Wednesday, 9 March 2011
A Visitor comes to call . . .
Oh what a beautiful day it promised to be. Norah sat at the breakfast table, pondering all the things she might get up to in the day ahead . . . a bit of gardening perhaps. It will be so good to be able to dig her hands into the warming earth . . .
A hot cup of tea, a slice of bread and butter and a good old fry up should stand her in good stead for the busy day ahead.
A tasty egg, some bacon and sausage, perhaps a potato or two . . . she's always had a good appetite, but no worries there. She always manages to work it all off. Big farm house breakfasts used to be the order of the day when Pa and the boys were around and working hard in the mines . . . now they are a once in a blue moon luxury, and a treat, even if sometimes her eyes are a bit bigger than her stomache!
She sits quietly, sipping her tea . . . lost in thoughts of compost and seedlings . . . of birdsong and sunshine. Oh it will be so good to be out and about after the bad spell of weather they have been having . . . but what is that??
There is a strange scritch scratch coming from the door . . . and tiny whimpers. Oh whatever could be up with that? It is not the usual early morning sounds . . . she sits for a moment thinking it could be her imagination . . . but then it comes again, and she jumps up and rushes over to the big front door to see what it is . . .
"Oh my!" She exclaims as she opens the door and spies a little brown and black bundle of fur by her feet, with a tail wagging back and forth for all it is worth. Happy licks and such a cute face imploring her to bend down and give him a scratch behind his ears . . .
There is no collar . . . only big sorrowful eyes, long floppy ears, a wet black nose, a wagging tail . . . with a look so mournful it speaks to her heart.
Where has he come from? "Are you lost little man?" her voice whispers to him as she bends down to have a closer look. He looks quite hungry and cold. There is nothing for it but to bring him into the warmth of her country kitchen.
A bowl of warm milk and a sausage or two left from her morning's repast are just the ticket. He laps it all up hungrily, whilst she makes inquiries over the telephone . . . the local Post Office is the place to call, it is the heart and pulse of village life . . .
Mrs Snow, the Post Mistress is always up on what is going on throughout the area. She will know if anyone is missing a pup . . . but alas . . . there is no news of little lost pups or otherwise, but she will keep her eyes and ears open (Something that she is very good at!) and let Norah know if any arrives for sure!!
Never mind little man . . . she thinks. "You can keep me company today while I work in the garden. If anyone is looking for you, they are sure to be out and about and there is no better place for them to find you than out in my garden" She pops on her coat and galoshes and out they go.
Oh, they do spend a pleasant day outside!! Weeds are pulled and borders are trimmed. The earth is dug over, and dead heads from the past years' blooms are clipped and discarded . . . and all the day through, her little furry companion keeps her company . . . leaving her side only to chase an early fat bumble bee . . . the harbinger of spring . . . bumbling along looking for the nectar of a sweet flower or two that are not yet to be found . . . the early spring sunshine has not yet the warmth of the days to come in it's rays . . . but it is a pleasant day and hard work keeps one warm and moving . . .
The day passes quickly, and still no one comes to claim him . . . inside they go for a simple repast of bread and jam . . . perhaps a nibble or two of cheese (Norah does love her cheese!) and a hot cup of tea by the fire. The logs snap and crackle in the grate as they warm their toes and Norah gently rocks back and forth in thought . . .
Would it be such a bad thing to have a fine pup such as this to keep her company???? It is not something she has ever thought of in the past, but today has been quite cosy and enjoyable. It's been fun having a warm wet nose prodding her along on her chores . . . seeing the garden through those soft brown eyes . . . and it is quite, quite nice sitting here relaxing with a warm furry body helping to keep her toes warm . . .
She sits and looks and smiles a secret smile . . . her heart melting all at once.
"I think I'll call you boots." she says. And it seems to suit, for he is indeed wearing a perfect set of little white boots.
After all . . . isn't life meant to be shared???
Woof! Boots does agree. They were indeed made for each other it seems. And so it goes . . .