SkyWatch Friday Season 4 Episode 21

This morning night crept sulkily into day under a monotonous sky . . . but this time last week the morning was clear and cold and bright.

Early morning, late November, Berkshire UK.

Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Probably more rain!!

What's happening in the skies around the world? Click here to find out!

Many thanks to the SkyWatch team of Klaus, Sandy, Wren, Fishing Guy, Louise and Sylvia K for undertaking the task of hosting this meme . . .

Camera Critters #86,Pet Pride, Sleeping Puppy

Dogs with good hip joints are able to sleep with their hind legs stretched behind them. Many of our dogs have been able to do this but we've never before seen any of them cross their paws at the same time! Sleeping with the tip of the tongue poking out is very common. Dreaming of earlier times at the milk bar, maybe?
Gus is 12 weeks old today and has had all his vaccinations. In another week we will be introducing him to some of our favourite walks. What fun!

Thanks are due to Misty Dawn for Camera Critters and Bozo and his human for Pet Pride.
To enjoy more wonderful critters and pets please click on the appropriate title.

We think we know what the spider has been up to!

Barry took some more photographs. (Can you tell he has a new lens to play with?) Barry thinks the female spider has wrapped her defunct mate - the equivalent of putting food into the larder. I argued that it might not have been her mate and how did he know it was a female anyway? He riposted, 'You can tell by the size of her mouth!' He decided at that point to go elsewhere before any harm befell him.
If you're not tremendously squeamish you can see more detail by enlarging the photo. Look closely and you will see legs inside the cocoon.

What has this spider been doing?

It looks as though there are two spiders here but there are only eight legs!
Has a female spider eaten her mate - legs first?? Unlikely - surely the body is the juiciest part? (*shudders* I can't believe I'm saying this!) In any case, males are smaller than females.
Has the spider sloughed off its skin? That seems possible but there are still only eight legs!
We enlarged the photograph to try and see more detail but it wasn't clear enough to make a judgement.
Has anyone any idea what has been happening?
I believe I am gradually overcoming my arachnophobia - hurray! This is a very common phobia affecting 50% of women and 10% of men.

ABC Wednesday Round 3 S is for . . .

S is for . . . Stargazer Lily

Spider

Sailing, Spots and Shadows
Swans

Stamps
Stepladders

Salix integra
White-lipped Snail

Seed head
Sunrise
Sunset

Thank you to Denise Nesbitt for hosting this meme. See what other people have found for 'S' here

In the not-too-distant future . . .

As Barry has become ever more involved in schemes and plans his memory allocation for the mundane stuff of life has greatly reduced vanished. Add to that the plethora of books, letters, instruction leaflets, scraps of paper/old envelopes with important information scribbled on them and my memory bank becomes over-stuffed as I am the noter and finder of lost things. Isn't there a saint involved in that? I know Saint Jude is the patron saint of lost causes. Just looked it up – it's Saint Anthony. If I were of the correct persuasion I might spend time on my knees asking both these venerable saints for their intercession. First Saint Anthony would be invoked and later Saint Jude after we had abandoned hope of ever finding whatever we were looking for.

Therefore, in the not-too-distant future Barry will be equipped with a special suit to which is attached everything he is likely to require in the course of a day. Of course this may mean that he is unable to move very far or at any great speed but at least everything most things will be to hand! Bless him!

We had considered bells and whistles on all the items he uses daily but we already have a houseful of machines and applications that ring, bleep, warble, shrill, buzz, trill, chirrup, tweet, chime, clang, tinkle, jingle.

What does Facebook say about you?

Facebook, the social networking site, which claims to be a superb way to regain contact with former friends and maintain relationships with friends and relations, has many followers. Its members may post photographs, join groups of like-minded people, support a myriad of causes, communicate with each other openly or in private through the inbox. There are many sometimes addictive games to play and quests to be followed. It can be an outlet for housebound people, a means of escape from problems or ills but beware what and how you post for it seems that other eyes are monitoring your actions and judging you. This Facebook user in Canada has discovered that the hard way in a very worrying turn of events. It seems that the time of George Orwell's Big Brother has finally arrived!

Think hard, look harder before you switch off!

Some of the things that catch my eye are very troubling. Presumably we've all heard of PSV - Persistent Vegetative State and have heard of the court cases, arguments and judges' rulings surrounding patients suffering this condition. Some argue for life-support machines to be switched off, others want their use to be continued indefinitely and always there are well-meaning, well-trained advisers suggesting one action or another. Undoubtedly it is heart-breaking for the families and friends closest to the patient when there seems little basis for optimism.
For the patients themselves it can be a living nightmare. As a child, when my understanding of death was less than it is now, I had waking nightmares of being buried but still conscious, trapped and unable to make myself heard. Those patients who are aware of everything going on around them but unable to communicate in any apparently meaningful way live the nightmare every moment of their lives, screaming silently, panicking and incapable of escaping.
The man in this particular case lived with the horror for 23 years. Who can imagine the feelings of freedom and relief he now experiences? For him the day his condition was truly recognised really was his second birth.
There, but for the Grace of God . . .

Camera Critters #85, Pet Pride, Shadow Shot Sunday #79

Gus says:
I can play with my sister Jenna . . .

. . . and sometimes I can play with Frodo, who's not my brother really but that's what I call him. (I really like Frodo - I hope I will be as big as him one day!)

Frodo says: No chance, Gus. You'll always be a pipsqueak next to me.

Thank you to Misty Dawn for Camera Critters, Bozo and his human for Pet Pride and Tracy from Hey Harriet for Shadow Shot Sunday.

To see what others have been up to please click on the underlined titles.

Six Word Saturday Full house

It's a full house this weekend!
There's no particular reason for it - we don't have Thanksgiving - but it's always nice to have family to stay.
Thank you to Cate from 'Show My Face' for initiating and hosting this meme.
To see what other folk are thinking of please click here.

Where do you buy YOUR cosmetics?

I discovered this really bizarre news item when I logged on recently. If the date were April 1st I would probably dismiss it as an April Fool's joke. I do hope it turns out to be a hoax. If not, then I truly despair for mankind and mankind's appetite for wealth.

Oh, it is gross . . .

ABC Wednesday Round 3 R is for . . .

Rainbow Bridge . . . and Relief . . . and Remembrance . . . and Reminiscence

I'm not superstitious but last Friday 13^th developed into a bad, sad day.

Our Gentle Dominie took her last trip to the vet. For several months she had been unable to walk unaided but seemed otherwise happy, alert, involved in everything around her. For some time she had rear wheels to assist her hind legs when we went out. When she could no longer control those we put her in a 'DoggyRide' so that she could accompany us to the forest. She would walk for ten or fifteen minutes, helped along with a hand under the back of her harness, then ride for the rest of the time. Back at the car she would walk again for a few minutes, catching up on peemails and poohmails. She greeted visitors vociferously and made her wishes known. When she whined she was telling us she was hungry, thirsty, wanted to turn round, needed to relieve herself or simply wanted to give and receive affection. During the last couple of weeks she cried more frequently and insistently in the daytime needing more lifting and turning. She didn't seem able to get comfortable though she slept more soundly at night.

In the past we have always found the advent of a new puppy – or baby – or kitten – has sparked interest in our elderly companions, both animal and human. We hoped Gus's arrival would help Dominie but although she was mildly interested, licking him and nudging him, she really had little energy to cope with his persistent attempts to play. She was unable to escape his attentions but enjoyed having him snuggle next to her when he was tired and quiet. Dommydom had a strong maternal instinct and was always a kind and understanding mentor to pups but she could no longer teach and this puppy needed to learn.

I have always said to pet people that one knows when the time comes to say goodbye. Perhaps that is true but human nature is largely optimistic and, though it's a cliché, where there's life there's hope. We saw the warning signs but chose to interpret them for our comfort. We asked our lovely vet Nadia for impartial advice, knowing in our hearts what she would say and what we had agonised over for weeks. It fell to Barry to take the Dom to the vet. Our menagerie is well-known there and the nurses are kind and caring.

When Barry came home he needed to be alone so I took the three adult dogs for a long walk in the forest. It was raining hard and the wind was blowing but it cleared my mind and dried my tears and I reached home drenched but more relaxed than I have been for a very long time. It was a strange evening and we felt Dom's absence keenly. The rest of the pack was quiet but watchful. Jenna was particularly questioning and depressed – she would often take Dom a toy or lick her nose. Frodo would also wash her and that had always seemed to please her. Monty Ocicat, who had spent a lot of time cuddling up to Dominie latterly, was prowling and restless. Gus, the puppy, took over Dominie's cushion in the kitchen where she would keep me company each evening as I prepared supper. He sleeps on it now in the same attitude as she did, with his head hanging over the edge, nose pointing to the floor.

The thing we noticed most was the silence. We had become so accustomed to her calling to us ever more frequently and now there were no requests. We realised clearly for the first time how much attention she had demanded and we acknowledged the relief we felt now that she was at peace. We had kept her too long and her ever-louder and more determined calls recently had been telling us it was time for us to let her go. She wasn't in pain, simply tired and worn out. Dominie was a big dog with a robust constitution and my keen desire that she would die peacefully in her sleep was never going to be realised; all the years of running with Barry and walking with me, of swimming in the ponds and lakes and playing with pups and young dogs had kept her physically fit, mentally alert and made her heart strong. We often watched her as she slept, running effortlessly in her dreams, but her waking hours were frustrating.

We all come from stardust and to stardust we will return. Dominie has her place in the cosmos now. Rest in peace, gentle girl, dream sweetly and be free to run again once more. You gave us all so much love and trust, our gentlest girl, so many memories for all our family.

'The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of her master.' Anon

'When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.' Kahlil Gibran: 1883-1931
Dominie (Theakston Terrisa) 25.04.1994 – 13.11.2009

Thank you to Denise Nesbitt for initiating and hosting this meme.

To see more posts for ABC Wednesday please click here.

Making bread, breaking teeth . . .

I was reading a post by Cate from 'Show My Face' and it reminded me of our forays into making bread.

It simply isn't true that all you have to do is follow the recipe and success is guaranteed. I tried and Barry tried. Now I'm accustomed to my efforts failing. Usually it's because I've lost interest in the whole venture half-way through or started reading a book or made some telephone calls. Perhaps I haven't got all any of the correct ingredients and those I have substituted are incompatible with each other or occasionally usually simply wrong. I mean, have you ever tried using pickled onions instead of fresh?. . . when poaching white fish? It might even be because I've had a glass several glasses of wine. That brings to mind the jokey card which depicts a woman declaring, 'I enjoy cooking with wine. Sometimes I even add it to the food.'

I start with enthusiasm for part of the process. It may be that I've found a recipe while having my hair rearranged by the hairdresser. (I hate going to the hairdresser, of which more for another time.) I will have written scribbled the whole procedure and, relieved at escaping from the hair salon (why salon? Why not workshop?) I have gladly traipsed the food aisles in search of ingredients. Of course, by the time I reach home, I've lost any passion I briefly felt because a) the ingredients I needed weren't available; b) I couldn't read my scrawl (I've never quite grown out of that childhood phase of trying to make my writing look adult which implies writing very fast and apparently fluently) c) the queues at the check-outs were so long I decided to use the self-service check-out which failed on every second item in my basket; d) I forgot where I'd parked the car and had to search (it's a long walk home!) e) all vehicles on the road (apart from mine) were being driven by brainless idiots who wouldn't give way to a herd of charging elephants; f) I'm so hungry and tired that I just grab bread and cheese and fling something easy in the oven.

It's relatively recently, in the last few years, that I've discovered that I can actually produce edible food and sometimes it even tastes delicious. My family learnt a long time ago to be sparing in their praise of anything remotely palatable as the chances were that I'd be so thrilled relieved that I'd reproduce it day after day. It's no surprise that all our children have become excellent cooks – they realised early on that the only way to avoid serious digestive disturbances was to cook for themselves as soon as they could reach the worktops. They learnt their skills from their father. Barry is an imaginative and enterprising cook. He tastes as he goes and tweaks the mix accordingly. I never rarely taste – that way you may be sure none of my germs go into the concoction. The downside of this is that pretty much all my dishes taste the same. They all contain garlic in great quantities as that is good for your heart and also disguises overwhelms the slightly overdone burnt taste.

Anyway, back to the bread – I carefully obeyed all the instructions and left the dough to rise in a place neither too warm nor too cold. The allotted time passed and I peeked expectantly at the soon-to-be-bread. The dough had not moved. It lay sullenly in the dish, staring up at me resentfully. I covered it and left it for a little long while more. Without much optimism I gazed again on its sulky face – nothing, zilch, zero – and thus it remained, as cold and hard and heavy as stone.

Barry's efforts were suitably rewarded with gracefully rising promises of treats to come. Triumphantly eagerly he placed his splendid results in the oven, neatly separated into small mounds, for we were to have rolls. They baked and filled the house with the unforgettable and mouth-watering smell of fresh bread and we duly salivated. The plate bearing the delicacies was brought to the fireside and we each took an offering. 'Mmmm, tasty, lovely, delicious . . . ' Many and varied were the compliments as we bit into the rolls. The initial mouthful was indeed delectable – dense, chewy – yes, excessively chewy. In fact it seemed to take took quite a very long time to reduce the first bite to a form in which it could be swallowed. Visions of snakes swallowing elephants came to mind. We struggled gamely on, the children and I, reluctant to hurt Barry's feelings. He was still happily munching but after a while even he had to admit defeat. I think he managed to consume one complete roll. All thoughts of further food that day disappeared. We were replete, sated, stuffed!
Strangely, we didn't attempt to make bread for some considerable time until we bought a bread maker. Now that is the way to produce home-made bread. Yes, it's cheating and no it's not the same – it is infinitely better. Even so beware, it's still possible to fail. Forget one of the ingredients – not usually the flour, it's true – and the whole thing founders but it is a great deal more reliable than handmade home-made bread, at least in our house!

Today's Flowers #66 Autumn colour

Not flowers I know, but definitely growing plants. When the sun shines the forest seems to glow and burn with vibrant colour and onlookers can feel their souls expanding.
Thank you to the TF team of Luiz Santilli Jr.,Denise Gullickson, Laerte Pupo and Valkyrien for hosting this meme.
Do please click HERE to see more offerings for this colourful meme.

Shadow Shot Sunday #78 fire iron

Thank you to Tracy of 'Hey Harriet' for initiating and hosting this meme.

To see more shadows please click here

Camera Critters #84, Pet Pride, cyclo-dogging

Cyclo-dogging requires a bike, a rider and a dog or two. Here are Barry and Buddy. Buddy's tail never stops wagging when he's happy and he's very happy here. Almost blind, walking or better still cyclo-dogging on an extending lead gives him confidence - he doesn't have to worry about where he's going, though he does sometimes trip over unexpected (unseen) obstacles. Cyclo-dogging gives him more rigorous exercise than walking (though fewer chances to stop and sniff) something he has missed since Barry had to stop running.

I tried cyclo-dogging the other day - Buddy stopped and I didn't - oops! More bruises and a reminder that I need to hone some skills!
To appreciate the sheer beauty and athleticism of a Dalmatian, horse-riding or cycling is imperative. The dogs don't change their cadence, just lengthen their stride, and they are magnificent.

Thank you to Misty Dawn and Bozo and his human for hosting these memes. To see more please click on their names.

Six Word Saturday

It's a windy wet November day
Many of the remaining autumn leaves will be tugged from the branches to join the rest in an unlovely soggy muddy carpet in our sodden garden. The birds will take every brief opportunity to visit the feeders before scurrying back to their places of safety. Can birds scurry? Probably not! Well then, the squirrels will scurry and the birds will . . . NOT. They will dart away, hopefully avoiding the attention of any watching Sparrowhawk.
Periodically the sun attempts to break through but I fear it's fighting a losing battle. The day reflects the sombre mood in our house but that will improve and the weather may not.

Thank you to Cate from 'Show My Face' for initiating and hosting this meme.
To nosey into other people's thoughts please click here.

Jenna the gundog

Slightly fuzzy photograph of Jenna showing that she can pick up and would be a very good worker in the field! That's a duck she's holding in her soft mouth, by the way.

The Jains

Sleepy Gus - 8 weeks old

As I have tripped over Gus or trodden on his paws or tail I have begun to slow my pace, adopting a sort of shuffling gait around the house. This is essential when small, fast moving animals are in the vicinity. I was shambling from cupboard to work top yesterday when I flippantly remarked that I should join the Poor Jains.

I have always referred to them as Poor Jains – maybe I was mixing them up with the Franciscan order of Poor Clares.

The Jains have always impressed me with their respect for all forms of life. I understood that they walked slowly and carefully in order not to harm any living creature, however small or insignificant. I thought they would not scratch an itch for fear of destroying life. Beyond that I knew very little so I researched . . .

Traditionally Jains are vegetarian and the strictest adherents will not eat root vegetables because pulling the root from the earth kills the plant and they believe that all living things have a soul.

Jains believe in reincarnation, aspiring to a release from the cycle of birth and death into a perpetual state of bliss for the soul. This is achieved by ridding the soul of all karma – in effect denying or resisting influences which affect purity of thought, word and deed.

Jainism is a living, thriving religion with followers in many countries though the greater majority are to be seen in India. Information about Jains in the UK can be found here.

Take a quotation . . . #2

A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger.

Proverbs 15:1

I have often quoted the first part of this verse from Proverbs but never the second. It came to mind yesterday for no particular reason. Is it a function of growing older that I am remembering, unbidden, things from my younger days? Oh dear, does this mean my short-term memory is shutting down along with the rest of me?

I exaggerate of course. I am strong and healthy and thankful for it when others my age - and younger - are severely compromised by poor health and reluctant joints and muscles. Mindful of the truism that things atrophy and die if not used, swimming, walking and cycling are all part of what passes for my routine. Brains also need exercise and to this end anything which stimulates interest must be investigated. Since I started blogging in February this year I have learnt such a lot, some of it rather mundane – for example, how could anyone enthuse about downloading a camera chip or inserting hyperlinks? I did! I have also researched spiders and butterflies, moths and wild flowers. In the past these things interested me but I had rarely recorded them and so often did not retain the names and knowledge. Now the electronic scrapbook called jabblog is my Commonplace book. I keep a personal quotation book too – an eclectic collection garnered from many sources and written in a large address book. At its commencement it posed the minor question of whether to cross-reference or not. I decided not – I have a tendency to over-complicate matters and then they become abstruse. Of course the corollary is over-simplification – oh, decisions, decisions!

I have also learned much from other blogs and been privileged to peek into the lives of people of all ages and persuasions across the planet. Thus my world expands and new knowledge brings fresh opportunities for research through books and the Internet, all of which must be used carefully. It's not enough to read information from one source for it may be incorrect. For example, one veterinary guide I possess claims categorically and completely inaccurately that epileptic seizures occur only during sleep and never when the animal is active. Another book, published in 2009, states that Ocicats are not registered in the UK – that is, the breed is not recognised by the GCCF (Governing Council of the Cat Fancy) Not true!

To return to the quotation: some people maintain that an argument allows the expression of different points of view. For these people an argument is a discussion or a debate. Other folks declare that it is good, maybe even necessary, to 'clear the air' of misconceptions, misunderstandings, grudges. For them an argument is a row or, less commonly in Great Britain, a fight. Yet others hold the view that hot tempers give rise to hasty wounding words, the sting of which lasts long after the original altercation, putting the lie to the old saying, 'Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me.'

I am not confrontational. I hate arguments. Moreover it makes me feel physically ill to see people haranguing each other. I don't know that my 'soft answers' turn away wrath – it's more often the case that 'silence is golden.' This is not to say that I don't express my displeasure or grievances – I do, when the heat of the moment has passed. (Goodness, there are so many clichés springing to mind today!) Rather, I prefer to state my opinions calmly and quietly in the expectation that they will be heard and understood. I could never be a politician! I'd be reduced to a shivering wreck on the stump but as I have no ambitions in that respect I shan't worry about it.