Show Me the Way to go Home . . . . please!

My home village is on the edge of Bodmin Moor, an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty.

It's a fascinating place to walk with the ever-changing scenery and the presence of the animals that roam freely; sheep. ponies and cattle as well as the wild creatures that live there.

Gorgeous views at all times of the year but thanks to all the rain we've 'enjoyed' in recent weeks it's n now rather squelchy and muddy underfoot - definitely requiring wellingtons or stout boots and a keen lookout for where to place your feet.

Benji is fully recovered now and the plastic cone has been banished, so I took him for his afternoon walk, along with a friend's dog, Goldie the Golden Labrador.  Both were on extending leads - Benji because he would chase after sheep if given a chance - and Goldie because she kept stopping to look back in the direction of the car park and I was worried she would double back to look for her owner. Despite the restrictions on galloping all over the place, we all enjoyed the walk and it was good to catch up with several of the regular dog-walkers - and my two reprobates were glad to cadge biscuits from the other dog-walkers!

However, I was keeping an eye on the failing light so decided to head back towards the car.  Then a friend called out to me, made a fuss of the dogs and started to chat . . and we chatted . . . and chatted until I realised that it really was getting dark.  A hasty goodbye and on we went towards the car park.  It was impossible to see the mud and the uneven ground so I was quite worried about losing my footing. In films, the clever dogs would unerringly take their beloved master/mistress back to the car and safety . . . I didn't have those dogs!  One was sniffing and trailing in one direction, the other pulling in the opposite direction. 

Most of the Moor is covered in bracken and there are grassy tracks criss-crossing the ground used by animals and walkers alike, but as the darkness deepened it was easy to wander from the tracks.  At one stage I was panicking because I had expected to come across a leaning thorn tree which marked the junction of two paths and the place to turn towards home.  Should I retrace my steps and try to find it or carry on a bit further?  I carried on and shortly came to that tree.  Phew! From there, it was much easier, though I was slipping and sliding all over the track where it was well-used near the car parking area.  Such a relief to climb the last little slope and see headlights of a few cars on the road that follows the edge of the Moor. Oh my - such a relief to get the dogs safely in the car and head home.

Lesson learned - get clear of the Moor well before darkness falls and carry a TORCH! 

Poor Benji

Did you ever see such a sad face?  He makes me feel so guilty when he looks at me like that, pleading with me to take this horrible cone off, but it has to stay on at least until Wednesday when we go back to the vet.  It's to stop him reaching his tail and chewing at it - that's what started this course of action.
Overnight he had made a real mess of his tail which necessitated the trip to the vet, where he had to undergo a thorough cleaning, antiseptic spray and the indignity of being muzzled and held by one vet assistant while the vet did the deed.   It was obviously very painful and he protested loudly. I had been sent out to the waiting room and was cringing at the howls.  I'm not looking forward to taking him back on Wednesday!
While he was adjusting to 'life with a cone' yesterday, he was crashing into chair legs (I've now moved the furniture around to give him more turning space) and finding it difficult to assess the gap through the partially opened doorways (now with wider gaps!)
After a failed attempt at jumping up on to his sofa, he simply stood with head hanging down, the picture of misery -

Last night wasn't too bad; I heard the clatter as he moved around a couple of times, but then settled, probably through sheer exhaustion.  He didn't get up until 9am and was immediately ready for his breakfast.  Usually it's just a complete food biscuit breakfast but today I mixed in some meat and veg in gravy, cunningly hiding an antibiotic tablet within.  He scoffed the lot, no problem. To encourage him to drink I put some water in his bowl and added the tiniest few drops of milk - while he watched eagerly - and he drank it all up.  Yessss!
He has now perfected the art of jumping up on to the sofa or pouffe and his assessment of gaps has improved.  So now he's sitting on the pouffe, resting his cone-encased head on the windowsill, watching out for invaders . . . well, anyone who wanders past the house.  But not barking at them as usual;  he's just not in the mood for all that effort.

Looking back

I've been watching "The Crown" on Netflix in recent weeks, in fact I've watched all 3 seasons to the end.  It's very addictive, I found. And it amazed me that I knew so little about our recent history.  While at school we were taught about the Henrys, the Charles', the Marys, the Georges and all those fascinating tales of bygone Royalty and their doings, once I left school I seemed to be largely unaware of what was going on in the present.  So as I watched "The Crown" I found myself pausing the action while I Googled for more information - and the memories came flooding back.
In the 1970s I clearly remember the Miners' Strike and the 3 Day weeks, the days without electricity, the power cuts even on days when we were supposed to have electricity, the shortage of many foodstuffs and the awful struggle to survive on wages that were slashed drastically by being unable to work because we were laid off.  Inflation was at an all-time high and the government decided to cap wages.
My marriage had ended in divorce and I was bringing up my young son on my own. There were no luxuries.  I didn't have a TV so we read books or played games (if there was enough light!); washing was done in the copper in the kitchen and my Mum's old dolly tub and puncher, along with the big wooden-rollered mangle all came in very useful. Carpets and floors were cleaned with a stiff brush or mopped. Our coalman had no coal to sell, so we were without any heat -  we wrapped up in extra clothes and blankets and went to bed early.
We lived in a council house and I recalled hiding and keeping quiet some weeks when the rent-man was due to call; the arrears took an age to clear once I was able to go back to full time work and I was terrified that we would lose our home.
The Good Old Days, eh?
More to follow another day, if anyone's interested.
Is anyone else watching "The Crown"?

I'm back in business - hopefully.

For 7 months I haven't had the ability to transfer photographs from my camera to my laptop and thence to my blog,  so huge apologies for my absence.  I think I'm now set up again; I sincerely hope so.  Photo quality may not be all it should be as I haven't figured out how to edit them yet - it's a learning curve!

So for now, can I introduce you to Flora?  Flora lives close to Seaton Country Park and every day she comes down from her home with a bag of duck food and another bag of food for the seagulls. The ducks start to emerge from the river and waddle across the grass to the bench where Flora sets her bag down at about 3.30pm.  The seagulls appear from above, screeching and flapping to get their share of the food and settle around her feet.  

Flora lifts the seagull food out of her little trolley.

The amazing thing about this is that having received their allocation of food, the seagulls, who would normally pester and screech for more, seem satisfied and simply fly away, leaving Flora to walk away quietly wth her ducks!

As she walks  along, she is making a hole in one corner of the duck food bag -

- so that she can pour a line of food on the ground, enabling all the ducks to eat without fighting 

over one single heap. All very civilised - and n.ot a seagull in sight

Bag emptied and job done for Flora.  Until the next day at 3.30pm.

PENTIDDY

It's the first week of the Easter holiday so traffic is much heavier than usual and Cornwall's beaches and beauty spots can be very busy.

I craved somewhere quiet and peaceful where I could wander, quieten my mind and hopefully calm my thoughts.  This pretty lane, very close to home, felt like it would lead to just the right place.

And sure enough . . . . 

Pentiddy is privately owned, but the woodland is open to the public. It has an air of calm, enhanced by the birdsong, trees and wildflowers.

I love this gateway to the burial ground.

I didn't go in there today, though of course it is also open to the public; a grave was being quietly prepared and I felt it more respectful to walk through the woodland.

It's a 'natural' burial ground, so coffins are made of biodegradable material, bodies are not embalmed or cremated so that everything is returned to the earth in as natural a way as possible. There are no memorials or markers of any kind so that the whole site becomes a memorial. 

Halfway round, a handy place to rest awhile and enjoy the sunshine. 

 or to go exploring, with one eye on me!

Lovely blossoms - I think maybe this is a cherry tree? 

Apart from one man and his dog who were just leaving as I arrived, I saw no-one else in the hour or so that I spent in these lovely surroundings.

Mission accomplished!

Let's go home, Benji.

Battered and bruised!

Not quite sure how I managed it but I fell up the concrete steps leading to my kitchen door today.  In the process, I head-butted a heavy stone lion statue, knocking it down the steps and smashing a large pot containing tulips, bashed my shoulder into the door frame, grazed both knees and somehow gained a deep'ish cut on the bottom of my foot, underneath my big toe. (I was wearing sandals.)

All in all, quite a nasty event.  Then as I sat there, wondering on the best way to get back on my feet, there was a sudden icy shower of hailstones.  Benji, faithful dog, immediately scrambled underneath my legs to gain some shelter! By the time I had checked for blood and broken bones I was soaked and flippin' freezing, but by turning to get my feet on the lowest step and hanging on to the wooden banister, I eventually managed to pull myself upright and hobbled indoors.

Gave Benji a thorough towelling to dry his curly coat, cleaned my foot with kitchen towel and warm water, slapped some Savlon on and attached a plaster, then made a reviving cup of tea and sat down with it to recover my senses.

I think a couple of Paracetamol will be useful tonight at bedtime, so that I can be comfortable and get some sleep.

Tomorrow, I will lift the lion back on to his step and check that no damage was done. And I will re-pot the tulips. 

The rare Lesser-Spotted Bichon.

Again - two posts on one day (I've edited to add this information because no-one has noticed the Skylarks - below!)

It's a good job that Benji isn't a show dog!  Recently he started to lick at an area of fur for no particular reason and gradually that area turned brown because his saliva had stained it.  (This happens regularly when he cleans his paws after a walk, or salivates while eating food). So now my little white Bichon Frise has a very noticeable brown spot on his side. 

Even after several shampoos and two haircuts the mark is still visible.  

Oh, the questions I get asked.