A Change Of Plan

An opium poppy sport that self-seeded. I love these surprises.

Last night, I had decided that I would take the train to Belfast. Knowing it was going to be a hot day, I gave some thought to what I should wear, especially when it came to choosing the right footwear. Warm weather calls for sandals but tramping pavements calls for something tougher. So I dubbined my Blundstones. So what if there's a heatwave.

This morning, I decided not to go. It was already too warm at eight o'clock. Instead, I went to Tesco and the Oxfam shop in Ballymena and was home before midday. The remainder of the day I spent outside, watering, weeding, deadheading, planting, potting on and more watering. And I wore sandals.

Much of the day was also spent keeping an eye on Rusty. He’s not well. The antibiotics gave him a lift for about a week, but he’s in decline again - sleeping more, eating and drinking less. The heat is hard on him. He had to be checked often, moved to the shade, and encouraged to sip water. He’s an old boy now. Kune kune pigs usually live 12 to 15 years, and Rusty turned 15 back in April.

 

There will be no journeys abroad tomorrow apart from picking up milk and the Saturday Guardian early morning. For it is Orangeman's Day and this year one of the parades will be in Cullybackey. We'll be home all day listening to the sound of distant (Lambeg) drums.

The Dead Bird

I brought Peter to the front of the house to show him some dark purple opium poppies; there was a dead juvenile chaffinch on the ground. The wee thing was unmarked and still warm. It must have flown into the window. We were both sad to see it. 

These things happen. At least the cat didn't get it. That would have been a far nastier end for it. Back when Martha was small I might have kept the corpse for her to have a funeral. She used to love that. Instead, I buried it in the compost bin.

I told Bert,

I put that wee chaffinch in the compost. Might do it some good.

What! Sure it's dead.

I meant DO the compost some good.