The days are getting shorter as we are weeks away from Christmas. This makes looking after our hens a very mathematical challenge.
Monty likes to stand in the daybreak and call the world to order. The fact that no daylight turns up before nine in the morning makes him confused. This means that some mornings you can hear him tooting away at six am, some mornings you wake him up at eight. When that happens he gets very embarrassed and overcompensates and his voice brakes. Monty has grown a lot this autumn and is now a handsome cockerel but he still tends to sound like Tarzan, at times.
Having a chick in the house is fun but when it's a mixed breed it's difficult to know if it's a boy or a girl. With our Little Beep it's been a guessing game, back and forth, back and forth and last week we finally decided that it's Lisbet. So to show us how wrong we usually are, Lisbet grew massively in one week and Eric it is. To really drive home the truth, Little Beep's voice broke so now our little chick sounds like a beeping drum. We have two cockerels in the house and all we can do is hope for the best.
Monty does not seem to mind as he follows Lina around, telling her what a beautiful hen she is. This takes up most of his day and Lina is getting used to it, a bit. She pecks him when he walks too close to her but most of the day she is fine with it. Last night when I said goodnight to them Monty was not in his usual place, on his bed in the sheep pen. I looked for him, thinking he might have fallen down in to the hay (he can do that...) but then saw that he was in the hen house. First time in his life Lina had invited him to lay next to her and he was stock still, trying not to rock the boat. It just goes to show that persistent flattering can work, eventually. So we just have to hope that Lina accepts Eric for the little boy in the group he is and that Monty is too much in love to care. And that's Cows Will Fly!
Feeding our hens is another math challenge. They start eating when daylight brakes and stop in the dusk. This means that we have to serve dinner an hour before the sun goes down or they go to bed hungry. Lina is the only hen that eats in artificial light and she is still giving us an egg every other day. But as we want her to stop and have a winter break, there is only a dim evening light on in the stable for now. This light is for the sheep and they turn in early too, so it's lights out and nighty night at seven, seven thirty pm in their house. By then the hens have slept for hours, dotted around the stable and some even in the hen house. Wishing Mindy, Mandy, Molly and My a good night has to be done in a whisper or Eric wakes everyone up, asking if it's morning and what's for breakfast. I guess he is a teenager...
Our dear sheep likes autumn and the cosy atmosphere it brings. Due to constant warmth and stormy weather, winter seems to make us wait, this year. We spend time indoors, chatting and fixing. Mindy loves her hens popping in for a visit, Molly steals their food and all is well in their world. We just wish the rest of the world would get there, as well.
I love it when people tell stories about their animals, present or past friends. That look in their eyes of faraway memories. That haunted look of someone telling me what his or her horse did yesterday. I remember those stories for a very long time. My brain works very well with my heart on those occasions. Tell me a story about what some people did and I forget the story before it's finished. I guess it's what you really care about...
We have had some hunting dogs and some fox terriers in our family that by now seem like old friends. The Finnish hunting dog is of a very kind nature and a true friend, so those you've had one as a family member are never forgotten. Fox terriers just get up to so much mayhem, when used as hunters, that the scars on your heart are permanent. Animals do that to you.
Stina, the first family dog my sister and I got to know was amazing. Born into a family of Champion dogs, American ancestors and as posh as they get.... she was a catastrophe on legs! Nothing stopped her. Once she fell of the back of a truck we were playing on for some reason. She did not even limp. Stina ate rat poison, vomited half a kilo of salt and poison and survived. She ended up on a block of ice, out on a brook in the spring, tipped it over and almost drowned - brave friend saved her that time. The stories go on and on... Her biggest accident was when she went off on her own to do some elk hunting and got kicked in the eye. She managed well with just one eye, after that.
I never forget the story of our friend who got into trouble over a runaway rabbit. It was the funniest story, told very well and just a perfect example of what animals do to us. We love them; they know it and carry on doing exactly what they feel like doing. This, all in the safe knowledge that when they get into trouble we will be there to help. Mr. Chip is a perfect example. By day he is the king of the world, by night he sleeps on our legs because it's a little dark. I have not felt my legs in the night for months - I can't move them in case I disturb the little fella.
My dear husband cracks me up with stories about Shaky, the family goldfish. And it's a fish!
For this weeks picture I thought that maybe Dasha, our brilliant artist friend, would like to paint one of her animal memories. I do know that if asked, our animals would all like to be in the picture. Molly would insist, as she has started a new job this autumn. Self -selected, Molly is now the official ambassador for all the sheep - in the world. When we get visitors, Molly steps forward and greets them with very royal manners. It's a bit surprising at times, but we can live with it. It's just that she looks like a rugby player and stands on your feet, to get closer.... You never see ambassadors do that. But she means well, bless her.
I did not bring up Elvira, the worlds kindest dog, in this text, as I would never stop. Elvira gets her own week, later on. For now, take care and remember to start thinking of Christmas presents for all your furry, feathery or maybe scaly friends. I'm making Christmas stockings for all and everyone. Small ones for the hens, otherwise they will think that I got them sleeping bags and move in.
P.s. A lovely Christmas present this year to a loved one could well be an adopted animal from Durrell zoo. They make a lovely gift out of it. And it helps saving animals, all around the world. Have a look at their web site, you will enjoy it!
We have started feeding the birds in the forest, as the weather is now colder. This means that the early bird catches a seed or two, before our red squirrels wake up and feast. We are only in November and the squirrel community is already sporting very shiny coats. There might be a weight issue to be dealt with if snow does not arrive soon. Our little red neighbours are warm enough not to burn off all the calories they consume so branches are groaning where they land. I think they all attended Scout meetings when younger, so they are prepared!
The white tailed deer association around our parts seems to be doing well; we see a lot of them every morning. Deer, in general, are flighty, nervous animals but the ones visiting us must have realised that there is no need to run past our yard. Once they met our four sheep, had a nervous breakdown and had a calming nap, they were fine.
The first meetings were funny to watch. Mindy, Mandy, Molly and My plodding along, tummies round with food. Around the corner comes a sleek, slender and much bigger animal. Our four M's backing away slowly, heads down, while the deer stands frozen to the spot. “I’ve never seen four balls on legs before and reversing ones at that”, the dear must have exclaimed. Then it shot off into the forest faster than anything should be going in such tricky terrain... But word spread about our four woolly balls being friendly so now we have regular visits from the deer population. And they keep our sheep from wandering into the farmer’s fields.
Elks pop in too. They are much bigger animals and clearly more smelly creatures, according to the four M's. When Mindy and her friends moved to us she informed us that they would be explorers. Mindy would lead them and they would be brave creatures of the world. So off they plodded, on their merry way to our postbox. This made me a bit apprehensive, as cars go past on that road, some with considerable speed. So I followed the brave ones.
They did well at first. All in a row, head to tail, keeping up a brisk pace and clearly enjoying themselves. By the last bend in the road, just minutes from their goal, it all went wrong. Mindy started sniffing and at the same time a huge elk stepped out in front of them. Never have I seen sheep move so fast. Turning on the spot and shooting past me they bolted for their home. The poor elk did the same and it is impressive how agile these big animals can be.
I later asked the four explorers about their next trip but apparently they had taken early retirement. Not once have they walked all the way to the postbox and hopefully it will stay that way. Less stress all around, I think.
It's good to have slightly smelly neighbours. I hope they will all enjoy a safe, good winter with lots of food available for them, to keep them warm. The four M's leave hay out for them and that's nice. No hard feelings in our yard.
We have now spent some months with Mr. Chip as a Cushing syndrome patient. After a slightly wobbly start we now seem to have mastered pills and doses. Starting from sleepy dog, going to hyper sensitive dog and now almost normal dog, all in one autumn season, is quite good work I think. We're still not out of the woods, so to speak but at least we are not stumbling around in complete darkness.
Being 13 years old does not help when you start new medication. Being a terrier never helps any process, as terriers tend to do things their own way. Having the world’s kindest dog makes everything easier and as the vet commented, "It would help their work a lot if more terriers were like Mr. Chip." He has been a very brave dog through all the blood tests and pills, and on top of that he hurt his leg.
It was on a morning walk that Mr. Chip stepped on a twig, yelled and made a leap like a snow fox. The leap was too much before all muscles had woken up so he pulled something and had to be carried home. It was those stupid sticks that are left after a clearing saw on a forest road that did it and now we have been convalescing for weeks and weeks. The vet suggested acupuncture but we chose to go home and read a good book instead. Lots of rest and no more needles for Mr. Chip, was the plan. I think we are getting there, although for a while our dear dog adapted a crab-like walk. He would start to walk sideways and pick up speed so at some point I could almost see his crab claws forming. It turned out that it was a way to recuperate as he's back to walking straight again.
My normal reaction to Crab Chip would have been to rush to the vet and yell "All the treatments available, please! " but he has been through enough this autumn so we are trying home remedies first. He will be checked out this week when we go in for more blood tests.
Cushing syndrome is treatable and I'm starting to hope it's true in our case, too. Some evenings we have had dinner without Mr. Chip almost fainting next to us from being so appalled that some food in the house actually ends up on our plates. He does not drink all the water in the village at once anymore and his sleeping pattern has gone back to normal. When he was really stressed out, he fell into such deep sleep, that you thought he was in a coma. Very unnerving! He does shake more than he used to, though, so Parkinson's springs to mind. Maybe there is a connection? I will have to read up on that, too. In the meantime we will enjoy the company of our dear friend and hope for the best. The hens will have to watch out because Mr. Chip the hen hunter is back. Lina almost walked in to his mouth, yesterday, before catching on that the beast is back. I saved that situation but could not help being a little happy about it all. Mr. Chip has found his mode again, long may it last and we can try and keep him away from the hens. Also, having seen Lina's work with her beak, I think Mr. Chip would have let go very quickly. And let's face it, he's back but he still likes his hens plucked, thank you!
P.s. We had a day at the vet and Mr. Chip really is responding to his medicine. We were all very pleased with that news and glad that it was not just me thinking that way....
The friendly sheep farmers that we have the good fortune to know arrived last week. So now our four M’s are sporting very short, very fine coats. What's left of their woolyness sits in four bulging hessian bags waiting to be made into yarn. My dear husband will take it to a ecological spinner company and after almost a year we will get it back. And I can knit us a pair of socks, or so...
Shearing Mindy, Mandy, Molly and My is interesting, to say the least. They like the feel of a shorter coat, when it's done but they do not help out much, to get there.
First of all, they are quite large animals. They like their food and find plenty of it, so lifting them up on the shearing table is a challenge. The friendly farmers have the right touch and I help out by pushing at the back. Style does not come in to this process! I say "help out" but my input during the whole session is basically to be there to keep our ladies calm, be in the way and to be slightly silly in general. I do it well and that's why our farmer friends have to be friendly.
Secondly, sheep tend to panic easily, so shearing our M’s means a firm grip or you go flying of the table with the said animal. My is really fast at throwing herself backwards and that can end badly. This year she also realised that by pulling up her legs she could be extra special and end up looking like an black, fluffy egg on a pedestal. No browny points for her this autumn...
Sheep farmers have the calmest of nature. You need it and I'm learning more, all the time. Having sheep like Molly and Mindy around helps a lot, too. Mindy told Mandy to get a grip and she was really brave this time. Her input was just vocal. Foghorn springs to mind.... Molly stands still, asks about some snacks and worries that everyone won't have a good time. And after they are all sheared, Molly starts an almighty fight, because now they all look different, smells of oil from the machine and because she needs to let of steam. They go out and fight the living daylight out of each other for an hour of so and then have to come in for a rest. Strange animals, sheep....
Our dear hens spent the whole morning in the forest because the shearing machine is loud and you never know...
As a treat my dear husband brought home straw for the sheep, as it gets a bit nippy beings slightly naked in November. I made nice bedding for them with golden straw on a thick base of sawdust. They then spent the night eating straw and kept warm that way. From being round in the evening they changed to an almost barrel sized look, the next morning. You can't win, with sheep...
The hens got some straw as a treat, just because they always like that, treats that is. It turned out they love straw and it has now turned in to a bit of an obsession with them. They spent three whole days playing with it and had no time to go out. They moved straw around the whole hen house, around the sheep pen, around the stable in general and then started pecking through the straw still in bales. It was amazing to watch. Small birds going hundred and ten around the house, building and fixing, straw everywhere. The poor sheep never knew where their snack would turn up next.
I cracked before they all collapsed from being over worked and forced them out into the sun. Not a popular move but they still get time to build, in the evenings. Who would have thought hens could get even more special. Lina almost had a fit because she had to carry on turning our compost and build straw creations. She spent some days running back and forth and I thought her little heart would give up but she is calmer now. Monty went over to help with the digging and that helped. He loves her so much and she pecks him hard in the chest and tells him all about how beautiful Waldemar was. So he lives in hope and digs up the compost in the meantime. There's some wisdom in that but as my brain has turned into straw and wool, I can't grasp it, yet.
It has not been the happiest of weeks.
We lost a dear friend and even the weather turned dark and gloomy, to match our feelings. One morning the fox found out where our hens had built their playhouse and visited them. They are very fast workers, foxes, so even though Dear Husband ran, he could not save one of the hens. Dearest Dimi, our beautiful youngster, got taken and once again we were all extremely sad.
Darya, Dimis best friend, spent the rest of the day waiting for her to return and that did nothing to lift our spirits. As I've written before, these are the moments when we start questioning our way of keeping hens. In a cage they would be safe and in one place, no foxes around. Then I read about a hen keeper who had a bird of prey visiting the henhouse, killing a lot of his birds, in their home and I think you can't win.
So the hens stayed indoors for a few days and that's as much fun as it gets. Grumpy, stomping around birds that inform loudly about animal cruelty does not make you less sad. Outside the four M’s are roaming around, looking for the them and calling for me to help looking. All in all, not a happy place. It's also alarming to see how quickly hens get bored indoors. They start picking on everything the others do, they steal each other’s food and they get snippy with poor Monty. This, even though I brought them fresh grass and loads of extra food. I even made a sand heap in the middle of the stable for them. That, they did not touch, but I fell over it, twice.
So I caved in and the hens are out again. I run around clapping and speaking loudly into the forest about what I will do to any fox brave enough to try again and just hoping that no one (apart from Family Fox ) hears me.
Mindy, Mandy, Molly and My look at me like I have completely lost the plot and the hens are busy checking out the place, where they met the animal of the forest. My stress level has reached new heights and I'm thinking of moving into town to cultivate silk flowers on a small windowsill..... Then the hens turn up and inform me that as I would not really like the idea, and could I feed them instead? So I do, and they are right. Mindy also tells me that sheep do not like silk flowers, so I should get a grip. And I do - but at the end of the day, loosing a friend hurts and one should have the right to feel sad. Then it’s to get on with it, as our four woolly therapists tell me.
On a happier note, Little E is now looking very much like a not so little Lisbet hen, as you saw last week. Still beeping away but taller than her mother. And she has inherited her fathers logical thinking, so we will all soon be sporting grey hair and worry wrinkles. Can't wait!
It's Sunday morning and Mr Chip is hiding under a quilt, informing me about the “Day of Rest.” Apparently he believes strongly, that it applies more to dogs, than humans. He will have great support from our dear sheep that love a slow morning in the making. When all timetables have gone to pot their morning is complete. Not that we have a very stressful life, but sheep like to sleep in. And it is Sunday... The hens, however, will be angry and stressed and the stable will look a sight, when I get there. Hens are early risers and when kept in for a few minutes extra, they rearrange the stable, decorate it freely and end their protest by turning out all the seeds from their bowls - to have a look at the bottom of the dish. "And they don't care what day it is!" thank you very much.
Mindy, Mandy, Molly and My (pronounced as the German word uber, by the way...) are still walking around looking like woolly toys and at the moment I have to brush them every day. Molly especially can turn up with all sorts, stuck to her coat. It's like an autumn collage with legs, when she arrives. The day she also sported half a Juniper branch stuck to her side, I really wished I'd had a good camera at hand. It was a mixture of woodland gobbling and Phoenix. And it took some time to separate the two.... Mindy has a coat that's so soft that she should work at a kindergarten. If anyone got sad, hugging her would help a lot. My has a funny coat of really curly wool that lets all manner of stuff in. Brushing her is like a tale of their day. I can find evidence of forest walks, nettles from the hen playground, red paint that really should have been left on the wall where it was applied and of course sawdust. One day a very lost, very angry elf will turn up from inside her coat and that will take some explaining.... Mandy does not believe in grooming. I can do some quick brushing of her head, under her chin and maybe remove some nettle leafs from her coat, but that's it. So she walks around looking like someone that the Salvation Army should take on, whereas the rest of our fluffy group could be sold at Toys'r Us.
The sun is up, the day is clear and we will now start the day. Mr. Chip has woken up so it is time for breakfast. I have drunk my own body weight in coffee, already, and it's been nice sitting in bed, writing. There might be some truth in that theory about Sunday's, but maybe not every week, as our hens would have to move house. And that would be sad... The clocks went back so happy winter time everyone from all of us and Happy Halloween from Lisbet and friends.
Autumn has arrived in our village. It's getting a lot colder and the temperature is already on minus, in the nights. I guess this is normal weather for us, but we have been spoilt for some years with English weather, where the cold comes a bit later in the year. So frozen fields in the mornings are a bit of a chock for the system.
Mindy, Mandy, Molly and My seem to be quite relaxed about it, as they are still sporting their nice woolly coats. They will be sheared in two weeks time, so if the cold continues it will mean some days inside to adjust. Funnily that will not be a problem, as our four M’s love their home. It must be the light fading or the crisp air, but our sheep seem to be even more cozy and happy indoors, at the moment. They snuggle up for a hug and four of them trying to put their heads on my shoulders at once mean we end up looking like a rugby scrum. They also count their hens, checking that everyone is indoors, in the afternoon. Little chick E is still easy to spot. We hear where that little friend is holding fort, thanks to the constant beeping.
It's a cozy sort of time of the year. Animals are settling down for the winter, the feeding of the birds in the forest begins and life gets a bit less hectic. The hens are still outdoors all day as they refuse to be indoors. A bit of frozen grass never hurt anybody, apparently. But they find their way back home earlier now in the afternoons and by six o'clock all is still in the stable.
Last winter was a warm and icy version. Not ideal for animals with four spindly legs and a passion for bolting for no apparent reason. So with Christmas just around the corner, Molly hurt her leg. Farm animals have a tendency to get ill or get hurt around holiday times. As soon as there are less vets at work, shops are closed and families gather to celebrate something, they need help. So Molly got Christmas as her time to sprain a muscle on the slippery ice. It was not a broken leg but it was very sore. It took a few days for the vet to come out, as rest some times does the trick, but not with our dear Ms. Fixer. Molly does not do rest very well as she has to check what's happening and what everyone is eating.
The kind vet that arrived had never met us before. We are, as a group, a bit of a surprise for anyone and the lady took it well. All the hens started telling her their life story as soon as she entered the stable and though I asked her not to, she could not resist letting them out of the pen. So then we had helper hens all around the stable. Most of them investigated the vet’s bag. Catching Molly was no problem, not stepping on feathery assistants was more so. Molly got painkillers and I had to show the bewildered vet that I could handle feeding her with a syringe. That went well.
Then the hens were checked out and the accommodation approved of and even the little rabbit that stayed the winter had a visit from the vet. All through this there was a constant call of "Danger!" from Waldemar. The whole thing was a bit more Monty Python than James Herriot, I must admit. But we passed the inspection, Molly got help and I got a headache.
Three days of medicating Molly went well. After that I had to ask Dear Husband to help with holding her. Molly felt better and her leg healed completely. However, we had one mystery on our hand - A little Christmas conundrum.
All the small, used syringes that I had used to medicate Molly went missing. I left them on a shelf, on a plate to be disposed of later. There were no needles, just small, shiny plastic syringes. But they were gone. I looked for them and worried that someone was eating plastic. I should have known that the explanation was much simpler, knowing our lot. The clever hens carried them home to the hen house as decorations for the holiday season. Shiny, sticky and quite fetching, they were, with a coat of loose feathers on them.
I don't know why I thought of this, must be the icy grass and the cold weather. Or the fact that Molly keeps running around my legs telling me, that autumn is a lovely season to really let go and stretch the old legs before going in to snuggle down for the night. I keep hoping for more snow this year, as it keeps sheep on their feet even in sharp corners.
Every home should have a manure heap of some sort behind an outbuilding. It's the busiest place in the village and very useful - I really missed that during the years we did not have any animals at home.
Horse manure is of course the best stuff to have lying around, but sheep droppings and especially hen poo goes a long way too, to heat up the heap. That's when flies, bugs and beetles arrive. The butterfly population has increased too, since the animals arrived. Helping biodiversity on a small scale, I guess...
When we had horses, the grass snakes took over our manure heap. They lay eggs and need a warm place for them to hatch and that we could provide in abundance. They became very tame and all summer you could see small pencil sized heads popping up when we walked by. In the autumn they left for the woods and we missed our slimy, beautiful friends.
Our dear hens love the manure heap too. I started to build up a heap in the wrong place and thought I would move it later in the summer. I never made it, as our hens turned it over and scattered it in all directions. They had help from a lot of small birds that live nearby.
Now that the weather is turning colder our yard is turning into a pit stop for the migrating birds. They find corn, seeds, bugs and stuff that will keep them going for a while, a long while, I hope. In the mornings small birds sit warming themselves. A manure heap generates a surprising amount of warmth, and the raccoon dog that uses it as its toilet every, night must like it too.
I remember one spring, when we still had horses at home. The warmth arrived quite early and it was glorious weather for a long time. The warm winds brought small tits, sparrows and lots and lots of robins to our village. It's the first and only time I've seen so many robins in one place. They stayed around the stable eating bugs and grains and collected bits for their nests. Then one afternoon the weather changed and snow arrived. Our father who was a practical and a very caring person put his thinking cap on, handed me a hay fork and off we went. He figured that we had one thing to offer all the small birds and that was warmth. The rest of the day we dug trenches in our massive horse, sawdust and straw heap. I still remember how hot it was, we dug as deep as we could, only our heads stuck out and it was almost dark when we finished. And the birds came. We could not save all of them but a lot stayed the nights in there. Every day we dug some more, until winter went away again. The birds found maggots to eat, we left grains as well and it was all a bit lovely.
This memory has stayed with me. It was a small act of kindness but it helped many. Today I think of that kindness and wish more people could take time, dig deep and help out. You don't have to have a heap of poo around the corner to help someone, a generous heart goes a long way to do that. And the ability to see something good in everyone, says Molly the sweetheart.
As I already told you, Mr. Chip turned 13 years old this summer. It amazes us that he's made it this far, considering he's favourite hobby is chasing cars. It's been our task to stop him and so far we have succeeded. Mr. Chip also dreams of catching a squirrel, or five. They are he is his worst enemy because he has a very good technic, when hunting them. He sneaks up on the poor squirrel that is happily munching away, and jumps. As terriers can be very cat like, Mr. Chip gets very close before the cone eater notices him. That's when I imitate a train whistle and ruins the hunt. The thought of a Fox terrier and a squirrel fighting makes my mind boggle. One would not let go and the other one has very sharp, strong teeth...
And then there is the library bus. A huge, tires wide as ever, bus that Mr. Chip would like to drag home. Life is not dull with a terrier in the house.
But he is slowing down a bit. Long mornings in bed mean he does not venture out for his morning walk before eight o'clock, anymore. We got the explanation when we took him to the vet. Poor Mr. Chip has at some point during the summer developed Cushing Syndrome. That means that he's little body is producing too much of a stress hormone that makes his day fly by, so he sleeps like a log. A dog must rest at some point, I guess...
Mr. Chip is such a kind dog, that we did not notice the change in him. You would think having stress would make him a bit edgy at times, but no. We only did the blood test because the vet had said that he might need one later in the autumn if he changes his behavior drastically. Sleeping a bit longer is clearly dramatic behavior in our house, mutters Mr. Chip... It was good that we went, though. Cushing Syndrome needs to be treated for the rest of his life and we are now working to find the right dose of medicine for our friend. That means a lot of blood tests and Mr. Chip is not a happy dog. Cushing Syndrome can lead to hair loss, pot bellyness and it eats away in the body if not treated, so we soldier on.
The interesting thing was that once our little dog started eating his pills, all the stress and oddness started showing. Evenings were spent panting madly, running from room to room counting people and drinking water like it's going out of fashion. His appetite, that already was quite impressive, increased. The vet was also slightly surprised that we went the wrong way, so to speak. But now we seem to be getting there, finding a balance again. Here's hoping, anyway. It would be nice to be able to eat a sandwich without Mr. Chip almost passing out next to us, with indignation. For a while he thought all the food in the house was his and we were stealing it.
The saddest part in this is that there is no early "guys only" walks in the mornings, anymore. My dear husband just gets up and goes to work. Maybe later on, when snow arrives and lights up the mornings a little, our friend will get out of bed a bit earlier, again. But for now Mr. Chip snuggles into his three woolly blankets and snores away until the sun comes out. Then it's for me to get out for a nice, crisp walk with him and I can't say I'm complaining. There's always a silver lining for someone, somewhere and this time I got lucky. And watching Mr. Chip get better is a treat for us all. Fingers crossed....
A blog about a small holding in Southern Finland. Each original story is accompanied by a stunning watercolour illustration or resplendent photographs.