It pours. The sort of rain that falls in dollops rather than drops. Clever rain that knows how to find its way behind the collar of your jacket and run down your neck. At the storm drain the sodden PONs and their equally sodden master turn around and head home. ' Must be that good old global warming that's causing this weather ' says Angus. Bob and Sophie mull this over in silence. Putting the world to rights will have to wait until tomorrow.
Despite the downpour there are scores of goldfinches on the bird feeders. Bob dutifully follows me across the squelching lawn to fill the trays with sunflower seeds. Goldfinches en masse are a joyous sight. Why there are so many of them this year is a mystery. Perhaps the relatively warm winter has boosted their numbers. Its not every day you're mobbed by goldfinches.
After a second morning walk , in which Sophie's coat absorbs at least her body weight in water, the PONs are towelled dry and told to stay indoors. Sophie is reacquainted with her orange haired friend kindly donated by the lady in Georgia. Most toys have squeakers that are destroyed in minutes. This one squeaks and squeaks and squeaks. In fact it seems indestructible.
In the afternoon the black skies disappear. Blue skies take their place. We head off to the little market town. The PONs are intrigued to find a municipal workman standing in the street shouting instructions up to a lady in a third floor apartment. He's still there twenty minutes later when we head back to the car.
Despite the weather the PONs have enjoyed themselves. Sophie has supervised preparations in the kitchen. Bob has helped Angus talk to men in dark suits. Quite possibly the best day ever.