Mufti

When I was a child, I had a springer spaniel, Robin...endlessly bouncy, demanding (and getting) long walks every day. He was my first pet, and set the bar high for those to follow. My family had always believed in big dogs and had tended to dismiss anything smaller than a spaniel as a "pretend dog" for those who weren't up to the real thing! Fast forward to the 1990s when we were looking for pets for our own growing children.

3 children plus a 2CV meant that big dogs just weren't going to be possible - so I found myself forced to adjust my ideas about what made a proper dog. Maisie, a cross breed terrier, converted me in a moment and when Hattie Gandhi wanted a dog of her own, it was easy to agree that another terrier might be just what we needed.

So Mufti came into our lives - a pedigree puppy with ears so much too big for her head in those early weeks.

Her mum had won "Best of Breed" at Crufts but on the day we collected her, the breeder said

"All you can ever ask of a dog is that she should be a good companion"

Mufti clearly heard and took this very very seriously.

While Hattie G settled into secondary school, Mufti was there to greet her with all the enthusiasm that a battered teenage ego might require.

She was such a chatty little dog - always "conversing" with us...showing her excitement and delight with yelps of pleasure when I went into the room, nearly beside herself with squeals of joy when I picked up her lead...

When Hattie G left on her Gap year expedition to Thailand, Mufti pined for days but gradually transferred her affections to me and so for the past 5 years she has been my shadow in the house, finding her way onto my knee the moment I sat down, generally keeping an eye on me, and with a loud and forthright opinion on most things.

She considered, briefly, becoming an old lady when we moved to the vicarage, but the arrival of Libby put paid to that notion and she gamely set out to teach the new puppy who was boss and how to play properly. There was never any doubt about who was top dog, despite the disparity in size. She was such a gutsy little dog...interested in everything...willing to try anything if she thought it would please me...

I guess it was when she stopped even trying to play with Libby that I knew we were nearing the end.

Thank you, Mufti, for 12 lovely years. A good companion indeed.

Chick pics

After a 20 year wait, today we collected our trio of poultry. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome

BARBARA - who is a Bluebelle (hybrid Maran & Rhode Island Red) - the top of the pecking order, very inquisitive and friendly

MARGOT (yes, we are reliving The Goode Life) - a Black Star - who has a lovely iridescent gleam to her plumage and enjoys a quiet cuddle and....

and BRIGID, a Speckled Star (Maran cross Barred Plymouth Rock) - who despite having been sat upon by her companions all the way home from Banbury, turns out to have an independent cast of mind.

The blessed Dufflepud toiled in the noon day sun putting the eglu together, while the girls picked over what will one day be a vegetable patch...but they are now safely installed in their new home, which is allegedly both fox and rat proof. I sincerely hope this is right.

The sensible among you will be wondering how on earth I plan to find time to look after more livestock...The rest will know that 2 dogs and 2 cats seems a pathetically small menagerie after the heights we have scaled in the past (iirc, the Lower Farmhouse record was 2 dogs, 2 cats, 2 rabbits, 1 guinea pig, 2 gerbils, 1 hamster and a couple of ponies)...and with all 3 children flying the nest from September, now seemed the right time to let my chickens come home to roost.

I expect time will get squeezed periodically - but the girls are a delight and I'm told they might even lay eggs too.

MADUganda

Once upon a time, when I was a curate, The Dufflepud and his friends spent one evening at Youth Club planning a dream trip to Madagascar. They were all Explorer Scouts at the time, and as they talked the dream began to seem possible as part of a challenge known as the Explorer Belt.
Lots of conversations later, the whole thing foundered because that little core group were so keen to include the Dufflepud, but thanks to his August birthday, he would not have been 16 in time for the expedition to take place.
A year later, though, the scheme surfaced again...This time it was to include Explorers and other Scouty types from across the south west of England, and in no time the Dufflepud was signed up, together with that little group of friends. They started planning, fund-raising, working at horrible hamburger joints with large yellow logos, and the months ticked away.
Then suddenly Madagascar, which had been conspicuous by its absence from international news for decades, hit the headlines with all sorts of political unrest following an election. Suddenly it was on the FCO's list of countries unsafe for inessential journeys. The Scout association announced that they could not countenance a trip and insurers refused to cover it. Disaster.
We felt terrible. After all, if the Dufflepud had been only 2 weeks older, the whole expedition might have taken place last summer, before the trouble began.
Reprieve!
The expedition leaders spent the best part of a week phoning, emailing, making arrangements in all directions and lo, the expedition has a new destination..Uganda (renamed in true colonial style) MADUganda.
The essential elements of the "Explorer Belt" - a 10 day trek in the bush in small groups (3 UK and 2 Ugandan Explorers) remain intact. The original plan to spend time working in an orphanage has had to be jettisoned, but instead there will be white water rafting down the Nile, an opportunity to straddle the Equator, and (this is where I get seriously jealous) 5 days on safari in the Masai Mara in Kenya.
I would post his sister's reaction to this, but we have just agreed that this is a clean blog, with no carbon emmissions...so I can't.
What I can say is that, even after despatching 2 other children on gap years abroad, to destinations that they had arranged themselves and about which I knew pretty much nothing, it's somehow even more alarming to have signed all the detailed consent forms that are part of a highly organised Scouting expedition. I have agreed to all sorts of sensible responses in all sorts of continencies that I devoutly hope are most unlikely contingencies. Now I'm watching him reconsider his packing, which is demonstrating the Scouting motto "be prepared" to a ridiculous extent, and trying not to imagine situations in which he might actually need all those first aid essentials...
He's only away for 28 days, he'll be with good (and pretty sensible) friends (indeed, in many ways he's pretty sensible himself) and he's part of a highly organised and well-led expedition....and I Still Don't Like It.
Normal service will be resumed once I've stopped jittering.

Birthday Girl

Strictly speaking, Libby's birthday was last week, - but as befits the one who rules the roost, she has in fact celebrated with any number of moveable feasts, some sanctioned, others (the consumption of the DVD remote among them) less so...However, as she keeps reminding me, she DID graduate from the "Good Dog" class and is considered an official canine good citizen, - and as you can see, she's very proud of the title.
I can't believe that last July I was havering over whether a golden retriever was actually the best use of my farewell cheque from training parish. She is such a joy - even if she does insist on relandscaping the garden.

PS This is not Maisie

who sadly died before we owned a digital camera...and I can't find a decent photo to scan either...but this is the most Maisie like image that google could discover

All creatures great and small - a celebration

Hot on the heels of my rather jaded post on "lurve" comes a Friday Five which invites us to celebrate the unconditional loving companionship of those animals who add so much to our lives. I was baptised on St Francis day, I would really struggle with a home that did not include at least one beloved animal, - so this is the perfect antiValentine's celebration for me.

Friday Five: Pets

Sophia writes My son's tiny beloved lizard, Elf, is looking and acting strange this week. His skin/scales are quite dark, and he is lethargic. We are adding vitamin drops to his lettuce and spinach and hoping and praying that he is just getting ready to shed his skin--but it's too soon to tell. Others in the ring have also been worried about beloved pets this week. And, in the saddest news of all, Songbird has had to bid farewell to her precious Molly, the amazing dog who is well known to readers of her blog as a constant sacrament of God's unconditional love.

So in memory of Molly, and in honor of all the beloved animal companions who bless our lives: tell us about the five most memorable pets you have known.


I was the sort of child that really REALLY needed a pet. My earliest memories of trips to the corner shop with my mother involve the dogs that I stopped to pet...A slightly timid child, I would always find the courage to ask complete strangers
"Does your dog like being stroked" and an affirmative answer would delay our progress for hours if I had my way. Things came to a head when, shortly after I started school, I attempted to unleash a black cocker spaniel who was tethered outside the newsagents, on the basis that clearly he wasn't wanted by his owner if she was willing to leave him outside...and I was so very ready to tell the world that he was mine, all mine.
A serious conversation with my father followed, and with it the promise that when I was six (SIX) I might just be old enough to have a dog of my very own.
Endless months crept past...My 5th birthday was marked with chicken pox, which was just as well as I was thoroughly miserable anyway. I had so hoped that my parents might relent and allow us to hurry things by just one year...but finally the day came when a parcel at the birthday breakfast table contained a small yellow collar and lead, and I knew that parents did, after all, keep their promises. Robin, a liver and white springer spaniel, came into our lives a few weeks later and was all that I had dreamed and more. He adored me and my father in equal measure...was constantly ready to share in whatever I was doing...took a leading (if non speaking) role in all the historical dramas which filled my childhood games (did YOU know that Mary Queen of Scots had a springer with her when she went to her death? Well, she did...honestly) and provided the perfect excuse for long Sunday afternoon walks with my father.
As a gun dog by breeding he was devoted to all the wettest and muddiest pools...and Daddy used to spend long hours combing out his tangles and dealing with the periodic infections that troubled those floppy ears. When I think of my father, it tends to be with Robin at his heels - for the dog was never sure which of us he loved best, and his death during the scorching summer of 1976 marked the beginning of the end of my childhood. The cancer that claimed my father began to show itself that same year...

After Robin's death and that of my parents I was a student, a nomad, clearly an unsuitable person to own a pet...I took a hamster called Antigone with me to Cambridge (necessitating, I was told, a special change in the college statutes, which had hitherto permitted only the Master's cat and Byron's bear)...which made her pretty memorable for her short life.

Next came Gerontius, (Grimble) the tabby kitten that shared my post grad lodgings in Durham, accompanied me to London and was part of the early years of married life. He was my first cat (Daddy had been a bird-lover, so pleas for a kitten fell on deaf ears) and I loved the novelty of a pet who claimed my bed as his right, who would be companionable on his terms, and who (atypically) seemed as happy as any dog to come out for the evening with me, attending all sorts of student suppers and, once, accompanying me to the pub of his own accord. When we were planning our move from London, he suddenly and abruptly disappeared. Frantic searching and enquiries finally revealed that, since the advent of Hattie Gandhi, he had been a frequent guest at our neighbour's house. As we were moving to a building site, and he was by then 10 years old, we accepted her offer of a new home for him...He would have enjoyed country life hugely, but not the disruption of a house filled with chaos for the next two years.

The departure of the builders and our rooting process at Lower Farmhouse involved a whole host of pets through the years. Cats, rabbits (oh Heather, the lop eared bun...you really were a treasure), hamsters, gerbils, guinea pigs...the lot. All were loved. All contributed to our family life and I could name and describe each of them had you but world enough and time to listen...
But five it is...so next has to come Maisie.
It's my suspicion that each of us has one particular pet who, no matter how much we love the others, is The Best Dog Ever. For me, that was Maisie...A rescue terrier with a curly coat, an endlessly loving nature (her first reaction on meeting anyone was to lie down in order to encourage the rubbing of her tum) and an endearing habit of trying to walk on her hind legs, in a way that rather resembled a meerkat. She acted as nanny to the Dufflepud, sleeping beside his Moses basket or pram in the early days...She taught nervous visiting children that dogs could be friends...She attended church regularly, and loved and was loved by all the old ladies in the congregation. She was, I suspect, my Molly and her death through kidney failure in December 2003 was probably the beginning of the end of childhood for my teens, just as Robin's death had marked the end of mine twenty five years earlier.

Meanwhile my children were growing into teenagers, and horsey ones at that - so number five must be Nipper, the pony who saw the Dufflepud through the transition from primary to secondary school, who took him safely round the Cotswold countryside (and allowed me to follow, recalling those childhood walks with Robin and Daddy), kept him safe in all sorts of unlikely adventures but had most assuredly a wicked sense of humour all her own. She didn't turn a hair in thunder storms, allowed the big scary rubbish cart to pass her with only a quizzical glance, and in one "Family pony" class at a local show astounded the judges by allowing her rider to pull on a rustling nylon kagoul while riding along...coping with the combined excitements of no hands on the reins, the noise of the showground (where motorbike scrambling was going on in an adjacent ring) and Maisie trotting along beside her with no more anxiety than a bored commuter in rush hour. She was the sort of pony that every horse mad child dreams of, ...the one I would have loved for myself or for Hattie Gandhi...and I'm so glad that for 4 years she was part of our our lives, before moving on to teach another family how to ride.

All those lovely animals...Haven't I been blessed! And, though they are, thankfully, not yet the stuff of memories, I must also celebrate the animals who share the vicarage today...Teddy, the three legged pirate cat, Tallis the magnificat (left) , his fluffily handsome nephew, Mufti the gentle Australian terrier bitch and, of course, the irrepressible Libby.
I have friends, good friends, who cannot understand why I complicate my life so by the addition of so many animals, but for me, they are the greatest joy. I happily look forward to a batty old age spent chatting away to my cats! If I'm not too decrepit for at least a little dog, my joy will be complete.

Heaven on earth

for people like me is very probably Hay on Wye. Even the sign-posts announce it as "The Town of Books" and to be somewhere where every other shop is a second-hand bookshop (and those in between sell mostly Fairly Traded or vintage clothes) is so close to my idea of perfect bliss that it's just a little alarming. Hay is clearly the place where good books go to die - the concept of a 30p "honesty bookshop" is so delightful that just remembering it makes me want to dance in the same way as Hattie Gandhi did this morning...Since my best beloved daughter struggles with (or maybe she doesn't struggle, but surrenders gracefully to) the same slightly scary book addiction as her mother, this border town was the perfect place for a birthday outing...and we had SO much fun.
Wonderful drive through the Brecon Beacons...
Yummy lunch (featuring goats cheese, tapenade and roasted peppers...)...and lots and lots and
lots of time in truly heavenly bookshops, from the frankly criminal "Murder and Mayhem" to the optimistic "Sensible Bookshop" with all sorts of other delights in between. There is even a fudge shop, to comfort you as you depart the town.
For the record, leaving aside the free books that we also brought home, our combined shopping total was a paltry 19 titles. Clearly we weren't trying and need to return to do the job a bit more thoroughly before we are too much older.


Earth hath not anything to show more fair - or so, at least, say both of us!

When in doubt, say nothing

is a parental maxim that I never quite managed to learn.
In any given situation, I will witter pretty much endlessly rather than contend with what might be (but probably isn't) an embarassed/embarassing silence.
Sometimes this tendency can lead to trouble.
At others, there's absolutely no doubt that there's only one thing that needs to be said

HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARLING HATTIE GANDHI

Thank you for the first 22 years of joy as your mother - may today and the year ahead bring you equal joy in return.

The rewards of labour

As anyone reading here before Christmas will have gathered, I was scarily unprepared for any celebrations at all in terms of home and family. The church stuff was sorted to the best of my abilities (and I've taken note of the things I need to approach differently next year) but the vicarage might well have been situated in Narnia during the reign of the White Witch until the very last minute.
At that point my wonderful children moved in to action...Stockings were MADE by Hattie Gandhi...Cake made and iced by the Dufflepud...Presents wrapped and stockings filled on my behalf...Even the mincepies were taken care of.
So these happily ensconced bookworms sighted on Christmas night had undoubtedly earned every moment of reading pleasure...though I bet they weren't enjoying their books as much as I am enjoying having them hereabouts for a while.

Further glimpses - Christmas Eve at home

The first Christmas in a new house is always interesting...Where will the tree look best?
Do stockings hang from the mantelpiece or is there a better place for them?
Overall, we're pleased with all the results this year - and we're still only on the 5th day, so can go on being pleased for a while yet :-)


Incidentally, as a retriever Libby was very keen on carrying her stocking around all through Christmas Eve, but we dissuaded her so that, in the fulness of time, Father Christmas could do his stuff. He's very good to puppies, you know...

Mellow reflections on the feast of Stephen

My first Christmas in these parishes...my first as a real live notionally grown-up vicar. Lots of good things to savour as I snuggle in bed with the lap-top, a cat and positively no service sheets to photocopy nor shopping to do. All is very calm and bright here!

Christmas Eve - Crib service was a delight. The children came, as invited, in costume to assemble a living crib and were overwhelmingly charming in their depiction of the scene. Baby Jesus has ginger hair and a good pair of lungs...
Photos later. The moment when Mary's lap had enlarged to accommodate not just the holy infant but an angel sucking her thumb was sadly not captured on camera but was pretty special.

Midnight Mass - no hitches but maybe just a little bit flat. Reasonable congregation though not groaning at the seams (I have a suspicion that the growth in numbers for Sunday's Carol service may have been because some occasionals chose that in preference to turning out for Midnight). The flatness had to do with the music (no, not a question of pitch).No choir and I'm not sure how to encourage the congregation to sing, if they can't be enthusiastic about carols on Christmas Eve...Hints, tips and encouragement much welcomed.

Christmas morning - God turned up at Church on the Hill even at 8.30 am. The congregation had done the most amazing job of transforming a church half full of scaffolding, screened off with plastic sheeting, into a warm and festive worship space and the congregation filled the space we had quite beautifully. Lovely atmosphere, which persisted at the Family Eucharist at Church in the Valley...Lots of regulars absent but the music group was on good form (and their families contributed most of the youth and children present, an additional reason to bless them) and everyone was relaxed and happy. I began the service by asking if anyone knew what day it was. There was a prolonged silence before C., who started in Reception at St M's school this term said rather tentatively
"I think it might be Christmas Day because Santa Claus came last night.."
I'd imagined, when I asked, a racous yell in response - but this was much better!
We unwrapped the large box of percussion that I'd bought with some of our grant money, decided that like most presents it was there to be used (thus tying in to the theme of Jesus is for life, not just for Christmas) and ended the service with the sort of romping loud procession that became a tradition at the end of Open House. I asked for a show of hands when all teh children had been armed with noise-makers...and several of the older ladies wanted an instrument too and one thanked me at the door saying
"I wish we had been allowed to enjoy worship when I was a child. I might not have stayed away from church for so many years..."
That, as you'll imagine, was rather a lovely Christmas gift for the vicar :-)

After that, a few visits to congregation in hospital or home alone and then I subsided by my very own fire-place with my very own family.
Libby's first Christmas was one of wild excitement, destroying squeaky toys in less time than it took to choose them, romping through wrapping paper and knocking most things flying with a wildly wagging tail...but that's life with small children or large puppies and was thoroughly entertaining.
My heap of Presents included a huge pile of books (will tell all later) and a docking station for the iPod so the afternoon involved good music and time reading and snuggling with my favourite people anywhere. What more could I ask, quite honestly?
I hope whatever is going on for you, there is a reality of love and blessing about the place. I'm so conscious of it here

When the round round robin comes bob bob bobbin'....

I'm often amazed and amused by the similarities that exist between my life and that of my dear friend Songbird...There have been assorted "separated at birth" moments, but I think this is the first time we have blogged unprompted on the same subject on the same day. It must be that time of year...
I wrote this in draft while avoiding writing the dreaded cards - then went blog hopping and found Songbird's post addressing the self same issue (though no more envelopes than I was addressing myself) Here we go. If you have a sensation of deja vue,it's probably because you've visited Reflectionary first!


The legacy of our mothers is an unnerving thing, isn't it? My mother took huge care of her friends...she never missed sending a card for a birthday, anniversary or above all Christmas. For years after her death, I sent cards to all those people who had been my parents' friends and who had taken an interest in my well-being - but whom I had never met, never would meet and knew practically nothing about. I used to produce the requisite hand-written personal letter to each and every one of the 200 assorted names on the list. Then one day life intervened. With 3 children, a B&B business and a job, plus Reader ministry and ordination training, something had to give.
Christmas 2001 saw names expunged from the list . I wrote the first round-robin - apologising left, right and centre as I did so. Others followed, some funny, some less so. One year there was a multiple choice test, another a map...Always, it has been my enterprise, though the family have right of veto. Always it has taken time I don't really have, but the possibility of sending just a card consistently seemed too bald and unsatisfactory. Each year, when I receive cards with only a signature and no news at all, I wonder what has been happening for that household...I genuinely long to know more...though fully understanding that it's just not easy to find time to do anything, really.

This year with the time issue spiralling into free-fall I have resorted to a pseudo telegram, with positively no pictures and have pared the remaining card list to the bone. I'll hope to find a good e-card to send to those with internet access, and trust that others will forgive me if they seem to have been "thinned". It's not a reflection of your importance in my life, but probably a measure of my confidence that you will understand and forgive...and know me well enough to be up to date anyway. Even with the reduced list, I am about to run out of cards, which means a trip I can't fit in to find some more in town...and I'm realising that I really don't know the local shops well enough...and what's worse, tomorrow is the last posting date for 2nd class. aaargh
If I ever suceed in posting the things, the 2008 telegram reads thus

MANIC YEAR SO TELEGRAPHIC APPROACH SEEMS BEST STOP
ALL ALIVE & WELL STOP. KATHRYN'S NEW PARISHES GREAT THOUGH TONS TO DO STOP
ESCAPED TO NEW ORLEANS WITH U.S. CLERGY FRIENDS FIRST STOP
LONGSUFFERING CLOCK-MAKER & CHILDREN MOVED HOUSE FOR HER IN ABSENTIA STOP
HATTIE GANDHI RELUCTANT TO LEAVE UNI STOP
HAS ORGANISED SHAKESPEARE FESTIVAL WHILE APPLYING FOR MA STOP
HUGGER STEWARD TRAVELLED TO ICELAND, TANZANIA & CAMBRIDGE STOP
SEEMS TO HAVE SETTLED THERE STOP
THE DUFFLEPUD HAS NEW SCHOOL & SAX & WEEKEND JOB AT MCDONALD'S BUT WANTS TO ...STOP!
NARROWBOAT “AMUSES” LCM IN FREE TIME STOP
OLD PARISH FUNDED GOLDEN RETRIEVER PUPPY LIBBY STOP
BEST EARS ON THE PLANET STOP
FORGIVE BREVITY STOP
MUCH LOVE FOR CHRISTMAS STOP
HOPE TO SEE YOU NEXT YEAR STOP

....and miles to go before I sleep

I guess that an inevitable effect of offspring departing for uni is that they are, clearly, not at home! No, truly, even I had worked that one out...what I'm getting at is the fact that whereas in days of yore performances and special events were on the doorstep, or at worst half an hour away, nowdays tis rather more complicated.
Yesterday for example we did a round trip of something like 300 miles to hear Hugger Steward sing and play flute at his college - and very lovely it was too, - definitely worth the journey, though it did feel kind of strange to be a parent there, of all places...Parents, you see, were no longer part of my life by the time I arrived at Cambridge, and as I tended to stay in that lovely city for as long as possible I was pretty much oblivious to the cohorts of parental cars that descend upon Cambridge at either end of term. Yesterday it felt rather like Hogwarts on a bad day...much coming and going with trunks and cardboard boxes...and just the faintest possibility that Filch might be lurking in the Porters' Lodge.
We were among the unfortunate minority of parents who were not being awarded their very own undergraduate to take home with them. Instead we headed home with a boot groaning with boxes...
And tomorrow I get to do the whole thing all over again, after attending the Fresh Expressions Pilgrimage day in Coventry Cathedral: but at least I get to bring the boy home with me.

Add to that the usual crop of morning services (we had 10 whole children at Church in the Valley's All Age Communion, without actively canvassing the school at all...Great excitement!), and the Valley Church St NicholasFest this afternoon, featuring lots of punters in happy mood, some amazing mulled wine and a far from grotty grotto complete with resident saint, who hoh hohed in fine vein...It was all great, but left me just about fit to wipe the floor with - so for once I allowed discretion to be the better part of valour and decided against the drive to Cardiff. Now, of course, I feel really sad that I am missing Hattie Gandhi's concert with the excellent BlankVerse - specially as the programme included a work by her good friend S...But maybe I need to learn that I can't do everything...And I do need sleep...And tomorrow features more miles, and still more...
Sleep well folks. I hope your weekend was at least as fulfilling and possibly rather less demanding!

Time for a puppy post

The lovely Libby is growing by leaps and bounds (of which there are plenty) - but is distressingly camera shy. Even asleep, she seems to have a 6th sense when I move towards my camera, and wakes and moves out of range instantly.
However, there have been a few successes, and I thought it was time to cheer the blog up so here we have a selection from the past couple of months.
She still thinks she is about the same size as Tallis, so frolicks about with him and then wonders why he objects to being sent flying by an irresistable force...This is from back when they were reasonably well matched in size.
Nowdays she's more of a lolloping steam roller - but that
as my offpring will remind you, was very much the point
of getting a Big Dog.
And she is nothing if not charming - even at six in the
morning - though I guess I could be biased.

And we're back

Lovely holiday, thank you for asking.I'll post pictures tomorrow, but tonight just want to get something up here before I forget how blogging works! Feel very disconnected from that part of my life at the moment, - and don't much like that feeling.

Though we left home amid the high drama of a thunder storm that knocked out the power for many in the area (but which young Libby coped with as just another one of the new and exciting aspects of life in the big wide world), we had more than adequate weather, and nearly all the time we wanted to read, to sleep, to watch the moorhens emerge from the rushes...
We cruised from Northampton to Oxford, a distance of just under 40 miles - at most an hour's drive on country roads then. It took us 12 days to do the round trip...and there was not a tedious moment. Libby only fell in 3 times (twice as a result of her own joie de vivre, as she lollopped along the tow path with cheerful abandon, falling over her own paws with predictable results) and seemed to enjoy every minute of it. So did I.

The greatest joy, of course, was the presence of Hugger Steward. He did make it to the top of Kilimanjaro (probably the first man ever to do so while wearing skeleton pyjamas - there's glory for you!), had only 2 bouts of malaria to his name (and that's despite taking the appropriate meds) and is clearly as homesick for Yamba as ever I was for Karnataka. He has yet to update his website but when he does, the photos are well worth a look.

Our re-entry to normal life was rendered rather dramatic by an accident that befell Teddy the Ginger Pirate Cat last Monday.Clearly his thoughts were so focussed on his plans to take over the world (his nomme de guerre is Spirax Sarco, who ought to be a Bond villain, even if he's not) that he forgot his Green Cross Code and had a run in with a passing car. He emerged with a broken jaw, necessitating an unbelievably huge vet bill and tube feeding for a week.
As he is Hugger Steward's cat this wasn't absolutely the best homecoming for him, though Teddy obviously believed that it was his hospitalisation that brought HS home.
After a fraught weekend, the tube was removed this evening, though wires remain in place and he's clearly got some serious recuperation ahead. Assuming that one life was used up with his lost leg 13 years ago, and there are surely other dramas that we wot not of, I'm hoping he'll go carefully for a year or two. There is serious money tied up in that cat :-)

A "couldn't be better" Friday Five

As I may just have mentioned a couple of times, we are off to Polyphony on Monday as soon as I have reclaimed Hugger Steward from the baggage check at Gatwick - and, as one of the world's most disorganised packers, I know that four hours after we arrive I will have to gloomily admit what essential item I've forgotten this time. My RevGalPals, in an effort to alleviate this dismal situation, have given me a chance to decide on the five essentials without which I should not, would not, could not leave home...which probably means that I'll find I have none of them by Monday evening.
Dreams are free, however, so this is my list of the things that I absolutely positively can't leave home without

1. Digital camera - since its advent in my life, Biggles has been a source of huge pleasure, helping me to look more carefully and to make more of the world around me than I ever have before. I usually manage the camera, to be fair - it's the charger that may be stuck in my study!

2. Journal and pens - even if I write nothing, I always go hoping for the time and space to think.

3. Books - usually deeply frivolous for the boat, but with one "been meaning to get around to" added to the box for good measure. I raided the Oxfam shop yesterday and emerged with a huge haul of cheap and cheerful fiction, largely of the detective variety..to that mix I will add "Take this Bread" which arrived too late for me to join in the RevGals discussions a few weeks ago, plus just possibly one other from my "work to read" piles.

4. Tapestry - I only ever seem to do this when on retreat or at the boat so progress on projects is terribly slow, but it's a good way to pass the time while the world slips past at 4 mph.

5. Music - ipod now, walkman in days of yore...My own instruments are not easily portable, but I love that Hugger Steward took his flute to Africa, and have vivid memories of inter railing as a student, and sharing a railway carriage from Copenhagen to The Hook of Holland with Robyn from New Jersey, who played her flute for us to sing all day long.

Great forgettings include - my father's pyjamas, on a weekend break in the New Forest when I was a small child...he was quite a formal man, the product of his age, - so he didn't have a spare tee shirt in his luggage, and this was a Bank Holiday weekend in the countryside, so no emergency shopping options...I don't remember what the resolution was, just the appalled and muffled expletive as he emptied his suitcase
-the Dufflepud's sleeping bag (or was it Hugger Steward's?) on an early music residential
- my towel - too often to contemplate (I'd never survive in a Douglas Adams galaxy) and my flannel and hairbrush too when I went to India
I'll let you know when I return home what the Great Missing Item was this time! Just so long as it's not the dog food/leads/toys/beds....travelling with a puppy reminds me of travelling with a baby, except that the feeds are trickier!

Out with a bang

The happy arrival of Libby has not been the only change in our lives at the vicarage of late. School term ended for the Dufflepud last Friday, - and that meant the end of an era, as he will be moving in September to a 6th form centre far closer to home than the school where his siblings completed their secondary education.
It felt quite strange to realise that, apart from going in to collect his GCSE results in 3 weeks time, we've ended a connection that has been running for 10 years....that when the History department arranges a trip to Russia, no Fleming children will go along...that we won't have to listen to the Head's Charter Day speech once again (it varied little from year to year)...that none of my offspring will be attending the summer music residential next year.
Last year, as Hugger Steward left school, his final concert was overshadowed by the floods that swept across the country. The planned "Festival in the Field" rapidly became a "Get through this as best we can" and the promised fireworks and RAF Falcon display were clearly a wash out.
The Dufflepud, however, fared rather better, though the evening was more than just chilly for the audience. We sat with some dear friends whom I'd not seen properly for far too long, and thoroughly enjoyed much of the music (the sound system did no favours to the classical performers, contending with the difficulties of an open air performance - but the jazz band was excellent).
"What about the fireworks?" you ask.
They were amazing! A great way to end our relationship with a school that has done my children proud for 10 years...

She's here

Ladies and gentlemen
May I introduce you to the one and only, really rather delightful

LIBBY

So far she has excelled in general obligingness as much as in puppyish charm and Mufti shows every sign of being happy with her company (not least, i suspect, because I am spending lots of time playing with both dogs as part of the settling in process).

I'm not getting all the work done that I maybe should be, but just for a day or two I'm allowing myself not to positively hunt for things that need doing, if they aren't immediately clamoring for my attention. I've been waiting for a Golden Retriever since I was, iirc, 4 years old...so I'm a rather happy vicar at the moment. Warm thanks to my friends at St M's, whose gift enabled us to enlarge our family so delightfully.
Ministry has never been so cuddly!

Just to cheer us all up

I'm going to visit this litter on Wednesday, all being well. There is, it appears, one bitch still available so I'm now torn between manic excitement and "ohnowhatamigoingtodo-ness"
It does at least divert me from my techie dramas...
Next question...dog cages...good or bad idea? I think I'm in favour, but haven't used one with earlier dogs, and won't for Mufti. What do you think, peoples?

Doggy dilemma

Non pet-owning readers feel free to skip this post...you won't understand why I'm even having this conversation. Why would any sane person, with an already busy life, add to their potential complications? Why indeed??
Everyone else....please read on!
You'll remember the agonies of deciding whether or not to try to rehome Dillon the Evil Jack Russell and our huge relief when he settled happily in a new abode before the traumas of our house move became yet more traumatic thanks to his presence. Since then we've been a one dog, two cat family, and that's been largely OK. Mufti has been pretty contented without him, except that she has rather insecure if she's home alone (she has never been an "only dog" for more than a couple of weeks in all her days) and has taken to raiding the laundry basket so that she can snuggle up with a garment of mine to remind her that there is indeed a mum out there somewhere...After a few pairs of holey knickers, I'm remembering to close the bedroom door, so that's really only a minor issue (except as a symptom of how she's really feeling). However, she has definitely become more sedate since Dillon's departure, and even on walks is inclined to remain velcro'd to my heels most of the time, which isn't her normal way of being.She could definitely decline into premature old age, if left to her own devices. BAD idea...Solution? Another dog, of course, and St M's sweetly gave me such a huge cheque when I left there that despite having bought a rather splendid cope I still have a sizeable chunk in hand, which has long been labelled "puppy fund". I'd love to have something as special as a dog to remind me of all those wonderful people each and every day - and if it doesn't get spent soon, it will disappear on petrol. Not the object of the exercise, I feel. So, there is £500 in the puppy fund, just waiting to be spent.
The only problem is...what puppy?
The Dufflepud has a yen for a Golden Retriever, - and certainly they are delightful dogs, very well suited to the comings and goings of vicarage life...but they are also on the large side, and it must be said that I've quite enjoyed being able to stick my dogs under my arm when the need arises - and also have limited time to take them for cross country walks. So, a bit of me worries that a retriever might be more dog than I need, might get bored, might become - heaven help us - a problem dog itself. A large lollopping well meaning problem, but all the same...
On the other hand, if I'm ever going to have a big dog, it had better be now - and there's something rather wonderful about being able to bury your face in a canine shoulder if the world is out to get you....

Having grown up with a spaniel who was one of the two best dogs ever, I'm pretty sentimental about them too...and they have the advantage of being more portable, and maybe a better "fit" in the narrowboat too.

On the other other hand (yes, you'll need to be as multi armed as a Hindu god to cope with this) they seem to cost a phenomenal amount - more than feels quite moral, to be honest.The local animal shelters don't have any puppies at all, and mostly seem to have dogs like collies, lurchers and some rather fierce bull terrier types...those being the predominant breeds in these parts...none of which they are prepared to recommend to a household where all sorts of people will be visiting, and the dog needs to be an agent of pastoral care, or else blend into the background completely.So, while I'd love to rescue a dog in need, that looks almost impossible at the moment.

A fresh set of hands is now called for, as I've found a website that sets out to offer a puppy register for ordinary dogs...not those from top breeders, but reputable owners who care about the welfare of their puppies...and they offer both cockers, retrievers and (very tempting - see their picture above) retriever/spaniel cross puppies at a rather more realistic price than the superior breeders I'd been exploring to date....
I've spent the last 2 hours using time I don't have to trawl the site...I have a short list of possibilities that are available here and now, many of whom have had their first set of injections, so could be ready to come on holiday with us...but I don't know what to do!!!!