mogs,dogs and pod

we've had a few unexpected arrivals this month.

 Firstly, as I was rushing off to do the hedgehogs at the wildlife hospital I heard a small, plaintive chirruping from somewhere inside the poly tunnel. I searched inside and out and eventually uncovered four just hatched ducklings in the middle of a salvia bush. The mother was nowhere to be seen. Knowing that they would not survive with all the other ducks around I hastily popped them into a box and put them on the kitchen table under an infra red lamp. The great thing about ducklings is that they can feed themselves from the moment they are born - unlike the baby rooks and jackdaws -and I happened to have some chick crumbs which they guzzled down. When I eventually found the mother she had joined the other ducks and didn't seem the slightest bit concerned which is surprising as she had dutifully sat on the eggs for 28 days. Indian runners however are notorious for not bothering with their brood once they have hatched.

Two weeks on they have been in the bath to waterproof their feathers and have a little paddle. There is one however who has not grown. He was always the smallest and we didn't think he'd survive the day let alone the night but he did until yesterday when the other ducks, so much bigger now were trampling him to a near death. Again we didn't think he'd survive. I dried him off with a hairdryer and have put him on his own,  as I daren't risk them walking over him again. We've named him Pod. When I am sitting - like now as I write this post - he snuggles up in the crook of my arm. This morning he came for a walk with the dogs inside the sleeve of my coat. Not sure how long we can keep this up but hopefully when he gets bigger he can join the other rascals. I blame his mother.

The other arrival was this beautiful young wolfhound called Gideon. The people who 16 years ago kindly gave us our first wolfhound puppy Jai, asked if we could give a home to Gideon. Knowing how big the male wolfhound is I said no at first but of course as soon as we saw him we fell in love. Sadly though Pixie did not. After five days of her growling and snapping at him we thought it was unfair on them both. Also our home is too small for three dogs, two of them being extremely large. He was like a mountain lion prowling around as best he could without knocking over the furniture (which occasionally he did.)I've often wondered what an occasional table was and now I know. He was so big he made Pixie look like a spaniel. It was not without shedding a tear that we had to return him. He had walked into our hearts with those great big paws of his and we miss him greatly.

Rocket loved him however and they romped around in the fields together.

Here he is looking as if he's just joined a convent.

I asked Pocket if he had anything to say on the topic. He stretched out and ate a madeleine off the occasional tea table. No sooner than it touched his palette then a shiver ran though him- an exquisite pleasure had invaded his senses.
"A la recherche du temps perdu " he said.
You've been reading Proust ? I asked in surprise. He ignored my question but asked if it had been Proust who had baked the little cakes and could he have them in future instead of the little packs of jellied fish.

Pixie's interesting fact was that she has been searching for lost time ever since Gideon had arrived and was he now hiding somewhere she didn't know about?

Dog Day Afternoon

from Dog Days

On dog day afternoons I grow a tail

and become a cur of undetermined heritage

tugging at codger's trouser cuffs

roughing it with tattered papers

from wretch to top bitch

an uber pooch heralding death

with a bark, who know how

to park a car, wash a floor

iron a shirt

flirt with the man next door

mix a cocktail or two - but obviously

wouldn't let on

to the other dogs.

A morphological transformation, a sensation

part mutt part alsation doing the dog dance

and sitting for no one in particular

burying a bone, chasing a cat up

a tree - peeing against a lamp post

fetching a stick at considerable speed

disappearing into a landscape of flowers

and not hearing their cries when they call me home.

Linda Coggin