Friday, November 10, 2017

But still, like air, I’ll rise.

A drab start to the day. Chill showers with the barest hint of sleet wander across the ridge. Angus goes and buys some bags of kindling. It can't be long before the first fire of the winter has to be set.

Two bags of kindling are unloaded from the back of the car and put on the floor of the barn.

This is where Sophie finds them. The family diva discovers that her teeth can tear open the bag. Even better, the bag can then be dragged around the garden depositing its contents  of kindling in a long trail behind. When she tires of the first, now empty bag, she turns her attention to the second.

Sophie makes deeply contented noises as she holds a shredded kindling bag between her paws and savages it. She, presumably, thinks these noises are frightening.

When discovered the family diva is defiant in a kind of reverse George Washington way. '' It wasn't me. It was Bob ".  The concept of being discovered in the act hasn't been fully understood.

Bob looks shocked that he would be blamed by his sister.

In the evening we eat in the downstairs library. ' The Font' puts two plates of chicken on the table and goes to get the vegetables.  Angus opens the wine. Amount of time we leave the table unattended ? 90 seconds - two minutes max. We emerge from the kitchen to find a female PON standing on the dining table wolfing down a plate of chicken. She's clambered onto a chair and then lifted herself up onto the table in pursuit of food. So much for metal legs holding her back. Her ever dutiful brother is wearing his ' I don't think that's wise ' face.

A poem comes to mind -

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may tread me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.
You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I’ll rise.

Maya Angelou

How time passes. It wasn't so long ago we Brits were tearing down walls. Now we want to build them :


WFT Nobby said...

Love the Maya Angelou poem. A great start to the day.
(Bertie thinks an illicit chicken dinner would be make a good ending...)
Cheers, Gail.

MOPL said...

What a day for Mlle. Can it get any better?

Taste of France said...

Poor underfed Sophie.

Fi from Four Paws and Whiskers said...

Silly Hooman’ s..... but I do worry about the chicken bones!!!!

Yamini MacLean said...

Hari OM
OMD Sophie, what to do eh? Temptations are there for the untempting, right? Hugs and wags, YAM-aunty xxx

Coppa's girl said...

Seems to be that those metal legs are a spur to greater things, and not a deterrent ! Naughty girl - you didn't share any of it with Bob !

Kittypup said...

Expert Chicken Nicker!

~Kim at Golden Pines~ said...

The poem is perfectly said, and words to remember.

Mischief must be in the November air. We have had a "mishap" with breakfast yesterday that I posted it out on my blog.

Unknown said...

Perhaps a drab start to the day but one that just got better and better for Sophie.
The metal legs have definitely given her a boost in more ways than one.

rottrover said...

A perfectly toasted bagel spread with cream cheese disappeared from my kitchen counter morning before last. A crime also committed by the FEMALE rottweiler. AKA Bratty Braterson. I agree with Kim. Must be the season!

Angus said...

Perhaps the titanium springs put a spring in her step ?

Bella Roxy & Macdui said...

Sophie is certainly an opportunist. We hope someone didn't miss out on dinner.

Angus said...

At this time last year she was having her second leg 'done'. All in all there are times when all you can do is laugh -- and carve more chicken -- and be thankful for mischief.