Today is Pixie's Birthday! She is three years old. She was born on the day that our old wolfhound Jai died so there is something serendipitous about it. As if Jai's soul had re-emerged in this tiny black puppy up in Scotland. Wolfhounds don't live long, their hearts can't cope with their size as well as they can in a smaller dog, so we only had Jai for seven years. She had been a gift to us as a puppy and all I can say is that once you have shared your home with a wolfhound you never want to be without one.
|The birthday girl Pixie when she was smaller|
I remember the day we buried the guinea pig. We had a ceremonious burial and Jai joined us, sitting quietly by the graveside as we sang Cumb-By-Ya - and you knew darn well she was thinking when they've all gone I can dig that guinea pig up.
|The baby Pixie|
Friend, clown, confident, companion, associate and sous-chef.
I am still undecided as to what to do with the ducks. (see previous post.)Those Sumo wrestling boys seem such good friends and the girls appear to be unfussed not having a male around. Maybe I'm being too traditional or too anthropomorphic. They'd probably be a lot happier not being pestered by a hot blooded male duck. When a friend of mine left her husband, instead of getting another one she got herself a large, flat screened T.V. It sat smartly in the corner, how you might like a husband to be and kept her well informed. She laughed at its jokes and she could turn it off whenever she pleased. Sometimes it would stare blankly at her over the breakfast table but it didn't go out for long drinks with the boys (or other T.V's).