The Dogs of the Blog

I'm still limited on the amount of time I can spend on the computer (or doing other tasks) because of my arm, so I've been choosing things I can work on a little at a time. I have a Rogues Wall in my home with photos of many of the animals who have shared their lives with me, but it was missing some of the most recent ones so I surfed through my digital photos today for suitable images. Then I became sidetracked using some of those images to create a new header for my facebook page, using a photo from a recent hike, a rainbow, and my dogs who are now at the rainbow bridge.

As you may notice, it includes just those dogs I've lived with since beginning this blog, which was shortly after I moved to acreage and took on adopting senior and special needs dogs. The picture does not include the pigs or alpaca from my farm days, nor my numerous short and long term foster dogs, nor does it include dogs who went to the bridge before I started the blog or lived at the farm (Brandy, Shamrock, McDuff, and Muffin). And it doesn't include Emma, who is still alive and thriving at her Dad's place. Allie would like to point out that it also doesn't include any cats, past or present.

I'm not sure I could make up a photo that includes all the animals that have been part of my life. But I do know that they each stole a piece of my heart - and gave me part of theirs. I miss them all.

(If you want to refresh your memory on their life stories, try clicking on the labels below. I won't guarantee it will work - it doesn't always - but worth a try). 

A fun day, and a gift to treasure

Lucy and I headed up island early this morning, amid sunshine, blue sky, and occasional surreal patches of fog hovering just above the water. Lucy travelled well, and once again proved her dexterity by somehow squeezing through the bars of the dog barrier to sit in the driver's seat when I popped into a store. Silly girl!

We had a nice visit with some new friends, and she met two little dogs who were both named Ginger (both rescued dogs), and once again did me proud with her nice doggy manners.

On the way home, we popped into The Village Puppy, a wonderful dog boutique owned by our friend Kelly in Qualicum Beach. Lucy even tried on a few coats in the store, said hello to customers, and showed off what a great dog she is! She has come such a long way - no longer nervous in new situations, happy to meet everyone and explore new places.

Kelly wasn't there, but a quick phone call and she came over to say hi - and brought me a wonderful gift. Kelly had arranged for an artist friend of hers, Vicki (Kelly, please email me with Vicki's full name so I can give proper credit!), to do a portrait of our dear Oliver who passed away this past June. It is absolutely beautiful and I shall treasure it. I love how Vicki captured Oliver's happy smile - he was always such happy dog, such a ray of sunshine in my life. Thank you Kelly, and thank you Vicki!

This isn't the best photo as the lighting isn't right and it is full of reflections, but I wanted to post it tonight as I'll be away all day tomorrow.



When Lucy and I arrived home, Charley and Sadie were happy to see her, and all three of them ran and played and acted goofy in the backyard - how I love to see my old girls join in the fun of zooomies with young Lucy.

It was a very good day.

Oliver's Ashes

It is a rainy, gloomy Canada Day morning, and the only patch of brightness around my house is that of my patio garden. There, on one side, is the potted evergreen I bought at the SPCA garage sale. And it is around the roots of that tree that I am spreading some of dear Oliver’s ashes. The remainder will be given to Oliver’s other mama, Kelly, as she and I decided a few weeks ago. We shared him in life, and he lives on in both our hearts.

It is appropriate that today be the day I return to nature what nature gifted me – for this day is Oliver’s birthday. And it is appropriate that I spread them where they might give that particular evergreen life, for it was while I was working at the SPCA garage sale that Oliver began his final journey. Life and death are intertwined, one a continuum of the other, and so I choose to blend the two in a way that is both symbolic and beneficial – to me, and to the tree.

And so, on this rainy day, I kneel on the ground and gently rake the ashes into the dirt that surrounds the tree – Oliver’s tree. He would like that, for he so loved the outdoors, bouncing around my little yard in his happy, happy way.

Through my open window, the music of pianist Frank Mills trips lightly across the air, appropriately playing his version of The Traveler - "In my heart I think you've always known that someday I'd be leaving......Sail away, sail away, sail away across the ocean."

As I rake the ashes into the soil, my hand cultivator snags on something and emerges with a bright red string attached. I pull it out and discover a small stained glass ornament encrusted with dirt. I wash it off to see the flower that emerges, only one or two sections still retaining their colour but beautiful nonetheless. I give the soil a gift, and it gives one back to me. It shall hang on the tree, for Oliver.



For me, spreading the ashes is symbolic of the cycle of life rather than a need to hang onto what is left of Oliver’s earthly body. That earthly body is gone, but his memory and the joy he brought to me will last forever. I have returned to Nature that which is Nature's to claim. I shall think of him as I enjoy my patio garden this summer, and in winter I will trim the tree with Christmas lights and tasty treats for the birds.

And I will think of my precious boy each time I look at that tree on my patio, a tree that is now called Oliver's tree.

Luv ya, Oliver, and miss ya bunches.

Oliver's Tree

[Belle’s ashes also await spreading. I have yet to decide just where, but I am eyeing a lovely cream coloured rose in a pot on the patio, and thinking it might be an appropriate place for a beautiful princess. ]

The Life that Normal People Live

Today the emptiness hits full bore. For two and a half years I have been awakened at 5:00 AM by the demanding bark of a princessly dog and the jangle of tags as her nails click-click-click their way across the floor to the back door. Attempts to return to sleep were futile due to the repetitive sharp little “feed me” bark from the kitchen when The Princess returned from her morning ablutions. The day’s schedule was dictated by her squire, Oliver, whose waking moments required constant vigilance. Between the two of them, my life was predictable and orderly.

This morning, a silent house left me sleeping until well after seven-thirty. Sadie and Charley would happily sleep until noon – they have the bladders of camels and while Sadie loves her food, she doesn’t get out of bed until she hears the ting-ting of kibble falling from the measuring cup to the stainless steel bowl.

I miss my shadows, my sheltie shadows who woke me early, followed me from room to room, impatiently demanded to be fed whether I was ready or not, and generally created the structure for my day and the chaos in my life. I love Charley, Sadie and Allie but my two little shelties took up more space and demanded more from me than the three of them combined. I am not used to this emptiness.

It is hard to believe that just over a year ago I was caregiver to eighteen animals – four dogs, a cat, 12 foster piggies and an abandoned alpaca. Now there are just three. And it occurs to me, as I sit in the silence at 9:00 AM drinking my second cup of coffee and thinking “I guess I should feed the dogs” ------ is THIS how normal retired folks live?

It is such a strange feeling – this solitude, this lack of structure in my life. I can go out whenever I want for pretty much however long I want. I could drive to Victoria for the day, or even Long Beach, or go to a concert in the evening – there is no one here who needs my constant care. It is, in some ways, very liberating. But it is not a liberation I find pleasing.

And so I shall take Charley and Sadie for a walk, brush them, talk with them, take them for another walk, brush them some more, talk with them some more, until I hear them say “Mom! Enough already! Let us SLEEP!”

It will take some getting used to, this freedom, this solitude, this quietness, this lack of structure, this slow pace of life. And, no doubt, about the time I begin to enjoy it, another critter will find me and change the routine again.

But, for now, I shall flounder around in my near-empty house, lavish attention on my couch-potato dogs, putter in the garden, sip cups of tea on my patio as I immerse myself in a novel, and live the life that normal retired folks live.

Catching up and letting go - Part 2

First, an update on Belle. I just talked to the vet and she is holding her own. She had company throughout the night as he had several sick animals to look after. This morning she is a bit more alert, but has diarrhea and is still refusing food. He has agreed that I can likely bring her home tomorrow, either with an IV or with injectible antibiotics and SubQ fluids if necessary. I want her here at home regardless of the prognosis. If it will not endanger her life to be home, then this is where she belongs.

Ellen and the whippets left this morning, but not before giving me plenty of opportunity for a photoshoot. This was the first time I had met Logan, who was adopted in April, and what a sweetie he is. He and Kinley decided they really liked Charley's petmate bed, and snuggled up together in it on more than one occasion. I have dozens of photos to go through, but here are some of my favourites:

Hi! I'm Logan!

I like Auntie Jean's couch!

I love my brother Kinley - he makes a comfy pillow!

I'm watching you!

Ah! Nap time!

Paws, legs and tails entwined

The baby birds in the birdhouse on my shed are feeding ravenously, and yesterday I sat under my apple tree for a couple of hours photographing them. It was very therapeutic - watching baby birds begin their life's adventure as my Oliver, and possibly Belle, end theirs. Here's a few of my favourite photos of them:

Any sign of supper?

Hungry! Hungry! Hungry!

Me first!

More, please!

Yum! Regurgitated Grubs!

The cooler May weather has enabled the spring flowers to last longer, and I must share this beautiful, beautiful deep pink dogwood that Charley, Sadie and I passed by on our morning walk:

And this clematis has flowers the size of dinner plates - the photo does not do it justice:

In my own garden, these perennial beauties have appeared:











It is so quiet around here with only two dogs right now. Charley seems baffled - last night she kept wandering around looking for Belle, it seems, and turning her puzzled eyes to me. Charley knew Oliver had passed away - in fact, it was she who awoke me that awful night, when Oliver's body was still warm but the heart had stopped - but with Belle she only knows that I carried her out of the house and did not bring her back. It is another reason to take care of Belle at home.

And I know the dogs pick up on my emotions too, and so I am working hard at managing them and bringing the laughter back into my life. But the anger I feel at the person who was hired specifically to keep my little orange boy safe is hard to dispel.

My heart cannot heal, I need some revenge!
I need her to hurt as I do.
I need her to feel what Oliver felt as he
Struggled in water so blue.
I want to cause pain though I know it is wrong,
I want her to wail and keen,
I want to just take her and hold her head under
The water , although that is mean.
To dissolve my anger is my only intent,
Not really “a limb for a limb”.
The dog whom I loved would never have hurt
A soul, even those who hurt him.

And so last night, Ellen and I made a gingerbread woman, wrote the petsitter’s name on it, and then DROWNED HER IN A BOWL OF SALTY WATER! <<<<<< insert evil grin and manic laughter here >>>>>>>. The waves splashed, hands grabbed, and gingerbread woman thrashed and fell apart. Of course, we ended up laughing ourselves silly until the dogs were ready to phone the men with the little white jackets. Sometimes a warped sense of humour and a symbolic ritual is the only way to handle the events which cause us pain but which we cannot change. Thank goodness for a good friend who understood my need for this.

Well, that's the end of HER!

And so we move on, still grieving my Oliver, awaiting his ashes for the final step of returning his earthly body to the ground, but knowing that life must continue and only time will help to heal this broken heart.

We are born, we live, we die. From baby birds and springtime blooms, to aging dogs and ashes, the cycle of life reveals itself over and over again. Despite the grief and hurt and harm, it is still a beautiful world.

Catching up and letting go - Part 1

To say that it has been a difficult week would be an understatement. I am still getting used to the loss of my shadow, my pacer, my sweet orange boy. Although I have three dogs here, the house feels very empty.

There are four less paws to wipe today,
One less mouth to feed,
One less body shadows me,
One less dog in need,
And though the three that live here still
Have life to be enjoyed,
The one little guy who died this week
Has left the biggest void.


My friend Ellen arrived Thursday with her whippets Kinley and Logan. Yesterday we walked on the beach with Charley and Sadie, Kinley and Logan, and watched as a beautiful eagle overhead repeatedly swooped to the water, and a seagull practiced diving head first from a distance of about 20 feet. Then we drove to Cowichan Bay, where we stopped at the Grainery bakery and picked up fresh crab and spot prawns - There is nothing quite like making a huge mess eating whole crab for bringing on laughter as we chatted about our beloved animals and honoured Oliver’s memory.

The search for Luger is ongoing - I have talked with Karen, and we will not stop searching until we find him or his remains. He is a survivor, and the various reports of a large black dog, or a black "wolf", or a limping dog slipping through the bush or near homes in the Panorama Ridge area give us hope he will be found.

The SPCA garage sale last weekend was a HUGE success - HUGE to the tune of pulling in over $20,000 (YES, OVER TWENTY THOUSAND) dollars for the Cowichan and District SPCA.

Today my Belle is not doing well, and I am off to the vet with her very shortly. Last night she awoke me at 2:30 needing out and was reluctant to come back in. Her respiration is rapid, her heartrate is fast, she refused her breakfast and a treat (something the Princess NEVER does), and she has had a few brief episodes of gagging and a small amount of vomiting, her mouth is open and she has refused water. She is no longer barking her little commands to me. She is not herself, and so off we go to another vet I don’t know – why do my animals always choose weekends to need vet care???

But unlike my physically hearty Oliver, Belle has been frail for some time now and I have been this route several times before with her. But it is worrisome when my singing sheltie isn’t singing. I will keep you posted.

Why the Sky Turned Orange

The Great Spirit looked down upon the earth at the people dying of hunger, killing each other, destroying the environment, and the tears fell on the land and the clouds hung darkly over the earth, and it was not good.

And the Great Spirit said “I need something to make me laugh again”. And so the angels brought the Great Spirit a dog, not just any dog but a very special, very gentle, very sweet dog with lots of orange fur. And they set him down, and he had a poop, and then he did his HAPPY DANCE.



And as the Great Spirit watched this deaf, old, visually impaired little dog hopping and twirling and bouncing around the heavens, a smile spread on the Great Spirit's face, and laughter welled up from deep inside, and all the tensions of the day disappeared. The Great Spirit told the angels they had done well, though on earth below hearts were broken.

It wasn’t until afterwards that the Great Spirit noticed just how much fur one happy little dog can shed – enough to turn the skies bright orange.



I do believe Oliver is dancing in the heavens tonight.

(Thanks to Evensong for the story idea, and to everyone for their kind comments, emails, phone calls and hugs.)

My precious boy has passed away

Oliver Winston Mullen Ballard
1994 – 2010

Last night, shortly after midnight, my little Oliver slipped from his sedated sleep and into the forever-after. Yesterday morning, concerned that the end was near, I contacted his former mama, Kelly, who was able to come to say her goodbyes. She brought with her some pictures of a young Oliver, his sweet serious eyes so easily recognizable. We carried him to the garden where she sat with him in the evening sun, a light breeze kissing his fur, while I took Sadie and Charley for a walk on the beach. Then we changed his bedding, covered him gently, and over a cup of coffee we talked about the joy he brought to both our lives.

Oliver, my funny little polar bear, my happy-dance dog, my little old man. You came to me in September 2008, uncertain, deaf, visually impaired, and showing the beginnings of Canine Cognitive Disorder. Your CCD became worse but your personality exploded to envelop me and all who met you.

You made me laugh, you frustrated me, you melted my heart, you kept me on my toes – quite literally, as I rescued you from behind doors and under tables and beneath beds.

You loved the pasture on the farm, racing ahead with Sadie to eat the alpaca and piggy poops. But you adjusted well to the move to the island and went from refusing to walk past the end of the driveway that first day, to walking down to the beach and all the way along the front – always going for a little dip in the water, my hand firmly on your leash to guide you back.

And I promised to keep you safe forever.

But that promise was broken when I hired someone I thought I could trust, someone who works with dogs every day, someone I explained your disabilities to, but I didn’t spell out for her that you must not go off leash. And so she let you off leash on the beach and you ran into the water and became lost in the ocean. And despite her running in to get you, and despite the aftercare I gave you, you could not recover and now you are gone.

I am so sorry I failed you, my precious boy. You had so much life left in you, and there was no need for it to end this soon.

Some may say sixteen years is a long life for a dog. But I say it is far, far too short.

If I could rewrite history, I would never leave you again.

We kissed your soft fur
And our tears washed your face
As your spirit slipped gently away
But love held you near
As our hearts broke in two.
At the Bridge we will see you one day.

Your mamas, Jean and Kelly

Oliver

Please pray for Oliver. He had an incident with a new pet sitter this weekend, and is critically ill. I will write more later.
Jean

The Princess and the Pesky Pupper

Princess Belle was in fine form today. She started out by insisting (as only a sheltie princess can) that I take her for a walk this morning. So after Oliver and Charley's morning walk, I headed back out with the Princess. Belle often chooses not to go for a walk - and there is no mistaking her message when that is the case - and when she does choose to go, it is usually a short pre-bedtime stroll just a half block down and back. This morning, however, she refused to turn around when I suggested we head back, and ended up walking almost four blocks. I really thought she would sleep the rest of the day.

But no - with the exception of a couple of hours when I had to go out, she spent the day bossing everyone around. She nagged all of us continually - get outta my way, move, I want that bed, get outta my crate, feed me, bring me fresh water..... the Princess is a Little Dictator.

And then there was the photoshoot episode. I was trying to photograph the birds nesting in the back yard when Ms. Belle started bark-nagging. Bark.pause.Bark.pause.Bark.pause.Bark. I finally figured out she wanted me to point the little black box at HER, to heck with the birdies in their nest. The rest of the shoot went something like this:

You may take my picture now

GET OUTTA MY SHOT!

Mommm he's touching me!

Okay, one shot together.



I said ONE!

Older brothers are such teases!

Morning conversations

Soggy Doggy

The Setting: A small house in a small town. Outside, gale force winds, driving rain and bitterly cold temperatures set the stage. Inside, four dogs, a cat and a grey-haired woman are having a conversation. Grey-haired woman began the morning by stepping with bare feet into a large pile of poop enroute to the kitchen. Feet washed, rug cleaned, she now stands at the open back door in her coat and boots.

Woman: Out, all dogs out! Go do your business.

Charley: No way. It’s mizrable out there!

Belle: No thank you. I already went out to do my business when I woke you up two hours ago.

Sadie: Don’t need to. Did it already. On the rug.

Oliver: Let’s go to the beach!

Allie: Cats rule, dogs drool. I have my own personal commode in the house! Nyah nyah nyah!

Woman forces all dogs out. All dogs do more business and dash back in -- except Oliver, who does his happy dance (which is a canine version of the bunny hop) all around the yard.

Woman: Oliver, inside! (Grabs his collar and hauls him in).

Oliver: The beach, the beach! It’s time for my polar bear swim!

Woman: Oliver, it is awful out there – can’t we give it a miss?

Oliver: The beach, the beach! It’s time for my polar bear swim!

Oliver prances around the mudroom and then stands with nose to door).

Woman: It’s too windy! It’s too wet! It’s too cold!

Oliver: The beach, the beach! It’s time for my polar bear swim!

Woman, with deep sigh and great feelings of guilt, puts heavy sweater under her gortex jacket, pulls hoodie tight around face, puts warm raincoat on Oliver, snaps on leash and heads out.

They made it as far as the start of the seawalk. Oliver was blown right off the edge of the sidewalk twice, landing on his side in the muddy gutter. The woman was soaked through to the skin and freezing. She told him they were going home.

Oliver: Mommmmmmmmmm, I hazn’t had my swim.

Woman: You are soaking wet. You’ve had a swim. You’ve just forgotten.

You can fool a dog some of the time, especially one with canine cognitive disorder (doggy alzheimers). Unfortunately this wasn’t one of those times. He dragged his furry little paws all the way back home at a snail’s pace, moping and grumbling the whole time, forever looking back at the ocean and trying to turn me around. It was not a pleasant stroll.

The other dogs just looked at him like he was crazy. The cat blinked her eyes and smirked. And Oliver is still pacing around, waiting to go for a swim.

Even birds need mediators sometimes

It was early morning as I strolled along the beach with Oliver. There wasn't another soul to be seen. No sounds of humankind assaulted my ears - just the soft swish of waves on sand and the quiet chatter of gulls foraging among the shells for a morsel to eat. In the distance a heron stands knee deep (do herons have knees?), his long neck stretched forward as he carefully plans his ambush on an unfortunate fish below the surface. A cormorant sits on the edge of the wharf, and a flock of mallards pull weeds from a land-locked pond.

At the edge of the water, two oystercatchers confer, heads together.

Suddenly, the serenity is shattered as the oystercatchers begin to quarrel loudly in their high-pitched voices. John and Blanche Bickerson have been reincarnated, I think to myself. There is no other way to describe it - the birds are quibbling. Quibble, quibble, quibble, nag, nag, nag. On and on they go, as crows and gulls and ducks look on.

But one gull took it upon himself to intervene. He strutted across the sand, and plonked himself between the quibbling catchers. He wasn't obnoxious. He didn't scream at them. But he did give them a no-nonsense sort of look, and in a low, level tone made some very pointed comments on their behaviour.



They stopped their racket and had the decency to look abashed - almost startled - as Dr. Phil Seagull gave them some sage advice on communication and family relationships.





Soon peace was restored, and all the birds went back to the task of finding something to eat. Dr Phil Seagull thanked his audience, trotted off down the beach, and disappeared from view.




As for Oliver, he had only one thing on his mind - getting into the water for his polar bear dip.





Swim complete, we headed home for a quiet day of cooking, cleaning, and listening to music. I'm off to the mainland again in the morning, armed with some soups and stews and apple pie for my mom and a load of home reno receipts and other papers for my tax accountant. Back late Thursday night......so no new blogs until the end of the week.

Sunlight on partially submerged log

(You can hear an oystercatcher's song by clicking here - then click on the "listen" button in the top left of the page. )

The Dog Who Thought He Was a Polar Bear

Once upon a time there was a little polar bear named Oliver. Well, he thought he was a polar bear, but everyone else in the world seemed to think he was a dog. It’s true that he was smaller than a polar bear, and more orange than a polar bear, and he didn’t live in the arctic like a polar bear, but he KNEW he was a polar bear.

He tried to tell his two-legged mama, with whom he lived along with three dogs and a cat, that he was a POLAR BEAR. But his mama kept telling people “I live with four dogs”. And his mama kept telling Oliver, “You are a very good dog”. And his mama would say to the vet “Please give my dog, Oliver, a check up”. And his mama would tell the pet store clerk “I need some dog food for Oliver”.

Only Oliver seemed to know he was a polar bear.

One morning when he was out for a walk with his mama and his Auntie Ann (who had come to visit for the week), he decided it was time to show mama that he really was a polar bear. It was a cold polar bear type of morning. The frost was thick on the ground. The frost was thick on the seawalk. The frost was even thick on the sand on the beach. He was a happy polar bear, for polar bears love frost. Polar bears love cold. And most of all, polar bears love swimming in the ocean on a cold, frosty morning.

And so that’s what Oliver did. He danced down the beach, practically dragging mama behind him as she held tightly to the other end of his leash. He danced into the ocean, bouncing and hopping and laughing with glee. And then he BOUNCED right into the deepest part of the water and began to swim.

And then his mama exclaimed:

“Oliver, you are a POLAR BEAR!!!”

Oliver was so excited. Finally his mama understood what he had been trying to tell her for so long. He was so happy, he bounced out of the water and he bounced up the beach and he bounced along the sea walk, and he bounced so high and hopped so fast that mama had to run up the hill from the marina just to keep up with him. And when they got home and mama took off his leash, he hopped and ran and bounced all over the back yard, shouting “Yes! I’m a polar bear! Yes! My mama finally understands! I am the bestest, toughest, cutest, smallest, swimmingest orange-furred polar bear in the whole wide world!!”

And with that, he hopped into the house where his mama dried his fur with a big fluffy towel, and he curled up in his crate for a nice long nap.

The End.

Copyright 2010 by Jean, who lives with three dogs, a cat, and a polar bear named Oliver.

(The above is a true story. It happened this morning. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the camera with me. But my friend Ann was there to witness it.)

Oliver, the orange polar bear

A morning walk with Oliver

A couple of months ago, on the advice of my new vet, I put my dogs on Recovery SA instead of the glucosamine hydrochlorate supplement they had been receiving. (Recovery SA contains glucosamine hydrochlorate in addition to other supplements which aid joint movement).

Oliver is not the most arthritic of my dogs - that would be Belle - but he did show signs of stiffness and a reluctance to walk very far.

That all changed within about two weeks of starting him on Recovery.

He began to look forward to his walks. He used to manage a block or two at a Very Slow Pace. We slowly increased both the distance and the pace, and now he is trotting right along beside me, and walking further every day. Today at sunrise we found ourselves at the far end of the seawalk - almost as far as Charley and Sadie routinely go - and Oliver, for the first time, stepped down onto the beach to explore the shells and seaweed and salt water.



We could not have asked for a nicer day - crisp, clean morning air filled our lungs as we watched the sun rise on the water and the world awaken once again.

A new ship pulled into the mill yesterday, ready to accept its heavy cargo, and the sun shone on its white face:




As I watched the commuters disembark from the Saltspring Island ferry, I couldn't help but notice the rising sun reflecting on the mountains of the mainland's North Shore:








And looking to the south-east, I see Mt. Baker rising from the horizon in watercolor hues of pink and purple:



I wonder how many places afford views of such beautiful mountains in two different countries at the same time?

We wandered some more, noting how the high tides had changed the landscape. Yesterday, this large log, an escapee from a boom, was perched precariously on the berm going out to the private wharf










But today it was level, floating in the water as the high tide ebbed. Will it float away on the tide, or will I find it perched precariously once again when the seawater that surrounds it has receded once more?

On the way home I caught a glimpse of orangey-red in the bush - a robin! Though I suspect they live here year round, traditionally they are considered one of the first signs of spring. I had little luck capturing him with the camera, but if you look closely you will see the the brown and red blur amidst the leaves:




And more signs of spring - the first primrose blooming in my garden!



So far, it has been a mild winter, and some flowers have never stopped blooming, like these orange ones whose name I do not know. I suspect they are weeds as they multiply so profusely!!



And now the sun is fully up in the clear blue sky. A good morning to take down the Christmas lights. It will be a perfect afternoon for our Wednesday Walk.

Amazing day. Amazing dogs. Amazing life.