I awoke last night to hear the sound of some creature being dragged up the stairs. This is always accompanied by a low cat growling, announcing the trophy.
Pocket (quarter Bengal) was dreaming at the bottom of the bed, and I was hoping, at the top of the bed, that I was dreaming too.. It was obviously not a small animal. I imagined a large rabbit or a small deer. Nancy (the hunter) likes to wail as well which is then followed by the slow crunching of bones. In the morning I have to tiptoe around various organs left on the landing. This time I wasn't sure what animal it was.
Beezel and I are very proud to announce here at Dog HQ that our book The Dog, Ray has been shortlisted for the Hull Library Book Award. He wanted me to photograph him in a domineering pose over his symbol for my other book The Boy with the Tiger's Heart. This is vey exciting. They will announce the results in April and I (but sadly not Beezel) have been invited up for the awards. He said he'll have to teach me how to have that Oscar "oh I'm so glad I didn't win" look when they say who the winner is.
I thought I'd share the first sign of Spring. When I opened the lid to read the water meter there was this mother toad and her baby! (the small brown thing} She moved over and put a protective arm around it which I didn't photograph because it just looked like a pile of pebbles.
All waiting is over now and things sorted which is great. As Beezel and Charles Reade(1814-1884)
said, giving advice on writing novels, " make 'em laugh, make 'em cry, make 'em wait." I am now half way through an exciting story involving a fox. You'll all have to wait.
Because Pixie is a wolfhound she is particularly effected by the Wolf Moon. I'm a little late in reporting this as the Wolf Moon is in January. But I love the names given to the full moons. They are, incase you don't know them - and going through the months starting with January
Wolf Moon -Snow Moon -Worm Moon -Pink Moon -Flower Moon - Strawberry Moon -Buck Moon - Sturgeon Moon - Harvest Moon - Hunter's Moon - Beaver Moon - Cold Moon.
One of the ducks ambled in thinking it was a Worm Moon but disappointed and a little miffed to see it was just a washing machine - not even reconciled with the fact he could see lots of other ducks in it when he looked at his reflection.
Wolf Moon
by Mary Oliver
Now is the season
of hungry mice,
cold rabbits,
lean owls
hunkering with their lamp-eyes
in the leafless lanes
in the needled dark;
now is the season
when the kittle fox
comes to town
in the blue valley
of early morning;
now is the season
of iron rivers,
bloody crossings,
flaring winds,
birds frozen
in their tents of weeds,
their music spent
and blown like smoke
to the stone of the sky;
now is the season
of the hunter Death;
with his belt of knives,
his black snowshoes,
he means to cleanse
the earth of fat;
his grey shadows
are out and running - under
the moon, the pines,
down snow-filled trails they carry
the red whips of their music,
their footfalls quick as hammers,
from cabin to cabin,
from bed to bed,
from dreamer to dreamer.
