Willow is now five months old.
I have been sick for a week. All the photos this week have been taken with my iPad, and mostly in my bed. Dogs make great hot water bottles when you are shivering with a fever. Time goes by slowly when you’re sick but seeing Willow’s snapshots and how much her body has changed from teeny puppy to small dog, time also speeds by like a bullet. Or a terrier running through the garden with your sock in her mouth.
I haven’t been able to do much to find an outlet for their rambunctious spirits. Therefore, three pillow cases, two wool socks and one lovely cream coverlet have become victim to what looks suspiciously like puppy gnawing rather than damage done by gigantic lunar moths from another planet. I’m telling you this on the q.t. I can’t complain to my trainer because none of them are supposed to be on or in my bed. Ever.
Martha has slept on the bed for 16 years. I’m not about to take that away from her now because the Bed Thing is spoiling the other two. It’s come one, come all, I’m afraid. Gah.
We did have the most amazing murmuration of starlings this week I’ve ever witnessed. Thousands of them swooped around the fields of my farm and around the garden like a symphony of notes of a Rachmaninov concerto. Incredibly choreographed by some instinct, they went to ground, then swooshed up in formations in the air around the house and fields until they finally flew away. I managed only to catch a quick shot of part of their last swoop. Oh, for my Nikon, a wide lens and a perch on the ridge line of my roof.