Dogged Days, Rainbows, and passing Storms.
October’s a long month - 31 days to be exact. Ending with what was the wedding anniversary of my mother and my adoptive father. Having increased their respective families in 1969 to a blended one of 5 children, with this marriage, I think they chose All-Hallows-Eve (Samhain) so that they wouldn’t have to take us out guising, as neither were of the Couthy School of Parenting.
But what made it particularly long this year was that we got sick in the 2nd last week which made that week feel like a month in itself. Norovirus has been circulating and perhaps we got that, which spread around us with varying degrees of misery. Being sick at 60 is bad enough but my father in law assures me that it’s much worse at 89. Spook didnt have time to get sick as he was too busy looking after Billy and I, and spent a crazy amount of time out on rescues (slightly more than half of the actual call-outs for the month as he couldn’t manage them all,) in between full time work. However, we all made remarkably quick recoveries in time to see out the last rays of October. When those clocks change, the evening darkness comes down like a shutter!!! Maybe its just as well October was long so that we could immerse ourselves in the colour and light of it.
I started with a trip east to spend time with my oldest friend who was running a drop in ‘paint apples’ session at the Plenty Festival. She’s the Artist in Residence with the Far Orchard project at The Barn in Banchory. I left my clingy little dog with my husband so that I could enjoy 4 hrs of painting apples without his huffy little face at the window. Spook then had 2 days of his huffy little face on the beautiful hillside which he refused to explore as he was ‘nursing his wrath to keep it warm’ just like his mammy does when SHE’S pissed off.
Then I went south to visit my beloved Ayrshire relatives. I asked my sister if she wanted to come and she said yes, let’s take the dogs. I said no, that was too much. My aunt said, of course bring the dogs, we love them…….. hold that thought.
Firstly I had to sit in the back all the way as neither dog would let me sit in the front without them.
My name is Morag. I am a pathetic example of a human being and I should know better. But honestly, it was the only way without having to wear a dog on my head. We went to Prestwick beach for a pre-visit walk and for the dogs to let off steam. In reality Scamp the pup had pre-loaded a lot of sea water which she then spewed all over the kitchen floor after 30 minutes of stealing slippers, doorstoppers, and crocs. I’d say mine was a dream dog…..(is that a Rastafarian blanket, Aunt Jean??)
…..except that he’d stored his pre-load of sea water in his bladder and ran off down the street, across the road and down the next street with me hollering after him I thought he’d gone forever, but thankfully it turned out he was just looking for a spot of grass for a pee and when he couldn’t find any he came back and soaked Aunt Jean and Uncle Davids nice stone chip front garden. He’s such a prince. I’m thinking my relatives may have had to have a lie down after we left. Sorry Aunt Jean, Uncle David and Liz It was SO lovely to see you.
There was loads of opportunities for dry, unhuddled strolling…..
Scamp has a sleepover once a week to try and teach Courr about love and sharing. Even though she tries to pretend she’s a Warg at times.
In reality, she is the sweetest natured dog and Courr has much he could learn from her. Although Courr does work better as an artists companion, than Scamp….
Outdoor sketching is a bit of stretch for me as I don’t get perspective but I’ve begun enjoying it for the sake of it. I usually bring it home and add stuff…..sometimes I rip it up and rearrange it. Scamp took it upon herself to redesign the image.
Courr was delighted that the annoying, popular little dog had messed up. I’d say he probably put a gaelic curse on her - imeacht gan teachr ort - I looked it up - it implies that the ‘person’ should go away and never come back.
October brought stormy weather plus a proper, named storm. One morning of frost. Colours that we never tire of. Waxwings from Scandinavia to harvest the berries. As they filled their bellies (800-1000 berries a day per wee bird) we filled ourselves with as much light as we could,
Making myself Billy’s devoted servant (I’m like my dog,) is a frightening thing. He was fixing his boiler and I tailed (ha ha) him everywhere as he doggedly (ha) worked to make a copper washer that was the wrong size, into the right size. After 5 attempts the dog was bored. After 10, I was bored. After 15 Billy decided he was bored but the only way he was getting a shower was to persevere. I gave up and went to do the shopping, while the dog huffed in the car. Billy fixed the boiler. It was always going to be fixed……
Meanwhile back at home, I persuaded our young Aussie Ghillie that if he wanted to be like his Dad when he was a batchelor at Braeroy, he needed to get his clothes and his boots as close to the Rayburn as possible. I suspect Roddy of Braeroy, never had such bright pants, but I felt this brought Cam closer to his father..
Whilst dodging horse poop in my crocs, I googled Waxwings because Billy and I could hear them chattering on Roberts croft next door as they harvested the berries. I remember back in 2016, about to head off south to visit my mum, when I watched them pour onto our croft, the air filled with their sound. I’ve never seen so many since, even though I’ve watched for them each year. Apparently when the arrive in huge numbers it’s called an ‘irruption’ and it can be expected around every 8 years or so. It’s to do with what the feeding grounds are like in Scandinavia at the time. When there’s not enough food they come in their masses.
Waxwing Irruption of 2016
Happy Halloween