Today the rain is plopping. They say we need it. I do however not need it plopping on my feathers when I make a quick dash from the barn to Bird's box to see if he has dropped any millet. Yesterday was a different kettle of fish - a phrase that Sylvia thought developed in the late 1700s and described a high-society picnic where freshly caught salmon were cooked in kettles in the banks of the River Tweed - but that's as maybe. It was dry. The green woodpecker was laughing gaily and Philip the Pheasant calling across the field. Mum threw some raw carrot at the top of Peter Rabbit's parlour and it made us all jump when a fat baby scampered out of a burrow just in front of us. He had been taught well - as the soft thud of the carrot might have posted the alarm that Someone Else was hunting overhead. He Who Shall Not Be Named, to coin a (nother) phrase.
Lois chose the tasty new grass
But the trees and the spring flowers seem to like the rain today. The buds on the trees are waiting to break open and send their new fresh brilliant green baby leaves into the world. The fine twigs of the beech tree have spear-shaped or lanceolate buds whose bracts will soon be cast off and wafted about by any breeze that blows. The leaves of the wild arum are poking out - and soon they will produce the most bizarre flowers which we call 'lords-and-ladies' and have a device for catching flies. The tall spike, enclosed in the folded spathe is slightly warm and attracts small flies to come and warm their feet. Later they are coaxed into the fold from which there is no escape until they have been well-dusted with pollen - and so are able to fertilize another plant. I have a device for catching flies too. It is called my beak. The primroses and early violets are looking happy as well - and Lois chose the new grass, tasty and moist, instead of her hay this morning.
Dad arrived quite early and seemed quite pleased with himself - albeit a little rueful. The comfortable waistcoat that he particularly favours had been dug out from the back of the cupboard in the kitchen as he had just unearthed (from some obscure hiding place) a new zip for it. He explained that he hadn't worn this vestment for some months due to the lack of functioning zip. However, armed with a new zipper, he had set to work to attach the aforementioned fastener and with a most satisfied huff (one pertaining to nothing less than that of a great achievement) he drew the zip in an upwardly direction, right to the very top of the waistcoat - only to find the original one had been hiding under the collar all the time.
There are no flies on Dad! Gordon xx
Dad arrived quite early and seemed quite pleased with himself - albeit a little rueful. The comfortable waistcoat that he particularly favours had been dug out from the back of the cupboard in the kitchen as he had just unearthed (from some obscure hiding place) a new zip for it. He explained that he hadn't worn this vestment for some months due to the lack of functioning zip. However, armed with a new zipper, he had set to work to attach the aforementioned fastener and with a most satisfied huff (one pertaining to nothing less than that of a great achievement) he drew the zip in an upwardly direction, right to the very top of the waistcoat - only to find the original one had been hiding under the collar all the time.
There are no flies on Dad! Gordon xx
