Home again, Home again, Jiggedy Jig.

I know. I know, I say that all the time.  But it is true. Who does not want to do a Jig when you are finally delivered back Home.  Home again, Home again. Jiggedy  – Jig!  Home. Our favourite destination. Though, like  all Immigrants and I am one, as are many of the Fellowship, we are never really home, we have many homes. But we choose this one.

When I finally reached this Home last night I raced in the door, pushed off all my silver bracelets, then returned the diamond rings  (I love diamonds, I don’t care what anyone says. I love sparkly things – luckily so did my grandmother, great grandmother and my mother) to their wooden box. Shrugged out of my wool travelling coat and soft, soft leather city boots then into my work jacket and My gumboots.  I gathered my dogs,  who leapt about my feet nipping each other for my attention,  and Torch in hand – out I went to walk the farmy.

All was well.

Everyone was asleep except Daisy who lowered her large bovine head from a great height for a dignified scratch and Sheila, who did not get up, but made her pleasure at my return known with her little grunts and sighs and squeaks and requests for me to lower myself down to scratch behind her ears.   If I would be so kind. 

The leaves have fallen. I took my eyes off the trees for only a few days and off they blew. Very carefully, with considered apologetic gentleness, they unlatched from their summer twig and drifted, puffed by a cooling breeze,  like dying butterflies, to the earth.

Not so Sheila. Sheila was all huff and puff  yesterday morning but no drifting. She was all Life and Lectures. All morning she followed me about, grunting her deep reservations about time off and holidays and vacations and so forth.  She sat behind me as I worked, nudging my thighs with her judgmental snout.  Snorting and pointing. Back where you belong miss c. No more of that gadding about, miss c. Work to do,  miss c, etc, etc, etcetera. (Roll the “r”)

Temperatures are dropping. We all need extra straw.

The summer things need folding and putting away.

Daisy and Queenie need more feed. Their night pen is a mess.. . I know Sheila.

Though Hairy and Mama are fine where they are at the moment, we have to think of a door for them for the winter. Everyone needs a door to the barn.

They are not having mine, says Sheila. I am keeping the sun room. 

Those sheep can just bite my bottom. I am not sharing.

Certainly not with HIM.

Well, I can see your point Sheila honey.  Boo is not a terribly graceful dog. But he is awfully nice to his wee Marmalade Cat.

I know, I know, too.  Says Sheila.

mmm. Marmite.

Autumnal medley.

Sheila got extra straw for her bed last night.  She is a good piggie. 

Home again. Home again. Jiggedy Jig.

With my good fat pig.

I hope you all  have a lovely day. Lots for me to do today. Playing catch up.

Love from your friend on the farmy,

celi