the incredible therapeutic properties of the irish wolfhound

The wise and wonderful Scout has returned to the fold. Though I knew Rocket would come back I was not sure if she would and was thrilled when she did. Since she strolled into the house my mood has lifted and I can honestly say all the gloom has dropped away.

I've told the black dog that had moved in when she and Rocket left that he must get off the dogs' bed now and stop chasing his tongue around the moon of the dog bowl, stop patting the ball behind the sofa and go and bother some other poor person. 

Go and cock your leg on someone else's sapling I'm not letting you back in. I told him. When Scout arrived back I think he got the message.

Rocket was first back and eyed the black dog with suspicion. Then he just wanted to play with it but actually black dogs don't play - not this kind of black dog. He just made himself smaller and eventually disappeared.

Life is strange without the horses. I've hung onto the tack though and the cart - just in case - you never know what might come trotting around the corner. I did walk along the aisles of the farm store though feeling nostalgic that I would no longer stop and pick up a salt lick or some fly spray or a handy new halter.

I gave Rocket a welcome home chicken which he loves and we have to take it on our walks. It's handy though because when it's misty and I can't see him you can hear the chicken squeaking in his mouth as he tears up and down the hills in the nature reserve.

Pocket likes to accompany us sometimes on our walks. He usually likes to do it in the gloaming but today he prowled out in the afternoon, sometimes ahead of us and sometimes behind us making little mewing noises so that we'd know he was there.

I told Pocket how much I missed the horses and he stopped licking his stomach and told me

to live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.

My I said, two therapists in the house now - so you've been reading a Mary Oliver poem have you?He stared crossly at me, told me he didn't know what I was talking about and returned to the arduous task of fur washing.

I love this time of year for the heady scent of the paperwhites which fill the house with their heady aroma.

and here is my wreath balanced precariously on the gate to wish you - dear Readers

 - a very happy Christmas and a better new year than the one you might have already had.

A Blessing

by James Wright

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnisota,

twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.

And the eyes of those two Indian ponies

Darken with kindness.

They have come gladly out of the willows

to welcome my friend and me.

We step over the barbed wire into the pasture

where they have been grazing all day, alone.

They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness

that we have come.

They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.

There is no loneliness like theirs.

At home once more,

they begin munching the young tufts of spring in the 

darkness.

I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,

for she has walked over to me

and nuzzled my left hand.

she is black and white,

her mane falls wild on her forehead,

and the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear

that is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrists.

Suddenly I realise

that if I stepped out of my body I would break

into blossom.
 

RIP HARRY V11  1998 - 2021