I really don't understand humans

Are humans always this strange - or is it just my humans?

Mum spent all afternoon doing this. And when I tried to help her, she shooed me away, or tugged on my collar. So, instead I decided to stand guard

And bark a bit at passing cars. But that seemed to make Mum cross, too, which I though was rather ungrateful - you never know who might be travelling down our road. We're not that far from London you know.

Next, Mum did something even stranger (I have seen her do it before, but I still don't know why). She made a big pile in the green trolley thing

And took it for a walk!! Which is more than I've had today. As if that weren't bad enough, she tipped her pile onto an even bigger pile that we found at the bottom of the garden

Crazy behaviour, don't you think - I mean why move piles around and what's the big pile for? It's a bit of a mess, but the rabbits seem to like it, so it smells good. Maybe that's the plan - she's building them a big rabbit house.

Finally, just in case she hadn't convinced me that she had lost the plot, already, she took the trolley for another walk

Empty!! Like taking the dog for a walk (tomorrow hopefully) but leaving me at home!

And one more thing, that I find very puzzling - we have two of these in our garden

What are they for? I've never seen anyone use them. They collect a lot of bird poo (which is sometimes good as a snack when the rabbits haven't been around much) ... but I am suspicious that they might have some other purpose. With a cushion or two, they'd make quite good seats!

Comments

Colour, Delacroix, flochetage and why don't we all have a go at inventing words

Yes - it is a real word. Flochetage. Well, a real-ish word. One invented by the painter Delacroix, when he found the dictionary cupboard bare and required a word to describe his technique of layering different coloured paints, using lightly pulled brush strokes to create texture and pattern and thereby enhance his base-layer colours (... lost? - stick around, read on and all will become clear. Or perhaps muddier ...). Flochetage implies both stringiness and threadiness. Apparently. And it sounds good - in a filling-the-mouth-with-sound sort of a way. Try it ... flochetaaaage. Not that I speak French. So I am probably mis-pronouncing it. Nor am I an artist. So what do I know about painting techniques - except that I think this one works. What I do like is the concept - you invent a new technique in whatever it is you do, hunt around for the vocabulary to describe it, find the dictionary is lacking, so make up a word of your own and announce to the world what it means. Delacroix isn&#

Confetti for the brain. A little bit of history regarding a use for holes and a couple of quotes.

Confetti - noun: small pieces of coloured paper thrown over a bride and groom following their marriage ceremony. Also the bane of church yards and wedding venues - who wants to exit church after their favourite spinster aunt's funeral and slip on the papier mâché mush of last weekend's weddings, or step, in your wedding gown, onto a pink spattered step when your colour theme is lilac? Confetti - derived from the Latin confectum, meaning something prepared. Which suggests that there is something missing from the traditional wedding rhyme 'something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue ... something prepared.' How about something shared ... declared ... or ensnared?? Nature's confetti is all over the ground at this time of year - The garden, footpaths, and pavements are covered in blossom snow. And, when he falls asleep beneath the apple tree, it speckles Four-legged-friend's black coat. The confetti we know today - bits of b

My beloved boy, how lucky I have been

It's an odd thing that when we are waiting for someone to die ... and I say someone here even though the one in question was a dog - but to us he had character and a place forever in our hearts and was more of a familiar someone than some of the people in our lives. So, I'll start again - it's an odd thing that when we are waiting for someone to die, our senses go into overdrive. We notice things that normally would be part of the background of our every day. We breathe more - or rather, we don't but what we do is notice our breathing more, as we watch his. We pause. We think. We listen to ourselves and our inner voices speak. Memories flood our dreams ... though sleep is fitful. Why am I telling you this? ... ... we lost this beautiful boy today And in the hours before he went, I saw perfect spheres of dew on blades of grass - little orbs holding micro-images of our world; a bumble bee drunk on nectar, yellow-dusted with pollen, resting in a crocus; ten - yes, ten!

Walking The Dog

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