I finally met the old man through whose garden one of our favourite footpaths meanders. What a poppet. His brown face shone with smiles, and he was eager to chat. He told me that the plantation of newish trees and the large wheat field - 26 acres in all - belong to "Mr" Grieves at the Old Rectory. That's Patrick to most people, but the caste system prevails long into the 21st century in rural Suffolk, and while the old man would be "Old John" to Patrick, he will always be "Mr" Grieves to John. Ah well. Things be slow to change in them thar country places.
He told me there was a fox problem locally, that he used to have 20-odd hens but they were all taken in one night. He never used to lock them up, but now he and his wife have four rescue hens which have fattened up nicely in six weeks, and they are shut away before it gets dark. The cock is a useless guard: he waits until we have passed by before crowing warningly at the top of his voice. In Sweffling someone lost all their geese to M Reynard, and the lady across the fields who breeds pigs has had enough since some of her piglets were taken in broad daylight. She took her gun to them, watching at 2am while the rest of us slept, and killed four in one night. It's her new hobby apparently. There'll be no foxes left. And then there are the deer which came into John's garden (it IS a public right of way) and stripped the 5-year-old Bramley apple tree that his son had given him. Oh bad wildlife, how could you? I've noticed this garden is overrun with moles: nervous laughter.
I have a problem with the new lawn. It's been colonised by meadow grass and is covered in the stuff with seed heads popping all the time. The man from Sovereign Turf came out this afternoon, and agreed it is a problem. His solution is to kill off the meadow grass, leaving yellow patches until the proper lawn takes over, and failing that to lay an entirely new lawn. Once upon a time I'd have been quite upset about this, but it's not the end of the world. Life is never straightforward so you may just as well get used to it. The end.
Wednesday, 30 July 2014
Tops and Tails
Val, my new gardener, had some great ideas and advice about planting my back garden. She pointed out that only the "thug" plants like crocosmia and hemerocallis will thrive in the long border adjoining the hedge because of the existing root system. She named a few others which luckily I like, and I'd add dahlias to the mix as well. Where to put my blue and white perennial bed then, with its delphiniums and lupins, its blues and whites and pinks? We decided that the side of the garage would be perfect. Against the garage itself I'll plant climbing roses. maybe some clematis, to cover the wood. I've bought the black stain to make a start on that wall. To the left where the fence runs parallel to the lane will go some shrubs which will grow tall enough to screen the garden. And in the rectangle indicated by these two adjacent sides will go the perennials. She advised me to buy a couple of strong lavender bushes and take several cuttings from them for the small hedge around the summerhouse, but I think I'll just buy several small ones and wait for them to grow. And where the chopped down hazel is will go more shrubs to create a frame for the view at the bottom of the garden. The vegetable bed will be extended by several feet, and I'll clear out the existing bed to grow more veg, peas and beans as well as herbs etc. It's all coming together. All I have to do is make it happen.
Our morning walk yesterday ended in gruesome style. Sasha found a dead vole or something, black and a few inches long, and decided to pocket it, which in her case means mouth it. The sight of her trotting along beside me with a small pointed tail and two tiny feet flapping around her lips was almost too much to bear. I tried to get her to drop it, something I do several times a day with stones, sloes, poo, but she'd clamped her jaw so tightly I couldn't shift it. I tried not to look but it was horribly evident. Eventually, much to my relief, she dropped it. Ugh. Please, please don't let her catch or find anything bigger or, worse still, alive.
Puppy class was great. She was much calmer, and I was given a lot of tips to help me control her. Laughably, when one of the celestial beings showed me how to hold her by the collar facing away when she misbehaves, Sasha didn't even try to struggle! Not the real world at all. I can't believe I haven't even had her for a month yet. We've both come a long way.
Our morning walk yesterday ended in gruesome style. Sasha found a dead vole or something, black and a few inches long, and decided to pocket it, which in her case means mouth it. The sight of her trotting along beside me with a small pointed tail and two tiny feet flapping around her lips was almost too much to bear. I tried to get her to drop it, something I do several times a day with stones, sloes, poo, but she'd clamped her jaw so tightly I couldn't shift it. I tried not to look but it was horribly evident. Eventually, much to my relief, she dropped it. Ugh. Please, please don't let her catch or find anything bigger or, worse still, alive.
Puppy class was great. She was much calmer, and I was given a lot of tips to help me control her. Laughably, when one of the celestial beings showed me how to hold her by the collar facing away when she misbehaves, Sasha didn't even try to struggle! Not the real world at all. I can't believe I haven't even had her for a month yet. We've both come a long way.
Monday, 28 July 2014
Changes
Came back from a weekend away through harvested field of wheat, the stubble glowing in the late afternoon sun. But what is this? I thought the harvest didn't happen until late August, and find I am unprepared for this new development. I felt shock register in my body as scalped field after scalped field passed through my vision, the valuable ears whisked away, the farmers presumably already planning the ploughing. I dreaded getting back to my own territory, but so far only the barley has gone. This is bad enough as I had planned several more forays through their midst, my hands sweeping sensuously across their silky waving beards, my eyes following the wind's progress through their swaying path. At least the wheat is still intact. I want to be around when it is mechanically scythed, and judging by my reaction yesterday I think there will be grief at its passing. For me it signals more clearly than anything else the changing of the seasons, and the sadness this brings. Oh well. All things etc.
For now it's still July, and I'm trying to plan my garden. The lawn is fine, but I'm stuck at the next stage. I've got plenty of inspiration, from gardening books and programmes, but I still don't know what to plant and where. Delphiniums there will be aplenty, ranging from near purple to near white, in huge clumps. White and pink I want in the same bed, though what I don't yet know. Then there must be another bed for the shocking shades of dahlias and hellenium and phlox; also lupins, lavender. My mouth drools at the thought. For now it's all a blur.
And so to bed. Last night Sasha was worn out by her hectic weekend and fell asleep in my arms as I carried her to her cage at 8.30pm. When I tried to coax her out for a last minute pee two hours later she refused to budge. And so I snapped her, curled up against her heart cushion looking tiny in her new house cage (the smaller one lives in the car). So cute when she's sleepy. Even her curly tail is relaxed.
 |
| One of our walks, behind the house |
For now it's still July, and I'm trying to plan my garden. The lawn is fine, but I'm stuck at the next stage. I've got plenty of inspiration, from gardening books and programmes, but I still don't know what to plant and where. Delphiniums there will be aplenty, ranging from near purple to near white, in huge clumps. White and pink I want in the same bed, though what I don't yet know. Then there must be another bed for the shocking shades of dahlias and hellenium and phlox; also lupins, lavender. My mouth drools at the thought. For now it's all a blur.
 |
| New lawn, unwitting but not unwelcome stripes |
And so to bed. Last night Sasha was worn out by her hectic weekend and fell asleep in my arms as I carried her to her cage at 8.30pm. When I tried to coax her out for a last minute pee two hours later she refused to budge. And so I snapped her, curled up against her heart cushion looking tiny in her new house cage (the smaller one lives in the car). So cute when she's sleepy. Even her curly tail is relaxed.
Friday, 25 July 2014
Down to Basics
This morning we startled a huge stag and doe which were sheltering in the uncut rape field. They leapt across the field, jumping high to clear the scratchy rape. Sasha was beside herself, and pulled so much on the lead that we had to turn back. It was an amazing sight, the great antlers disappearing and reappearing in agitated haste followed by the gentler bounces of the doe's soft head. It's lovely to think they are all out there doing their theng, though their world is shrinking as the harvesting continues.
Helen had invited both of us down to her place in Saxmundham in the afternoon, I thought for a cup of tea. Two hours later a bottle of prosecco had been drained, and Sasha had her head in an extra large size empty packet of Waitrose crisps. Somehow in eleven minutes I drove like a crazy thing to the vets in Fram to get the puppy checked over. In my unbalanced state I quite forgot to get him to clip her nails, and now I'm going to have to do it myself. The good news is that she is very healthy, a good weight and size, and with a confident temperament, as if I didn't know.
On our final walk through the old man's garden, the woods, the wheat fields, the plantation of young trees and the lane Sasha managed to eat a poo which she then threw up along with an assortment of pebbles, or they might have been sloe stones. But not before I'd wrestled most of it from her mouth, and despite scrubbing with "all the perfumes of Arabia" the smell lingers. Poor Lady Macbeth. She had death on her hands, but what I had on mine was much worse.
Helen had invited both of us down to her place in Saxmundham in the afternoon, I thought for a cup of tea. Two hours later a bottle of prosecco had been drained, and Sasha had her head in an extra large size empty packet of Waitrose crisps. Somehow in eleven minutes I drove like a crazy thing to the vets in Fram to get the puppy checked over. In my unbalanced state I quite forgot to get him to clip her nails, and now I'm going to have to do it myself. The good news is that she is very healthy, a good weight and size, and with a confident temperament, as if I didn't know.
On our final walk through the old man's garden, the woods, the wheat fields, the plantation of young trees and the lane Sasha managed to eat a poo which she then threw up along with an assortment of pebbles, or they might have been sloe stones. But not before I'd wrestled most of it from her mouth, and despite scrubbing with "all the perfumes of Arabia" the smell lingers. Poor Lady Macbeth. She had death on her hands, but what I had on mine was much worse.
Thursday, 24 July 2014
From Field to Frozen
The peas have all gone. Where there were stout little pods bulging with fat seeds across a many-acred field there is now only desolation. They came in the night, three huge machines eerily lit up by powerful arc beams, with smaller support vehicles around the periphery. And all night they toiled, and in the morning they left by the exit next to my house and trundled huge clods of earth all along the lane's surface. I slept through it all: ear plugs saw to that. But on a trip to the loo I watched them crawling up and down under a starry sky, chewing up the plants and spitting out what they didn't want. I remember the TV jingle from years ago: "Bird's Eye peas, sweet as the moment, sweet as the moment when the pod went POP!" And so I imagined Romanian workers cramped inside the machines carefully podding and placing the peas into little plastic bags ready for the freezer. It's a relief that they have gone. Such temptation for both Sasha and me, and as her obsession with them grew she grabbed great clumps of plant and pods and crammed them into her mouth at regular intervals on our walks. She ate far more than me.
The rape is being harvested too, and that's another relief because rotting rape plants are not pretty and they don't smell very nice. On our walk this afternoon we watched as another huge machine scythed through the last strip in a field along the lane, and we waited to see what would run out at the last minute. There were several hares in the devastated pea field this morning looking at a loose end, but nothing escaped the last of the rape as we looked on. I can still hear machines at work. The weather is perfect for all this harvesting.
Today I met a friend for lunch in a nearby pub, only she didn't turn up. And so I had a large glass of Sauvignon, lambs' liver and bacon with mashed potatoes and rich gravy, and the best sticky toffee pudding I've ever had. The food was on the OAP Monday-Thursday £8.95-for-2-courses lunch menu at the White Horse at Badingham. Pity Caroline went to the Queen's Head at Denington. She was quite distraught when we worked out what had happened, so we're going again next week. When I got home, on a whim and slightly inebriated, I let Sasha out into the garden and busied myself doing something else while watching what she did. No mad antics, no digging, no peeing. She just pottered about and enjoyed herself, and later she came into the garden room and sat at my feet while I finished my book. She's calmer and happier too, and came every time I called her. Another stage in our development. And such a relief, because keeping her on a tight rein was horrible for both of us. We've moved into another chapter. Turn the page.
The rape is being harvested too, and that's another relief because rotting rape plants are not pretty and they don't smell very nice. On our walk this afternoon we watched as another huge machine scythed through the last strip in a field along the lane, and we waited to see what would run out at the last minute. There were several hares in the devastated pea field this morning looking at a loose end, but nothing escaped the last of the rape as we looked on. I can still hear machines at work. The weather is perfect for all this harvesting.
Today I met a friend for lunch in a nearby pub, only she didn't turn up. And so I had a large glass of Sauvignon, lambs' liver and bacon with mashed potatoes and rich gravy, and the best sticky toffee pudding I've ever had. The food was on the OAP Monday-Thursday £8.95-for-2-courses lunch menu at the White Horse at Badingham. Pity Caroline went to the Queen's Head at Denington. She was quite distraught when we worked out what had happened, so we're going again next week. When I got home, on a whim and slightly inebriated, I let Sasha out into the garden and busied myself doing something else while watching what she did. No mad antics, no digging, no peeing. She just pottered about and enjoyed herself, and later she came into the garden room and sat at my feet while I finished my book. She's calmer and happier too, and came every time I called her. Another stage in our development. And such a relief, because keeping her on a tight rein was horrible for both of us. We've moved into another chapter. Turn the page.
Monday, 21 July 2014
Leaps and Bounds
I hate to admit this, but I think Sasha has gone back to being the puppy she was before I got my tremulous, anxious, expectant paws on her. That's not to say we haven't worked wonders together, and that I haven't been there and back in my doggie education. But I feel sure that she had been really well trained and well cared for before I ever met her, and being uprooted so peremptorily and transposed into my unprepared life must have been traumatic in the extreme (for both of us). Thanks to the help of the dog training women, the internet, friends and family I have learned how to be with her, and she's been able to relax and become who she already was. Crazy, but true. She's still a monkey at times, but a calm, gentle approach is what she responds to, and I no longer overreact when she misbehaves. This morning after a long walk and a vigorous play session she left me alone to write some emails. Out of the corner of my eye I watched her drag the dirty washing on the floor over to her basket, and start licking a shirt. She was watching me the whole time, and so I just said "No", very quietly, and she let go of the shirt and licked her paw instead. "Good girl" was then enough. She knew it was wrong, but no fuss was made by either of us. It's FABULOUS to be getting the hang of this. I no longer dread starting a new day with her.
Yesterday we went a tad too far in the baking sunshine, exploring a new footpath with Ruth who was staying. When we left the house it was cool and overcast, but within minutes the humidity had returned and the sun was overbright in the sky. We trekked along beside a nearly ripe wheat field, then crossed a ditch on a bridge made from two sturdy sleepers. We should have returned the way we came, but on we plodded, all of us wilting in the intense heat. Suffice it to say a large puddle from the previous night's downpour appeared on the lane in the nick of time, but one very tired puppy gave up the ghost and had to be carried. Heavy lump she is, so we took it in turns. Back home after a cool drink I left her in her cage in a cool room to recover.
With Sasha safely tucked away we took our wine down to the summerhouse. And that's when it really rained. For over an hour we sat there lamenting the absence of the bottle, cringing as thunder and lightening thrashed around above us and water spouted exuberantly from roofs and pipes. The good news is that the summerhouse doesn't leak, but the bad news is that, with the back door and study window open, the house definitely does. Today is warm and sunny again, and now the lawn needs cutting. Dare I ask for a breather in the stormy weather so that it can dry out?
Yesterday we went a tad too far in the baking sunshine, exploring a new footpath with Ruth who was staying. When we left the house it was cool and overcast, but within minutes the humidity had returned and the sun was overbright in the sky. We trekked along beside a nearly ripe wheat field, then crossed a ditch on a bridge made from two sturdy sleepers. We should have returned the way we came, but on we plodded, all of us wilting in the intense heat. Suffice it to say a large puddle from the previous night's downpour appeared on the lane in the nick of time, but one very tired puppy gave up the ghost and had to be carried. Heavy lump she is, so we took it in turns. Back home after a cool drink I left her in her cage in a cool room to recover.
With Sasha safely tucked away we took our wine down to the summerhouse. And that's when it really rained. For over an hour we sat there lamenting the absence of the bottle, cringing as thunder and lightening thrashed around above us and water spouted exuberantly from roofs and pipes. The good news is that the summerhouse doesn't leak, but the bad news is that, with the back door and study window open, the house definitely does. Today is warm and sunny again, and now the lawn needs cutting. Dare I ask for a breather in the stormy weather so that it can dry out?
Tuesday, 15 July 2014
Getting There
I realise I just have to hold my nerve with this munchkin, and today was a real boost to my confidence. It's all so up and down - she grizzles and I don't know what to do (don't do anything unless it's a call for the loo, which it sometimes is); she seems bored after we've played for 15 minutes, and I think I'm going to have to think up constant entertainment for her. But everything passes, and when she's calm and happy she'll just sit or play by herself. She gets plenty of interaction from me - walks, play, fun. Today we did lots of training which she loves, and which results in lots and lots of way over the top praise. But it makes her calmer, and I suppose more confident too. Result: a great day.
And that was before puppy training class! Oh, they tell it how it is there. Down to earth women both. No idea what their names are, but Wonder Woman and Superwoman are my best guess. Apparently I over-verbalise: "Just say it once, she can hear you!" We did "Heel!", we did "Wait!", we did "Down!". Well, Sasha and I had been practising the latter two today, and did we ever shine? Ah ha. Then there was the foot on the lead trick to stop her barking at the other dogs and trying to disrupt them. That worked brilliantly, although the blood supply to my foot (don't wear sandals again) was cut off for 10 minutes. With her head nearly pinned to the ground she gave in and settled quietly ay my feet. Nice one. And the hand-in-the-back-of-the-collar dominant treatment when she refused to let SW (or was it WW?) examine her claws was another eye-opener. They make it all look so easy, but by the end of the evening Sasha was the best at Play (following a long red sausage around and grabbing it while I said excitedly "Good girl!!!" - "No need to speak, just play" from WW/SW). She was really so good, so responsive and obedient that by the end of the evening I only had to look at her and she sat down.
Such wonderful behaviour needed a reward, so I stopped off in Fram and had a takeaway Indian. I'm well and truly knackered. And the dog? She's snoring in her basket.
And that was before puppy training class! Oh, they tell it how it is there. Down to earth women both. No idea what their names are, but Wonder Woman and Superwoman are my best guess. Apparently I over-verbalise: "Just say it once, she can hear you!" We did "Heel!", we did "Wait!", we did "Down!". Well, Sasha and I had been practising the latter two today, and did we ever shine? Ah ha. Then there was the foot on the lead trick to stop her barking at the other dogs and trying to disrupt them. That worked brilliantly, although the blood supply to my foot (don't wear sandals again) was cut off for 10 minutes. With her head nearly pinned to the ground she gave in and settled quietly ay my feet. Nice one. And the hand-in-the-back-of-the-collar dominant treatment when she refused to let SW (or was it WW?) examine her claws was another eye-opener. They make it all look so easy, but by the end of the evening Sasha was the best at Play (following a long red sausage around and grabbing it while I said excitedly "Good girl!!!" - "No need to speak, just play" from WW/SW). She was really so good, so responsive and obedient that by the end of the evening I only had to look at her and she sat down.
Such wonderful behaviour needed a reward, so I stopped off in Fram and had a takeaway Indian. I'm well and truly knackered. And the dog? She's snoring in her basket.
Monday, 14 July 2014
Mummmmmmmmmeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Very satisfying: loads of people have recommended, liked and responded positively to my comment re. an article on Esther Rantzen in the Times. You'd think we were living in the 1960s with no awareness of gender inequality at all. Written by a woman too. I reproved her soundly, and a lot of people agreed with me.
Otherwise today has been taken up with cutting the hedge all along the side of the garden, to halfway up the drive, before the hedgecutter gave up the ghost. I probably exhausted it. If it's not working tomorrow I'll get another one. I wish I could photograph the result including the mounds of hedging and brambles lying on the ground, but, wouldn't you know, the camera battery has also given up the ghost after 10 years of being used and charged, so I've ordered another one. No more pics for a while. Anyway, I had to negotiate with the dog for the time to do this: it was a long strip of rawhide for the first half hour, then into the kitchen with an ice cube for the second half hour. She wasn't impressed, but given that I'm Top Dog, she didn't get to choose. Ha!
Another, larger, cage has arrived today. Sasha thought the colourful box was the enemy and barked her head off at it. But the new one gives her lots of room to manoeuvre in the night, and the smaller one will live in the car. Hell, I'm really trying here, but it's not all a piece of cake! After a year on my own having company all the time is a bit trying sometimes. I can't just go and do what I want to do when I want to, but I'm working hard to get used to this. A couple of lovely walks today helped, though the crazy behaviour re-emerged this afternoon when I sat down briefly on the edge of a field. She'd had water, but racing around makes her so excited, and maybe I let her run free for too long. I keep forgetting I have to make all the decisions for her and me. It's a long, long time since I was mummmmmieeeeeeeeeeee!!!
Otherwise today has been taken up with cutting the hedge all along the side of the garden, to halfway up the drive, before the hedgecutter gave up the ghost. I probably exhausted it. If it's not working tomorrow I'll get another one. I wish I could photograph the result including the mounds of hedging and brambles lying on the ground, but, wouldn't you know, the camera battery has also given up the ghost after 10 years of being used and charged, so I've ordered another one. No more pics for a while. Anyway, I had to negotiate with the dog for the time to do this: it was a long strip of rawhide for the first half hour, then into the kitchen with an ice cube for the second half hour. She wasn't impressed, but given that I'm Top Dog, she didn't get to choose. Ha!
Another, larger, cage has arrived today. Sasha thought the colourful box was the enemy and barked her head off at it. But the new one gives her lots of room to manoeuvre in the night, and the smaller one will live in the car. Hell, I'm really trying here, but it's not all a piece of cake! After a year on my own having company all the time is a bit trying sometimes. I can't just go and do what I want to do when I want to, but I'm working hard to get used to this. A couple of lovely walks today helped, though the crazy behaviour re-emerged this afternoon when I sat down briefly on the edge of a field. She'd had water, but racing around makes her so excited, and maybe I let her run free for too long. I keep forgetting I have to make all the decisions for her and me. It's a long, long time since I was mummmmmieeeeeeeeeeee!!!
Sunday, 13 July 2014
Water, Water Nowhere...
We did yesterday's walk in reverse this morning as the dull skies lightened and the sun appeared. It was just as well. Sasha tore ahead as she always does, raced back a bit, watched me and then took off again when she was sure I was following. Backwards and forwards she tore, hurling herself in the air to snap at a butterfly or bee, stopping to sniff something exciting and grab a leaf or twig. Eventually I thought her panting was faster than usual, and her tongue drooped more, so I stopped and sat in some shade for a while to slow her down. Slow her down? She went crazy, leaping at me, snapping and snarling, and when I became alarmed and started walking again, she threw herself in and out of the wheat, crashing against it and lurching away again. I put her on the lead, and immediately she was calm. But she was overheated, and so we entered yesterday's dreaded wood again with relief. It was quite different today, dry, cool, and full of delicious earthy smells. Being on a slope I suppose the water drains away fast.
Up past the hens we found an old container full of rainwater, and the poor dehydrated creature drank and drank. Oh Mummy Laing, you learned a lesson today: never go out again without some water. So I'm going to get a little doggie rucksack (for me, not her, though that dog whisperer Caesar Something recommends getting dogs to carry a load when they go walking). My beautiful American one is too smart, but I'll find something suitable, and into it will go the basic necessities for my little companion. There are two of us to consider now.
Up past the hens we found an old container full of rainwater, and the poor dehydrated creature drank and drank. Oh Mummy Laing, you learned a lesson today: never go out again without some water. So I'm going to get a little doggie rucksack (for me, not her, though that dog whisperer Caesar Something recommends getting dogs to carry a load when they go walking). My beautiful American one is too smart, but I'll find something suitable, and into it will go the basic necessities for my little companion. There are two of us to consider now.
 | ||
| "I know you're snapping me" |
 |
| I'm not very good at selfies - her legs were adorable |
Saturday, 12 July 2014
The Town and Country Mouse
It was an Irish morning, soft, mild, damp, misty, as sweet as a pollen cocktail. Not raining, not even mizzling, just soft. We set out in wellies and best lead, and tucked down a footpath that runs through the edge of a long, long garden. We sniffed the flowers, admired the hens and the fussing cock, and dived into the dripping gloom of a wood. Slippery underfoot, we negotiated fallen branches, high soaked grasses, brambles and cobwebs. Sasha off the leash as usual suddenly let out a yelp, and I rushed back to see what had happened. She was stuck behind a tangled mass of earth, undergrowth and big pieces of wood, but seeing me coming she valiantly leapt free, and then jumped all over me with her muddy feet to demonstrate her jubilation at getting to me. Oh, the joy, for both of us! Off we went again, hastening through the wood to the light beyond. Suddenly we were out, facing a sea of wheat undulating in all directions and as far as the eye could see. It was so lovely we stood and gazed for several minutes before moving on. It was a long walk, but only one of us got tired. We finished up in a young plantation of pretty trees and finally behind the Old Rectory before finding the lane again. I suspect we may have lost the footpath, but nobody saw us.
Later, after a rest, a drink, and a bit of play, we set out for Framlingham. As far as I know Sasha has never been to a town before, so we were going to take it easy. We walked to the pet shop first and bought a few more essentials: a brush, a hamster feeder for her cage (nobody's ever bought one for that purpose before, the shoplady told me doubtfully, but at home Sasha got the idea straight away, helped by a bit of Marmite on the edge of the dropper). Then we bought spare dog towels and baby blankets from the two charity shops, and a lovely granary loaf from the market. How did the little creature behave? She was incredible, taking it all in her stride, being fussed, petted and fawned over by all and sundry and licking, tailwagging and generally being adorable. She sat in the pet shop without being asked, sat in the charity shops, sat when people stopped us in the street. She ignored another dog that barked at her, and was so amazing I could hardly believe she is only 4 months old. She was steady and mature. I was proud of her, impressed.
The day improved and it was hot by the afternoon. We went for another long walk when it began to cool. Larks rose around us, soaring ever upwards on their song, a small deer suddenly popped up out of the wheat and scampered off, and a hare no farther away than 10 feet emerged through the grass, stared at us and decided to hoof it. Sasha looked interested but decided not to give chase. The hare was twice her size. Instead she dashed hither and thither, jaws snapping unsuccessfully on much smaller prey, the insects she never catches. Such immeasurable, indescribable pleasures. I must remember to take my camera with me to record these scenes I can't adequately describe with words.
Later, after a rest, a drink, and a bit of play, we set out for Framlingham. As far as I know Sasha has never been to a town before, so we were going to take it easy. We walked to the pet shop first and bought a few more essentials: a brush, a hamster feeder for her cage (nobody's ever bought one for that purpose before, the shoplady told me doubtfully, but at home Sasha got the idea straight away, helped by a bit of Marmite on the edge of the dropper). Then we bought spare dog towels and baby blankets from the two charity shops, and a lovely granary loaf from the market. How did the little creature behave? She was incredible, taking it all in her stride, being fussed, petted and fawned over by all and sundry and licking, tailwagging and generally being adorable. She sat in the pet shop without being asked, sat in the charity shops, sat when people stopped us in the street. She ignored another dog that barked at her, and was so amazing I could hardly believe she is only 4 months old. She was steady and mature. I was proud of her, impressed.
The day improved and it was hot by the afternoon. We went for another long walk when it began to cool. Larks rose around us, soaring ever upwards on their song, a small deer suddenly popped up out of the wheat and scampered off, and a hare no farther away than 10 feet emerged through the grass, stared at us and decided to hoof it. Sasha looked interested but decided not to give chase. The hare was twice her size. Instead she dashed hither and thither, jaws snapping unsuccessfully on much smaller prey, the insects she never catches. Such immeasurable, indescribable pleasures. I must remember to take my camera with me to record these scenes I can't adequately describe with words.
Friday, 11 July 2014
Learning Curve
Well, I'll admit, yesterday was hard. That sweet little dog was a hyperactive maniac, biting, snapping, jumping up, trying to own me, sitting on me. It wasn't for lack of exercise: we had four long walks when I let her off the lead, and one great charge around the new lawn which was fun for both of us (the lawn was unscathed!!!). Later, as she still wouldn't relax, I gave her one of her bones to chew, and she gnawed on it obsessively for over an hour on the sofa beside me and on me (ugh) until I thought her mouth would bleed. Nothing would calm her, and so I went to bed feeling very worried. But in the night I made my plan, and blow me if it hasn't worked.
I needed to establish myself as topdog! Now, I'm no feeble weed, as anyone who knows me will attest to. But I was giving her all the wrong signals, and she thought she was in charge. I had to change that, and quickly. Just before I woke up this morning I dreamed I was on a very high pier with sea way below either side. I had got off a boat which had then sailed away, and I was walking back to land. Suddenly there were two huge vehicles in front of me, parked so that there was only a minute space to get past and continue to the town. Other people with me were trying to sidle past, with inches between them and a big drop into the sea. What did I do? I cowered on the ground, weeping and wailing, howling and sobbing. Then I woke up. Was that how I was feeling? There was so much at stake.
Undaunted, I went downstairs. I ignored Sasha and put the kettle on. Then I gradually opened her crate door - no charging out - and bent down to greet her. No raptures from me, and I didn't pick her up. I stroked her, and then opened the back door to let her out to pee. When she came back in I told her she was a good girl, and got her to sit on the towel. Then I filled her bowl with food, and pretended to eat it while she watched. Hah! That got her attention. Quietly I filled it again and put it down for her. She was already significantly calmer. I drank my tea unmolested, and then got her to sit while I put her halter and lead on. It took several goes, but the repeated "sit" command, followed by "wait" worked, and she was ready. I hadn't even been chewed!
Next I made her wait while I went out the door first. Apparently alpha males always do that. And suddenly there she was trotting by my side, looking up at me! I hadn't asked or expected her to. When we got home I made her wait while I took my shoes off and went inside, and then she followed. She sat on the towel again, and so I tried a bit of training. Sit command, wait, biscuit in front of her nose, wait, biscuit closer, wait, and so on (all off the internet thanks to Kitty), and then the biscuit, followed by massive, massive praise when she obeyed. She's so bright, so quick to learn. And she was so happy to have had a job to do, and to have got it right. It's enough to make you weep.
She's asleep in her bed now. I can't believe I just said that. It's unheard of! She's completely calm. She came over a few times as I was writing, got a pat and a stroke, then trotted back again to her bed. The relief is huge, immense, for both of us. I'm sure that's not the end of it, but I understand the psychology now and will carry on. She's happier because she's feeling more secure. She knows I'm in charge and she can let go. It really has been as simple as that.
And so we say Amen.
I needed to establish myself as topdog! Now, I'm no feeble weed, as anyone who knows me will attest to. But I was giving her all the wrong signals, and she thought she was in charge. I had to change that, and quickly. Just before I woke up this morning I dreamed I was on a very high pier with sea way below either side. I had got off a boat which had then sailed away, and I was walking back to land. Suddenly there were two huge vehicles in front of me, parked so that there was only a minute space to get past and continue to the town. Other people with me were trying to sidle past, with inches between them and a big drop into the sea. What did I do? I cowered on the ground, weeping and wailing, howling and sobbing. Then I woke up. Was that how I was feeling? There was so much at stake.
 |
| A bright-eyed angel, relaxed at last |
Undaunted, I went downstairs. I ignored Sasha and put the kettle on. Then I gradually opened her crate door - no charging out - and bent down to greet her. No raptures from me, and I didn't pick her up. I stroked her, and then opened the back door to let her out to pee. When she came back in I told her she was a good girl, and got her to sit on the towel. Then I filled her bowl with food, and pretended to eat it while she watched. Hah! That got her attention. Quietly I filled it again and put it down for her. She was already significantly calmer. I drank my tea unmolested, and then got her to sit while I put her halter and lead on. It took several goes, but the repeated "sit" command, followed by "wait" worked, and she was ready. I hadn't even been chewed!
Next I made her wait while I went out the door first. Apparently alpha males always do that. And suddenly there she was trotting by my side, looking up at me! I hadn't asked or expected her to. When we got home I made her wait while I took my shoes off and went inside, and then she followed. She sat on the towel again, and so I tried a bit of training. Sit command, wait, biscuit in front of her nose, wait, biscuit closer, wait, and so on (all off the internet thanks to Kitty), and then the biscuit, followed by massive, massive praise when she obeyed. She's so bright, so quick to learn. And she was so happy to have had a job to do, and to have got it right. It's enough to make you weep.
She's asleep in her bed now. I can't believe I just said that. It's unheard of! She's completely calm. She came over a few times as I was writing, got a pat and a stroke, then trotted back again to her bed. The relief is huge, immense, for both of us. I'm sure that's not the end of it, but I understand the psychology now and will carry on. She's happier because she's feeling more secure. She knows I'm in charge and she can let go. It really has been as simple as that.
And so we say Amen.
Tuesday, 8 July 2014
What's in a Name?
She came as Bella, but it's just not a name I could live with. It's too fluffy, too pretty-pretty, too Mummy's Little Princess. She's not a bit like that, no delicate tutu-wearing poodle, and I'd never own a dog like that. Kitty and I ran through every name that sounded like Bella, and I briefly considered Beulah, for ironic, "peel me a grape" reasons if nothing else. Then this morning when I walked her I found myself calling her Sasha, and that felt right. And immediately she answered to the new name. I think it's the bi-syllabic sound and the 'a' on the end. Anyway, it's a relief because I know you can't mess with these things.
Well, she may not be Mummy's Little Princess, but she is Mummy's Little Preciousy Wechiousy Babykins. And I've got to stop being so soppy. At our first puppy training class tonight it was pointed out to me that I'm not meant to meet her every demand, to make her life perpetual bliss, but get her behaviour to suit me, and as quickly as possible. So I have to cool it a bit, praise her for doing as I ask her to (er, tell her to, see what I mean?) but not be OTT when she does what she should be doing. It's all going really well. This morning we had a fabulous walk in hot sunshine through the fields. Sasha tried to catch every insect flying by, and tried to eat every bit of rabbit poo and worse. At one point I decided to let her off the lead, and she promptly flew around in a figure of eight, just brushing my legs every time, crazily circling and recircling me in the long grass, then flopping down at my feet before doing it again. Back on the lead again, we had to sit under a tree to cool off before heading back up the hill.
Here she is, the little dote. I'm just the smallest bit fond of her now, and can't imagine the house without her.
Well, she may not be Mummy's Little Princess, but she is Mummy's Little Preciousy Wechiousy Babykins. And I've got to stop being so soppy. At our first puppy training class tonight it was pointed out to me that I'm not meant to meet her every demand, to make her life perpetual bliss, but get her behaviour to suit me, and as quickly as possible. So I have to cool it a bit, praise her for doing as I ask her to (er, tell her to, see what I mean?) but not be OTT when she does what she should be doing. It's all going really well. This morning we had a fabulous walk in hot sunshine through the fields. Sasha tried to catch every insect flying by, and tried to eat every bit of rabbit poo and worse. At one point I decided to let her off the lead, and she promptly flew around in a figure of eight, just brushing my legs every time, crazily circling and recircling me in the long grass, then flopping down at my feet before doing it again. Back on the lead again, we had to sit under a tree to cool off before heading back up the hill.
 |
| Sasha in her new smart (not pink) harness and collar |
Here she is, the little dote. I'm just the smallest bit fond of her now, and can't imagine the house without her.
Sunday, 6 July 2014
Dog Days
It's been a roller coaster weekend. But my search for a dog is over! On Friday I saw an advert on Gumtree for a Jug, a cross between a pug and a Jack Russell, small, cute and still available when I rang the owner. Kitty and I went to see her yesterday, with firm instructions to each other to make no snap decisions, to go away and think about it if we liked her. And so we did: like her, and go off to the Bildeston Crown for lunch to think about it. So far so sensible. She is younger than I wanted, just over 4 months, but house trained and sits on command. She was boisterous and lively, but living in a tiny Army house with a small garden, and a mother of two little children who didn't really seem the walking kind. I decided to take her, and loaded up the car with crate, basket, shampoo, treats, chews, poo bags and enough food to last four months. Ten minutes later we were having problems. Sitting in the back of the car with her, Kitty's hands were being chewed to death. We decided to put her in the cage, and cue more chewing and struggling. By the time we got home we were both emotional wrecks, and the evening was no better. By 8pm we'd got her booked into puppy training classes, and by 10m we were in bed, shattered.
By the morning I'd decided I'd make a terrible mistake and wanted to take her back. But as the day unfurled a miracle happened: she calmed down, settled down, stopped trying to eat our hands off, became nice. We walked her, we played with her, and we walked her some more. She slept. By the time Kitty went off on the train I was feeling in control again, and delighted with my new dog. She's an absolute charmer, a beautiful little thing. She's only been here for 30 hours, but despite what must have been a hugely traumatic time for her she's already contented and happy.
The highlight of the day was being stopped by people in the village on our evening walk, people I've never seen before who appeared from nowhere and stopped to admire her. She was wary but friendly, and everyone loved her. Given that I hoped she'd help me to meet more people, I think she has been a great success already. Bella (non) ciao, Bella (non) ciao, Bella (non) caio. Or to put it in English, stay Bella, stay.
By the morning I'd decided I'd make a terrible mistake and wanted to take her back. But as the day unfurled a miracle happened: she calmed down, settled down, stopped trying to eat our hands off, became nice. We walked her, we played with her, and we walked her some more. She slept. By the time Kitty went off on the train I was feeling in control again, and delighted with my new dog. She's an absolute charmer, a beautiful little thing. She's only been here for 30 hours, but despite what must have been a hugely traumatic time for her she's already contented and happy.
 |
| Bella |
The highlight of the day was being stopped by people in the village on our evening walk, people I've never seen before who appeared from nowhere and stopped to admire her. She was wary but friendly, and everyone loved her. Given that I hoped she'd help me to meet more people, I think she has been a great success already. Bella (non) ciao, Bella (non) ciao, Bella (non) caio. Or to put it in English, stay Bella, stay.
Friday, 4 July 2014
Let the Fat Lady Sing
I thought it was all nearly over, and then I developed a stomach bug on Wednesday. Horrible rumblings and much debility, but I think that's on the way out too. I hobbbled along the beach at Sizewell in wall-to-wall sunshine yesterday with Ruth, dodging from bush to bush, and then spent the rest of the afternoon lying on her sofa watching a men's doubles match. Once home, I had no choice but to set fire to the several heaps of brush and branches that scattered across the garden. With rain due tomorrow, and the men definitely coming on Monday to do my makeover, I had to clear it. It literally went whoosh! in a strongish breeze, and so I laboured across the grass like the old man from Good King Wenceslas, massive bundles of firewood on my back, feeding the inferno. It's all gone now, and I haven't had a heart attack.
The skip came today, and I'm hoping my weekend guest (aka Kitty) will help me heave the gathered detritus into it: plastic sapling spirals, rubble, bits of bricks, rubber stable matting, rotten sleepers, it all has to go. I'm getting a bit excited now, and ignoring threats of rain for next week. What will be .... Amen.
And so here they are for the last time, as a permanent record for me when I complain about the garden: it used to be worse, I can tell myself!
The skip came today, and I'm hoping my weekend guest (aka Kitty) will help me heave the gathered detritus into it: plastic sapling spirals, rubble, bits of bricks, rubber stable matting, rotten sleepers, it all has to go. I'm getting a bit excited now, and ignoring threats of rain for next week. What will be .... Amen.
And so here they are for the last time, as a permanent record for me when I complain about the garden: it used to be worse, I can tell myself!
Tuesday, 1 July 2014
Suffolk Oaks
The Suffolk countryside is liberally dotted with oaks - ooaks, in the vernacular. Most of them are thriving, though it's an unusual lane, hedgerow or field that doesn't have its dead one. Bone white and chiseled, they stand as stark reminders of mortality. Sometimes a heavy bough comes crashing down in the wind, but otherwise they seem as strong in death as in life. Oak hardens as it ages, which makes it such an ideal wood for house- or ship-building. I've been reading about the Staverton Thicks, a "dense primeval woodland" with the oldest oaks in East Anglia. It's not far from me and deserves a visit. A study of my own nearby specimens reveals great antiquity, though probably not in the half millennium bracket. Once I started looking I realised I was surrounded by them, their great limbs reaching out to the light or curled protectively inwards. Though in other parts of Suffolk the hedgerows around and through the fields were often hacked down in the last century to make way for the huge farm machinery, these lanes are still lined with them, and the oak is a constant presence. Deo gratias.
In my improving physical condition I've been fighting with the front garden. It's completely overgrown so that I was dwarfed by 8-foot tall monsters when I fought my way into the centre to begin reducing things. One plant in particular, identified for me as heuchera, has gone crazy. If it is indeed heuchera the RHS needs to hear about it: they have its ultimate height and spread as half a metre. Ha! Dozens and dozens of the things have shot up and their tiny, mean little flowers are just beginning to cast their seed to the air, helped by me shaking and yanking them. They have gone now, but the roots are still there and will have to be dug out. Euphorbia too has spread itself extravagantly, and I made short shrift of them with my new long-armed pruners. The poisonous milk oozed nastily in my direction as I cut their stems, but I was prepared for their aggression. Under this forest of shrubs I discovered a single, brave, desperate crocosmia, flame-coloured petals struggling to reach the light.
What has happened to my beautiful front garden, my pride and joy? It has shown no restraint in the early good weather and flung its greenery - abundant flowers too - ever upwards and outwards uncontrolled by she who would be their gardener. It could have waited for me, but five weeks is a long time to a garden too vigorously untamed to ask, childlike, "Are we there yet?".
 |
| Protecting the church lychgate |
 |
| Massive oak in a field of equals |
 |
| Skeletal oaks |
In my improving physical condition I've been fighting with the front garden. It's completely overgrown so that I was dwarfed by 8-foot tall monsters when I fought my way into the centre to begin reducing things. One plant in particular, identified for me as heuchera, has gone crazy. If it is indeed heuchera the RHS needs to hear about it: they have its ultimate height and spread as half a metre. Ha! Dozens and dozens of the things have shot up and their tiny, mean little flowers are just beginning to cast their seed to the air, helped by me shaking and yanking them. They have gone now, but the roots are still there and will have to be dug out. Euphorbia too has spread itself extravagantly, and I made short shrift of them with my new long-armed pruners. The poisonous milk oozed nastily in my direction as I cut their stems, but I was prepared for their aggression. Under this forest of shrubs I discovered a single, brave, desperate crocosmia, flame-coloured petals struggling to reach the light.
 |
| Heuchera? |
What has happened to my beautiful front garden, my pride and joy? It has shown no restraint in the early good weather and flung its greenery - abundant flowers too - ever upwards and outwards uncontrolled by she who would be their gardener. It could have waited for me, but five weeks is a long time to a garden too vigorously untamed to ask, childlike, "Are we there yet?".
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)