still doesn't have a flower, or even a bud).

So I think I'll put them in the freezer and keep them until I have a crowd here at Christmas (can't believe I mentioned Christmas in September!!) and then everybody can sample the delights of the Dodder.

Might go back tomorrow and get some more...

Eine kleine nachtmusik

I'm at an ICA meeting.  For those of you who have no idea what ICA means, it stands for the Irish Countrywoman's Association.  It's a meeting, a bit like an AA meeting, with cake!  (And only women).

I'm surrounded by women with permed grey hair wearing pearls, lilac cardigans and sensible shoes.  I forgot mine.  I'm drinking tea out of a cup with pink roses on it.  I never drink tea.  Especially out of cups with roses on them.  I was afraid to say no.  Imagine being in a room with 20 Mrs Doyles?  You trying saying no, these women are formidable!!  One of them was even wearing a chain around her neck akin to one a Mayor would wear.  I think she was in charge.

Also, I was afraid that if I said no to the tea, I wouldn't get any cake. There's a whole table full of cake, homemade cake, like your granny used to make, wrapped in tin foil, on paper plates...

No, this is not my new "Monday night out" for the winter.  Tonight I'm part of a double act.  I'm the silent part.  I'm also the technical expert.  Stop laughing, I'm with my Dad, so that qualifies me as the expert.  Normally this is Kevin's gig, but he had to work, so tonight the understudy (me!) gets to play the part.  I get all the good gigs...

Anyway, what am I doing here, in this classroom, surrounded by chattering old women?  I'm helping my Dad with one of his musical nights.  An Opera musical night. This is the second time I have helped with one of these evenings of music.  I really enjoyed the first time and this is already shaping up to be a better night than the last one.  Because there's cake!  These ICA women really know how to make a great cake.

We set up our equipment and it was on with the show.

Don't you just love the tragedy of Opera!  Dad, while taking command of the room full of chattering women (brave man!), had a great opening line.  It was quote from a film where an old opera singer explains the meaning of Opera to a young rock star:

"Opera is a play where a fella gets stabbed then sings all the way to the floor as he falls to his death."

Very tragic.  But it got them interested and they stopped talking and sat down.

And speaking of tragic, they also cleared the table of cake, before I got a chance to get second helpings.  

I suppose I should really be telling you about the music.  

Well, Dad compiles the tracks from various Operas, makes a playlist, then speaks for a couple of minutes between each track about the singers or the composer.  He does have notes with him, but he doesn't read them, just refers to them occasionally and ad-lib's the rest.  He has some very interesting an amusing quips for each track.  It's very Impressive!  And the ladies laughed in all the appropriate places.  They listened eyes open, while he spoke and then listened eyes closed, while I played the music.  

I do like Opera music, and I have been to a couple of Operas, but I know nothing about it.  I prefer a bit of Coldplay myself.  But I can appreciate the musical talent and vocal prowess of the artists.  For instance, you wouldn't want to leave your best champagne glasses out while Maria Callas was practicing her scales, cos when she hits those high notes it would shatter Waterford crystal and leave dogs running for cover.  I did recognize some of the tracks, but I couldn't name the singers or the Operas that they are from.  But half way down the play list, I did see one that I knew. 

The hour went by very quickly and we even did an encore.  The lady with the chain approached with an official looking envelope and a request for another performance in November.  Jeez...  This could become a habit!  I'll have to invest in the proper uniform of a cardigan and pearls and brush up on my cake eating skills!

The track that I recognized, and my favorite from this evenings performance, is this track.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0f1k14GQmNE

And my favorite cake was the coffee one!

The plot thickens

"The mystery of the Purple Amaryllis" 

(Or "how we've been duped by cunning Dutch flower sellers")

by

Siobhan Brennan

Chapter Three

(Well, you've already read chapters one and two, remember -  Chapter one, we planted them, Chapter two, one was pink!)

"The plot thickens"

Deirdre awake to a lovely sunny morning in Cork.  And, as it was Saturday, she stayed in bed for a whole extra minute.  After the minute was up, she got up and wondered what she would do for the day.  I know, she exclaimed, so loudly it stopped Vincent snoring for a second, I'll check on my Amaryllis to see if the bud that was on it last night has flowered.  

She ran excitedly out of the bedroom, skipped down the stairs, ran across the hall, bounded into the kitchen, clicked her heels together, spun around three times and she was... eh... still in her kitchen!   She opened the curtains, and there it was, in all its glory, face turned to the sun that was streaming in through the back door lighting up the kitchen, the so longed for flower of the Amaryllis.  (If this was a movie, the next bit would be in slow motion).  Her hands flew to her face, she gasped in amazement, she couldn't believe her eyes, (well she couldn't actually, because she didn't have her glasses on) she had never seen anything so, so, so.... Pink!

She sank into a chair (eh... how do you sink into a chair?  I've never really understood that phrase).  Oh no, she cried, but not loudly enough this time to stop Vincent snoring, it's all gone horribly wrong....

Meanwhile, in another part of town (or another part of the country to be precise), Siobhan was also waking up on that sunny Saturday morning.  She looked at her bedside clock, it said (well it didn't actually speak!) 8.15.  She too thought she would stay in bed for another minute.  One hour later, she eventually got up and promptly fell over Rusty, who had been waiting beside her bed, patiently, since the clock went off.   What will I do for the day she wondered, after I let Rusty out that is!  I know, she exclaimed, so loudly that Rusty flew for cover, I'll check to see if there are any e-mails for me.

So, she ran excitedly out of the bedroom, skipped down the stairs, ran across the hall, bounded into the kitchen, clicked her heels together, spun around three times and she was... eh... still in her kitchen!   (If that last sentence seems familiar, it's because I copied and pasted it from the paragraph above.  I did that so that I wouldn't have to think of something else to write.  The only difference is that Rusty was with me and thought it was a great game, and also, my house is completely different to Deirdre's and I can't actually run across the hall as my stairs finish up in the sitting room....).  Then, after searching for the keys, that were in the door all along, she finally let Rusty out to do some eagerly awaited barking, and whatever else dogs do when you let them out in the morning!  Siobhan did have to walk along by the dining room table where her Amaryllis plant is sitting, but she didn't even glance at it....

Back in Cork,  Deirdre took a picture.  In fact, she took two pictures.  And then she e-mailed them to Siobhan.

Siobhan drank her coffee while she waited for the computer to boot up.  Finally, she had access to her e-mails.  Ah, here is one from Deirdre, what news has she got for me today, she wondered?  She opened it.  Her hands flew to her face,she gasped in amazement, she couldn't believe her eyes even tho' she was actually wearing her glasses, she had never seen anything so, so, so (yes, OK, I stole that sentence from above too, but it did actually happen like that)... Pink!!

So that's two out of three.

She put down her coffee, walked round to the dining room table, and looked at her own Amaryllis plant.  Yes it was still there, and yes it had grown, but no, there was no flower, and on top of all that there wasn't even a bud.   Siobhan had definitely lost the 'first to produce a flower' race.

But could there still be a happy ending to this sorry tale?  Could Siobhan's miserable plant turn the race around and get a bud which would actually turn into a purple/blue flower?  And because this isn't a movie, or a fictional book, it's hardly likely at this stage.  But she will live in hope (and maybe buy some dye from the hardware store!).

Never mind, Deirdre and Siobhan still have the tulip bulbs to look forward too.  They bought two bags of 50, mixed colours and varieties and are going to share them with their Mother.  So, they can all look forward to a very colourful garden next February/March.  

But Siobhan is not letting this go, she is back on her computer, (and if this was a movie, this part would be in fast motion and you would see Siobhan's fingers flying over the keyboard) furiously writing a strongly worded letter to the Dutch Flower Sellers Association.

Her face is purple with rage and she is using purple ink...