Everyday life in a rickety old Scottish farmhouse with a very happy Polish Lowland Sheepdog. A record of those unimportant little things that are too important to be forgotten.
Sunday, July 16, 2017
Men have become the tool of their tools.
As we pass the Salle de Fetes Bob lingers to examine the ground where the village ladies barbecued sausages on Bastille night. The grass infused with sausage dripping. This discovery requires considerable concentration so our rate of progress on this stage of the morning walk is slow to non-existent.
At the crossroads dog and master sit on the concrete storm drain and watch the sun rise on the far side of the ridge. Great checker board patches of sunflowers glowing gold in the light. Bob has his head scratched and is told, as he's told every morning, that this is ' Bob's Country '. Perhaps it's the tone of my voice or the attraction of hearing a familiar phrase but he leans into me in that way family dogs do.
The goldfinches are out early squabbling and preening in the sun. Every so often they'll take wing, circle for a moment, then return to their feasting. The flap of their wings exploding into life punctuates the morning calm with a loud w-h-o-o-s-h. The braver of them sit on top of the sunflowers trumpeting their good fortune at being part of such a perfect day. Goldfinches en masse are know as a charm. Some English words please with their innocence - an ascension of larks , a charm of goldfinches, a paddling of ducks. Language as a link to a different time.
A more tiring journey back up the hill. After last weeks rain the thick clay soil still soft underfoot. Bob runs ahead. His master follows on behind. Every fifty yards or so he'll stop and let me draw level before racing off again. Sometimes if he thinks I'm too slow he'll turn and cast a patient but admonitory glance backwards .
At The Rickety Old Farmhouse Sophie has been keeping a watchful eye on Texas godson. She lives in hope that there will be a dreadful accident with the plate of breakfast croissants.
Those little things too unimportant for a diary but too much part of life to go completely unrecorded.
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Again, the sunflowers are glorious! Hope Bob can round up furry fox for long in the evening games with Texas Godson,while Sophie waits for a mishap with a plate of food!
Bertie is going to be fantasising all day about grass infused with sausage fat ....
Oh...my... SUN.... never mind the flowers, you have SUN..... sigh...... (sits and looks like Sophie dreaming of croissants) YAM xx
Grass infused with sausage fat - not something we'd find hereabouts. It would send Inca into seventh heaven, and our walk would never progress any further. An accident with a plate of croissants is something she'd dream about too !
The sunflower fields here are supposed to be in peak bloom by the end of the week - They could never be as glorious as yours, but they will have to do. By the way, I read recently that they only follow the sun prior to blooming? Is that correct?
I hope it has continued to be the 'best day ever' for all at the ROF!
What a beautiful sunrise. And good luck with the croissant-whispering, Sophie.
The only time I’ve seen fields of sunflowers such as yours I was almost 19 and passing through Nebraska while hitchhiking across the country. It was a glorious sight and still is.
Thank you for the Beautiful Pictures, and my heart swells every time you and Mr Bob talk about "his country". ❤️
Seriously Steph, Hitching across the country?!?! The best I did was going across Illinois. You Go Girl
(But of course, those were kinder and gentler times . . . )
A croissant accident may require teamwork.... Dui snaffled a bone yesterday during a 'bone transfer' between dog owners at the river. He was in heaven.
You were adventurous hitchhiking across the country. I bet you have a zillion stories, and memories!
Nothing like a whiff of stale lard to get the day off on the right foot.
Bob is enjoying younger and more energetic company.
Too much ofit. 40 forecast tomorrow.
I've seen sunflowers in bloom turn towards the sun but more in a general sort of follow the light rather than a precise way.
Sophie's ESP always has food 'mishaps' in mind.
Strange you mention Nebraska. A young Nebraskan visitor made French Kiss Martinis at apero time last night. The raspberry liquer and pineapple juice definitely not a west - or east coast - flavour.
A bone ! Heaven !!
Not only sausage fat in the grass but fat imbued cinders to crunch between your teeth !
Sophie doesn't need to be told it's her country. She takes it for granted.
Lovely post today....I love goldfinches.
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