gone.
The snow that was. Woke up today, Monday, and it's snowed outside, a good two fingers deep, but the road's clear so no excuses.
Let the dog out. He's turned around on the doorstep and is back in the house before I can close the door. Wuss! (as in wimpy, soft, daft thing that's scared of its own shadow). But we have to remember he's 10 now, and make allowances....
Wellies on, coat on, scarf on and off down the bottom of the garden to let the hens out. Check their water, frozen, see to that. Return with fresh water, and no sign of the girls. They don't like it either. They'll come out when they're hungry.
Come to think of it, I remember last time it snowed and stuck was the old hen house, and they wouldn't leave the bottom of the arc at all. I think their tiny hen brains (no insult, but their brains must be small because their heads are small) have a real problem when the world turns white. They don't understand where the normal world has gone, so they really don't want to venture out into this great white unknown.
So by the time it's school taxi (me) I unlocked my car, opened the door, and noticed that the way the snow had piled up meant a good dollop of the white stuff landed squarely on my driver's seat... deep joy, not. But once out on the road it's clear, and as usual it's the other idiots you've to watch out for.
Home after the school run and walk the dog. I didn't take him to the Folly at Faringdon today as it's still absolutley lethal underfoot, and with a disguising blanket of snow I didn't want to risk any more loss of dignity.... (I slipped on the dog walk on Friday morning, ending up on my derriere, and wrist deep in mud - wrist deep as I put my hand out to cushion the fall).
Whizzed through the pile of ironing, 2 baskets' worth, and by lunchtime the melt was set in, with rain for good measure. Checked the hens, they were by now looking very skanky, wet and bedraggled and huddled under the hen house for shelter. 2 eggs. nice :)
Here's a thing. I know I've gone on about not being a 'dog person' in other postings. But the funny thing is, now, after having had Roly for 8, no 9 years, I couldn't imagine being without a dog. Hence the previous post, my confession, my disloyalty, my guilty secret (I want an Irish Terrier). There are many positives, and the best aspect of having a dog is the dog walking.
I really like going for dog walks. Me and Roly, or with the rest of the family as well. The great outdoors is exactly that. It's become such a part of daily life it's like breathing. A day without a dog walk is a day without meaning, and that's saying something coming from me.
Dog walk yesterday on the Ridgeway, near the Wantage Monument....
The snow that was. Woke up today, Monday, and it's snowed outside, a good two fingers deep, but the road's clear so no excuses.
Let the dog out. He's turned around on the doorstep and is back in the house before I can close the door. Wuss! (as in wimpy, soft, daft thing that's scared of its own shadow). But we have to remember he's 10 now, and make allowances....
Wellies on, coat on, scarf on and off down the bottom of the garden to let the hens out. Check their water, frozen, see to that. Return with fresh water, and no sign of the girls. They don't like it either. They'll come out when they're hungry.
Come to think of it, I remember last time it snowed and stuck was the old hen house, and they wouldn't leave the bottom of the arc at all. I think their tiny hen brains (no insult, but their brains must be small because their heads are small) have a real problem when the world turns white. They don't understand where the normal world has gone, so they really don't want to venture out into this great white unknown.
So by the time it's school taxi (me) I unlocked my car, opened the door, and noticed that the way the snow had piled up meant a good dollop of the white stuff landed squarely on my driver's seat... deep joy, not. But once out on the road it's clear, and as usual it's the other idiots you've to watch out for.
Home after the school run and walk the dog. I didn't take him to the Folly at Faringdon today as it's still absolutley lethal underfoot, and with a disguising blanket of snow I didn't want to risk any more loss of dignity.... (I slipped on the dog walk on Friday morning, ending up on my derriere, and wrist deep in mud - wrist deep as I put my hand out to cushion the fall).
Whizzed through the pile of ironing, 2 baskets' worth, and by lunchtime the melt was set in, with rain for good measure. Checked the hens, they were by now looking very skanky, wet and bedraggled and huddled under the hen house for shelter. 2 eggs. nice :)
Here's a thing. I know I've gone on about not being a 'dog person' in other postings. But the funny thing is, now, after having had Roly for 8, no 9 years, I couldn't imagine being without a dog. Hence the previous post, my confession, my disloyalty, my guilty secret (I want an Irish Terrier). There are many positives, and the best aspect of having a dog is the dog walking.
I really like going for dog walks. Me and Roly, or with the rest of the family as well. The great outdoors is exactly that. It's become such a part of daily life it's like breathing. A day without a dog walk is a day without meaning, and that's saying something coming from me.
Dog walk yesterday on the Ridgeway, near the Wantage Monument....
The Monument on the Ridgeway states 'this cross is raised in/to his memory by his wife' (to Lord Wantage) there's a whole history to be told there...
On that note I'll say goodnight... sweet dreams y'all, :) Kat
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