Finest feathers.
A brisk wind accompanies us on our walk by the river. Sophie observes a log floating by and stops and glares at it. The audacity of the thing.
The brisk wind gives the PONettes fur a fluffed up Schnauzer look.
Back at The Rickety Old Farmhouse the daffodils are bursting into bloom.
Sophie disappears into a hedgerow. She reappears with a dead bird in her mouth. This is dropped at my feet. All of our PONs have carried things in their mouths with unexpected tenderness. This is unusual for a breed that can't determine whether a door is open or closed and who devour their food as if its going out of fashion. A cursory examination would indicate that the crows have got this poor young Goldfinch. What I at first take for blood is actually the finest of red feathers around its bill. However, the eyes have gone. I bury our young friend in the olive grove. Sophie looks at me as if to say 'Why didn't you make it better ?'. Dogs never cease to surprise. She is palpably upset and continues to look for the bird for a good five minutes. She would not display this concern for a C-A-T.
7 comments:
Hari Om
Aw, Sophie... I'm sure your tenderness will be rewarded...YAM xx
Lovely to see a daffodil. Here in Aberdeen, a hard frost and a sprinkling of snow on the ground this morning. Winter is not letting go just yet.
Daffodils are just beginning to bloom in SE USA. European Goldfinches are quite different looking, compared to American Goldfinches. According to my quick research, this one is a female, similarly colored to a male, but with a slightly smaller red area on the face.
Such a sweet caring girl,
RIP gorgeous little bird. Sophie is such a sensitive soul.
What a gentle girl Sophie is, and how sad that you couldn't make the poor little Goldfinch better.
It's been an exceptionally cold winter here, and not having planted any bulbs, I have no idea how far on our seasons are.
A fallen bird always reminds me of something I heard years ago, "there are other worlds to sing in." We have a place on the edge of our woods that we bury wildlife in. This week it was a field mouse that I'm not sure who "made it dead." Todd ignored it, so I'm thinking it was our outdoor c-a-t.
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