Well, Canada is heading toward a national election, Easter is a month away and darn it is cold. Flurries continue through the overnight hours and we wake to a white world each morning. It is only light and gone by mid-morning but enough already! There were interviews scheduled and our recovery to help along. The puppy needed his identification completed and paperwork moved forward. Organization resulted in a bag of clothes for the red bin and a trip to the village for Our Ken. He managed to find the grocery store and stocked up on chocolate bars for Lee's trip away - why you need chocolate bars when Lee departs is a mystery known only to Our Ken. Spring birds are arriving. There are grey Jays and finally the little song sparrows. The pheasants remain and Phil is growing exponentially - his colours are magnificent. Our Ken's feeding certainly agrees with him.
The kennel is busy and happy. Maxifer's owner phoned from the Caribbean to advise that there were plane issues and Air Canada decided that they should remain hostage in their five star resort for another few days. Lee commiserated. Shadow departed and broke up the retriever triumvirate. Old Bailey is holding up her end and is joined by Abby with Sherlock doing his best to urge the two big dogs along. Barrett and Trebia are managing to play in spite of the cold and the races are fast on their hard packed track. They may be the only sentient beings at Regalridge who are enjoying the cold.
The house dogs are well but doing the spring dance. The bitter winds drive even the intrepid Charlotte in to the fire in short order. Early mornings are time for Lee and the house dogs - Our Ken is not such an early riser. Each dog knows his/her crate, goes out for a spin and then comes back with alacrity for breakfast. But, there can be a bit of jostling. Occasionally Marilla tries out someone else's crate just to see if she might manage a second breakfast. This morning Dolly decided to try Charlotte's crate. Now, there are two things that would mitigate against Dolly. One is that she pops in and out of the crate like a cuckoo bird until the food materializes. The second is that Charlotte knows her own crate. So while cuckoo Dolly popped,, Charlotte (of the ample girth) managed somehow to manoeuvre past Dolly and brought to bear her 'get thee behind me Satan' moment and pushed the interloper. Dolly popped out of that crate like a cork coming out of champagne and landed half way across the room with a highly affronted expression. Charlotte sat calmly in her crate, waiting for her meal. Adventures abound.
Lunch was Dawn's soup - what would we have done without it. Dinner was a Sunday meal. There was a frenched rack of pork with gravy and Lady Ashburnham pickles, Delia's roast potatoes, caramelized parsnips, fresh asparagus and an outstanding butterscotch/rum pudding. If only there had been clean up magic . . .
The kennel is busy and happy. Maxifer's owner phoned from the Caribbean to advise that there were plane issues and Air Canada decided that they should remain hostage in their five star resort for another few days. Lee commiserated. Shadow departed and broke up the retriever triumvirate. Old Bailey is holding up her end and is joined by Abby with Sherlock doing his best to urge the two big dogs along. Barrett and Trebia are managing to play in spite of the cold and the races are fast on their hard packed track. They may be the only sentient beings at Regalridge who are enjoying the cold.
The house dogs are well but doing the spring dance. The bitter winds drive even the intrepid Charlotte in to the fire in short order. Early mornings are time for Lee and the house dogs - Our Ken is not such an early riser. Each dog knows his/her crate, goes out for a spin and then comes back with alacrity for breakfast. But, there can be a bit of jostling. Occasionally Marilla tries out someone else's crate just to see if she might manage a second breakfast. This morning Dolly decided to try Charlotte's crate. Now, there are two things that would mitigate against Dolly. One is that she pops in and out of the crate like a cuckoo bird until the food materializes. The second is that Charlotte knows her own crate. So while cuckoo Dolly popped,, Charlotte (of the ample girth) managed somehow to manoeuvre past Dolly and brought to bear her 'get thee behind me Satan' moment and pushed the interloper. Dolly popped out of that crate like a cork coming out of champagne and landed half way across the room with a highly affronted expression. Charlotte sat calmly in her crate, waiting for her meal. Adventures abound.
Lunch was Dawn's soup - what would we have done without it. Dinner was a Sunday meal. There was a frenched rack of pork with gravy and Lady Ashburnham pickles, Delia's roast potatoes, caramelized parsnips, fresh asparagus and an outstanding butterscotch/rum pudding. If only there had been clean up magic . . .
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