Walking The Dog

Spring.
'The Spring has sprung, the grass is rizz, I wonder where the boidie is' - words often wrongly attributed to Ogden Nash; instead penned by the more prolific writer, Anonymous. 
How do you judge when Spring has sprung?
For me, it is stepping outside and the surprise, after a winter of damp, earthy smells, of breathing in warm, green air. 
And the jostling, yellow gatherings, bursting above the grass. Or as Wordsworth rather more eloquently put it  "All at once I saw a crowd, A host of yellow daffodils, ... fluttering and dancing in the breeze"



I neither flutter nor dance in breezes. Nor do Four-legged-friend and Bertie Baggins. They do however like a spot of lazing in the Spring sun. Particularly when that lazing involves watching me; gardening.



Garden watching is all very well and companionably pleasing even if motivated by we-know-there-are-dog-biscuits-in-one-of-those-gardening-jacket-pockets-so-we'll-sit-here-keeping-you-company-for-as-long-as-it-takes.…

Discombobulation is fast becoming one of my favourite words; not least after someone who should have known better, asked a little sardonically "Discombobulation isn't a real word, is it?" and Littlest erupted in defence of one of her favourite words. She likes to utter it in full Blackadder fashion, with heavy emphasis on the central bob. And, before any doubters ask, she knows exactly what it means.

Sadly, I think I may, soon, have to stop referring to her as Littlest. Unless, unless, ... unless I do continue, simply because she occupies that position in this family, but with the caveat that in age, if not stature, she is not particularly little any more and indeed, understands more than her affectionate moniker might suggest. There then lies the end of an era, perhaps, if childhood can be an era and is not too short to be era-worthy. I suspect (correctly as it turns out) she may appreciate the irony of being called Littlest. So until she asks me not to, she will for no…