It’s crazy how fast they grow. From the tiny, mewing, little peanut-shaped scrap of life that I didn’t really want to touch because he looked a little rodenty (urk!)
to the stumbly, inquistive, slightly over-awed new-puppy-of- the-Homestead, through Puppy Preschool embarrassments and cat run-ins, and all the firsts: bark (at The Farmer’s entrance), tug-of-war (over my beloved croc), toothmarks where they shouldn’t be (so many I can’t remember the first), and utterance of “What the ****, Colin?” our life has been changed irrefutably.
And we love it.
Those of us for whom sleep didn’t come easily are now out like lights because Colin hears all. If you’re down, he’s right there with his puppy breath and goofy ways. He’s at your heels, or under your feet, during feeding out and sits, shakes hands and even comes when called…unless he’s doing something more interesting.
Even when he gets totally over the top and becomes a snappy, yappy labrashark we wouldn’t trade him in and the Homestead resounds to his steamtrain snoring.
Yep, we’re dog converts but not, we hasten to add, the on-the-beds, access-all-areas type. The cats still need somewhere to call their own, afterall.
Aside from Colin’s arrival, the sheep continued to pop until everyone had visited the maternity
ward paddock finishing up with six lambs from our five ewes and Neville being hailed the man of the hour.
For the record, Vera, Xiomara (we call her Zoe), and Yasmin join Ulyssa and Froda’s two boys, and we are nearly back to A and easier naming choices.
In the gardens, the moment belongs to the broad beans but the brassicas are waiting in the wings and, for the first time ever, we have managed to get some rather attractive and tasty radishes. As for flowers, the peonies and rhododendrons are stealing the show.
Over the weekend, we unfolded, assembled, and began filling the only pool I know of that is surrounded by an electric fence (to prevent scrabbly pawed puppy damage). Now, for those of us (pick me) who treat electricity like voodoo, I was a tad unhappy with the whole zappy-zap/water mix but those in the know (The Resident Engineer and Bean Counter) scoffed at my concern and went into boring scenarios involving solid sheets of water, great lengths of fencing, and my happiness to negotiate those fences we have around the place during downpours. I know when I’m beaten – as does Colin, who now gives the pool a wide berth.
So, that’s caught you up, you’ve met Colin, and all that remains on the list is the virus. We’re in the incredibly lucky position of living at the end of the Earth, surrounded by water, with a population of 5 million folk who were, for the most, pretty happy to have our government slam up the shutters and spend some pretty big dollars in the process. Here on the Homestead, we’ve made some changes to ensure we minimise risks. Shopping is done locally rather than in the big supermarkets in Christchurch, we chose to miss partying to celebrate our Godgirl’s 21st birthday, and The Bean Counter continues to don PPE at work as it is close to one of the quarantine facilities. Life isn’t as it was this time last year, but we’re doing ok.
Our thoughts are with those of you locked down again. We’re so sorry – not in a smug, gloaty way but truly, deeply sorry.
We do, however, get a bit peeved when the big kids tell fibs about us.
Keep well, keep safe…and most of all, don’t be an egg xxx