Irish Rover

Today we pass a significant date in Project Erroll. If you've been keeping up there is a change to Dad's work situation which had a tentative date of 30th June, but because that was more than 3 months in the future, there was a risk, allegedly, that his employer could extend the time-scale without the need for Dad's agreement. This was a bit unsettling, so as we are now all up for the project around here, it's good to know that this can now only be taken away from us with Dad's say-so. Nuff said. Mind you, we do wonder whether he might be celebrating a bit quick with the pigs' ears he found for us in Morrison's tonight - look at the brand!

I have mentioned already that we got clipped to within an inch or our lives at the weekend. At this Spring clip, which coincides with the local birdies building nests, Mum and Dad like to leave the clippings out in case the birds want soft fur to line their nests with, in this case in an old onion-sets bag. You can see from the white fluffy appearance of the bag that the birds have started on this already, and have been pulling hanks of fur through the net, In Autumn, as Dad prunes and tidies, and clears out nest boxes, he reckons he can identify which dog's fur got used from a familiarity with the texture. The late Meggie's always a bit coarse, Haggis's felt-soft and very dense, mine soft and wispy and fly-away. Not a one of us have the "proper" show dog Westie double coat.

The other two pics are just the garden this Spring, the Magnolia Stellata out front and the primroses under the quince in the orchard garden

Look after yourself

Deefs

Broad beans

Dogs, we fondly imagine, are all derived from some ravening wild beastie, living as a hunting pack and roaming the Savannah plains in search of prey to bring down and kill. In Megan's case, she may well have come from a strain which roamed the savannah in search of..... broad beans.

Only this can explain her love for them and her doe-eyed look of longing when seated at her Master's feet while he pods out the latest carrier bag full from the allotment. Every dozen or so he takes pity and hands her a particularly big, greyish skinned, not-particularly-tender looking bean (Mum doesn't like these - if there are too many grey ones she starts to think in terms of blanching them and hulling them, only using the inner (cotyledon) leaves to cook with).

These she chews up deliciously, thoroughly enjoying every morsel. If Dad doesn't give her another bean frequently enough she will go hunting the few which inevitably escape between pod and bowl, and zing off onto the garden, landing hidden between leaves of Knifophia (but not hidden well enough to evade Megan's hunter-killer nose)

Either that or she's from the strain of wilde dogge which exists by barking up at the plastic tupperware box full of pigs' ears till some superior force opens the box and hands her one.

Gotta love that Meggie

Deefer