WARNING GRAPHIC PHOTO DEPICTING AN ARC OF THE CIRCLE OF LIFE.
Woodland matters first.
Benny, the dog, the slightly unhinged youngster disappeared like a bullet as a blur into the trees today, leaping like a deer after something this morning. Usually he runs off at this point to investigate a trail, disturb a Muntjac, pester a squirrel or just to go and have some fun away from me and the Ministry whose gibberish is best avoided sometimes.
Today he vanished for longer than usual which gave me time to remark to N that today was the day to be wearing wellies of all days. It had rained overnight and the ground was sticky in places, boggy in others; soaking wet. When are we going to get some frost or snow so I can take some decent photos and pick up the dog shit in the garden? This weekend the garden is going to be cleared from within an inch of its life, its such a mess with the fallen branches, the brambles on the spot where the trampoline was and holes where Benny has decided to dig and dig and dig. He’s ruined it I swear. Anyway I remarked to N about his inappropriate footwear and we all know the tale of the croc material wellies, the matching welly socks succumbing to sock creep at the earliest opportunity. They’ve got to be rubber, not neoprene, not croc material, you’ll do yourself an injury, look at what happened to the Ray Mears Wellies I had, useless and nearly damn near crippled me. So I have appointed my self head of a newly formed organisation which I shall call:
The National Institute of When to Wear Wellies
Just be warned, I am watching, by not wearing the appropriate footwear you are not only letting yourself down you are setting a bad example to those who may hold you in high regard as a role model or such like. Watch out celebrities, i’ve got all of your numbers.
Anyway, we split up, M to the West, myself to the East and N stayed where he was as we didn’t want his feet to get wet. After whet seemed like about 5 minutes Benny returned in the distance trotting towards us sporting a new grey handle-bar moustache. On closer inspection with my eyes, and at the correct distance it was revealed to be a dead squirrel, caught by my dog, and worn in a misdirected comedy moustache. The moral is to know your audience I think, Misty was there to see it and after several close sniffs we decided to leave the poor creature. Benny with a scratched nose and now king of the animal trappers having caught a sheep, a crow and now a squirrel. Misty still retains the Queen of Mousing crown but it’s surely just a matter of time.
In other news, after M’s 25 minute monologue yesterday which i failed to report upon due to my thinking people may not find it interesting and also because I forgot and on second thoughts actually this is exactly the sort of thing my readers do find interesting, you’ve been here this long, theres plenty more in the tank, so to speak. Anyway I had to prompt M yesterday to finish his diatribe by asking when we reached the still out of the woods if he got the torch. Turns out he did and today at coffee we gazed into the harsh laser like light and ruined our vision for the 10 minutes of drinking. A flash back to Friday’s eye test.
Right I’ve got to go, today it rained at work and so I’ve spent the afternoon sitting in front of the fire, listening to tunes and doing this. Best pretend to do something I suppose.