Jolly Voling Weather

We still haven’t had the promised rain, with the result that the snow is lingering about in a discouraging fashion. Much of it is slush, but not all of it. We left the little car with our patient friends at the garden centre, because we thought the track was too icy when we got back last night. The Professor’s cough, which seemed to be getting better, has come back again, perhaps due to the walk down the track: it’s been three weeks now which is pretty tiresome. We’re getting on with things as best we can. Miss Dog has developed a strange obsession with tussocks. I can only think that voles and so forth are hiding out in them, but she keeps becoming utterly fascinated by some tump indistinguishable, to the human eye, from any other, and huffs excitedly into it, tail wagging furiously, not to be distracted even by a dog-treat. Oddly, though there are deer tracks all over the place, she doesn’t seem to pay them any attention. It has to be said that she probably stands more chance of catching a vole than a deer, but it does strike me that her choice of hobby suggests a certain lack of ambition.

3 Responses to “Jolly Voling Weather”

  1. cp Says:

    She is a realist.

  2. The Dramaturg Says:

    We have a Theory of Tussocks, which is that they are over-fertilised clumps of grass encouraged in their growth by being regularly used as message-boards by passing dogs. The more they grow, and the more nitrogenous messages they attract, the more irresistible they become. That is the whole of our Theory of Tussocks, which has yet to be refuted by any authorities of note.

  3. Jane Says:

    I do take the point, but the tussocks in immediate question are only, conceivably, visited, by Monty, Barnyards’s spaniel, or the shabby old Alsatian and the Doberman from the next farmer along. To be sure, all these gentlemen may be powerfully interesting to Miss Dog, who remains a maiden rather than a spinster, but it’s not a cast of thousands. Today she actually dug one up; aong the grass roots there was a long buried tree tube which fascinated her, and which, I strongly susepect, may have constituted luxe living for someone of a small rodent persuasion before Miss D buggered it up.

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