In disgrace

Remember old Denis? Dad to Rags, and frequent visitor along with Diamond? Well, he's passed away now, but 10 years ago he gave Mum and Dad a small bay tree about 4 feet high. My third pic today shows that this is now more like 15 feet and badly shades the "sun terrace", the kitchen window and even the upstairs bathroom window. It had to go. Coming originally as a gift from Denis it was jokingly known round here as the Denis N Memorial Bay Tree.

This was a job for Saturday afternoon, Dad manning the pruning saw and secateurs, Mum moving load after load of cut-up bay to the tip in her car. We had also booked JW, partner of Diamond, and his chain saw to come and finish off the job with a neat horizontal cut just over two feet from the ground. The plan is to buy a sun-dial here after known as the Denis N Memorial Sundial. JW also sawed the bigger bits into logs, which was handy - these are now stacked in the "log-wall" down by the gravel garden.

Today's main emtertainment was the Friends of Kingswood "bluebell walk" which Dad was due to lead. Unfortunately with the cold winter and slow spring, the bluebells are barely out. Even in the known "best places" you are looking across a blanket of the dark green foliage with maybe half a dozen open flowers spotted about. It will be a good 2 weeks (even if it's as warm as this) before there's a good show, but of course, FoKW can't predict this last October when they are putting together their walks programme.

No matter - we have a good walk in the warm forest and everybody has a good time. We are accompanied by 14 humans and a large ancient shaggy black Alsatian. I am in disgrace now though because at one point I spot a group of 5 sheep in a paddock and I'm gone and under the gate before anyone can stop me. Farmers are allowed shoot any dog worrying their sheep and ask questions afterwards, so my charge (which is admittedly not full-hearted, and only makes the sheep collect together and move a few yards up the field) has Dad bellowing anxiously and grabbing to open the gate and get on my tail.

Unkind spectators have suggested that the farmer, alarmed by seeing his sheep suddenly group and trot up the paddock might have then fallen about laughing at the sight of a rabbit-sized fluffy white westie racing up the grass, and then got more worried by the roaring human risking heart attack in hot pursuit. Dad shouted enough to make me crouch in fear of my life and he grabbed me up and trotted back down to the gate not daring to look behind him at the farmhouse in case he made eye contact with the farmer.

Ooops.

Deefski

ps - my other pic here is another bit of old junk now owned by Dad, a rotovator, now back in working order, dating from 1967.