Wednesday 30 December
I’ll be honest. I am not looking forward to the next couple of months. The past couple have been hard work, mentally and physically. This Christmas break should have provided time to switch off and recharge the batteries. But I have found this very difficult, constantly recieving news on the growing Coronavirus crisis, with one eye cast on the first week in January when schools return.
I also have a sense of guilt. I have spent more time being concerned for the staff and pupils returning to school safely, and then remaining safe, than I have for my own family. This is not a conscious choice. But guilt, as I have always proclaimed, is a wasted feeling and so I try not to spend too much time or energy on it.
Last night, Mabel ate some Christmas cake which I had left on the arm of the sofa. It was there for a matter of seconds, minutes at the most, and so a panic-fuelled phone call was made to the vets. In the car straight away, off to be injected to make her sick, and an anxious wait in the vets car park for news. She emerged about an hour later with the vet and a bottle of liquid charcoal to squirt on to her food over the next two days.
Why do dogs eat things that are so toxic to them? The other week, I wrote about Yew trees in churchyards. Used across the country to keep animals away from graves and church grounds. The entire animal kingdom seems to know what is bad for them and what is not. Given the opportunity, dogs will eat anything, and put their owners through moments of hellish anguish as a result.
The need for a peaceful walk with her this morning was greater than normal. She seems fine, but we will take her for a blood test tomorrow morning to check. She is currently sleeping next to me as I write this. Her breathing is comforting and resonates pleasingly, despite the background noise of the news (more Coronavirus announcements live from parliament), the kids discussing the ramifications for school, and even the bread maker mixing in the kitchen.
And it was a lovely walk this morning. The birds were busy despite the frosty air. Great tits flitted along the hedgerows in their little gangs, always maintaining a tree gap between us and them. A song thrush skipped along the ground alongside the fence, just staying out of Mabel’s view. Crows and gulls stalked and strolled the stubbled fields, weaving in and out of the hollow stalks of last summer’s crops. And flocks of Fieldfare scattered in panicked launches when disturbed, only to regroup in flight and return to land a short distance away. Fading into the terrain just before touch-down. I hadn’t seen a kestrel for a while but this morning one was on show hovering over the field. Studying the patch of grass below before twitching its tail feathers, cutting the air with it’s blade-like wings and sweeping off to try again elsewhere.
The Bald Birder 