swallows and amazon

The swallows will soon be leaving but my new book  The Missing of Stanley Ruff has arrived!

 I am indebted to Pixie the Irish wolfhound, Pocket the superior cat, Rocket the lurcher puppy and the numerous crows I have helped to rescue and whose characters, adventures and misdemeanours I have stolen for this story.

When the new puppy Stanley Ruff arrives at the Dorcas residence, Bentley the cat and Mrs Melvyn Andrews the Irish wolfhound are not impressed. Stanley is noisy, disobedient and extremely naughty. Then Stanley is stolen and realising how much they miss him they go on a dangerous journey to find him with the help of their new friend Crow 3.

A tale of warmth and humour about tolerance, bravery and friendship.

You can purchase it on Amazon - where it seems you can read the first chapter if you 'look inside'.

Pixie (aka Mrs Melvyn Andrews) is very pleased with it but wanted to add a supplement  with some recipes in - which she thought would make it far more interesting. I told her to write her own book.

Below is an extract from the Missing of Stanley Ruff around chapter 3(which just escapes the Amazon's 'look inside.')

And so Stanley Ruff practiced jumping. 

He jumped up and tore the washing off the line outside. He jumped up and knocked a cup of coffee off the coffee table. He jumped up the curtain and accidently got one of his claws caught and ripped it. The rip revealed the blue lining on the other side like it was a small river rushing down the curtain towards the sea. And what was at first a thin river, he managed to turn into something much bigger.

A bit like the Amazon.

“Stop it!” shouted Dorcas “You’re so naughty!”

 Mrs Melvyn Andrews who suddenly wanted to be naughty too - ate the butter which had been left on the table.

“One of you,” said Bentley washing his paw “is going to end up on the naughty step.”

“If I jump high enough will I reach the stars?” Stanley Ruff asked. But no one answered him because they didn’t really know.

He jumped all day and even when the long shadow of night passed over him he jumped in his sleep.

And then one day he jumped over the gate, into the road and was hit by a car.

........................................................ 

Meanwhile -back at duck HQ

 We changed the duckling’s name from Pod to Pepys as that is the noise he continuously makes 
peep peep peep peeps.

We might call him Samuel if he grows up.

His siblings wouldn’t accept him back so instead he’s imprinted on me. We had to take him to Devon for the night and he made so much noise in the back of the car he had to sit on my lap as I drove. We stopped off to show him Duck Street and wondered what the police would say if they’d pulled us over.

 Here he is on the table enjoying a swim in the washing up bowl.

Normally when I'm writing he likes to sit on my lap and he also enjoys a swim in the bath every other day.
Inside we have ducks - outside we have bats. In the twilight they flutter by the house catching unseen insects on the wing. I have no idea where they roost or what sort of bats they are. I haven’t been up into the loft in years so they may have set up a colony  there with the prams, the old motorbike gear, the saxophone, the  puppet theatre, the battered suitcases and that oil painting.

 Pixie’s interesting fact is that bats are misunderstood. 
I said is that all? Are you not going to mention they can each consume around 3000 insects in a night? She sighed and said given the chance she could probably do the same particularly if they had a light coating of breadcrumbs.

Rocket is exhausted after all the publicity for the new book.

And Pocket's view on life is "Scorn pain. Either it will go away or you will."
I said "Seneca? Have you got a book of his proverbs tucked away somewhere? And when were you in pain anyway?"
"I was in pain reading your book where you've invented a cat called Bentley - who is clearly me." He replied with a touch of scorn in his voice.

The Bat

by Ruth Pitter

Lightless, unholy, eldritch thing,
Whose murky and erratic wing
Swoops so sickeningly, and whose
Aspect to the female Muse
Is a demon's, made of stuff
Like tattered, sooty waterproof,
Looking dirty, clammy, cold.

Wicked, poisonous, and old;
I have maligned thee! . . . for the Cat
Lately caught a little bat,
Seized it softly, bore it in.
On the carpet, dark as sin
In the lamplight, painfully
It limped about, and could not fly.

Even fear must yield to love,
And pity make the depths to move.
Though sick with horror, I must stoop,
Grasp it gently, take it up,
And carry it, and place it where
It could resume the twilight air.

Strange revelation! warm as milk,
Clean as a flower, smooth as silk!
O what a piteous face appears,
What great fine thin translucent ears
What chestnut down and crapy wings,
Finer than any lady's things —
And O a little one that clings!

Warm, clean, and lovely, though not fair,
And burdened with a mother's care;
Go hunt the hurtful fly, and bear
My Blessing to your kind in air.