For the cauldron?

I found this newt in Smudge's waterbowl back in the spring.







This toad turned up in a weed bucket at the weekend. There's a mummified frog in the coal bunker and, yes, "thrice the brinded cat hath mewed", in fact the brinded cat never stops mewing, though it is just Smudge complaining about the Coop's economy cat nosh. I think fate is dropping some heavy handed hints about my vocation in life. Just call me Granny Weatherwax.

Smudge has graduated from Wall Watch to Pot Watch. I guess the mouse has decamped from the hydrangeas but somehow I don't think the azaleas are going to offer any more security.

Making me smile today

A new butterfly for me. A small copper male. According to the butterfly web sites, these are very territorial and frequently chase off other insects. I must have the wimp of the family because the minute a bee came along he disappeared in the opposite direction.







We had some very heavy rain showers this morning, then the sun came out and all the birds started to sunbathe. That looks like a dead robin on the left but I assure you he was just lying on his side drying his tum. The dunnock also spent a long time preening. It's the closest I've managed to get to one of these shy little birds. There are three regulars in the garden but they are very wary and disappear the minute I point the camera at them. The thrush has also been much shyer than the blackbirds, robins, finches and sikins but the sun today was too much to resist and he lay by the wiegela stretching his wings in pleasure. That's the robin again in the foreground.

Speaking of hydrangeas

The range of colours on this mophead hydrangea is intriguing.

From the creamy developing flowers

through electric blues

to subtle mauves

and hot pinks, all on one bush.

Mouse relocation

Mouse in pint jug, on his way back to the hydrangeas. I saw him scampering behind the ash bucket late last night and managed to persuade him that the back of the stove was not a mouse friendly environment. I also gave him a strict talking to about allowing himself to be caught by a wobbly-legged, toothless, sixteen year old cat who makes bagpuss look svelte and athletic.


I hope the mouse will develop some sense of self respect and avoid her in the future.






Smudge is still operating a strict demarcation of labour and stayed snoozing in the conservatory during the whole mouse trapping episode.

That effing cat

I was having a peaceful coffee this morning when I noticed that Smudge, instead of acting as the usual tonne weight furry anchor on my knee, was showing unusual interest in the fireplace. Suspicious that Wall Watch may have been a successful overnight operation, I got down on my knees and inspected the stove just in time to see a mouse tail and hind quarters whisking up a gap in the side panel. He is now sitting in the inner workings of the stove and I have no way of dislodging him. Smudge, after spending an hour eyeing the panel and dubiously poking it with her paw, has walked away from the whole business with a flick of her tail. Apparently equal division of labour means she catches wildlife and brings it inside but there her responsibility ends. If I'm ungrateful enough to be in bed snooozing when she drops her trophy on the floor, and it sets up home in the back of a multi fuel stove, then it is entirely my own fault. I think I'm going to have to get a humane mouse trap and set it overnight or I won't be able to light the stove again.


Wall Watch in Spring

In the garden today

Smudge was back on wall watch. There is a large, fat mouse that lives under the feeders. He is so well fed and lazy that even toothless, old podge has managed to catch him.... THREE TIMES. The first couple of times she brought him to me in the garden, while nattering loudly and gummily about what an ace hunter she was and how she could take on anything, a tiger, a lion or a panther, she was the best predator in the business. The mouse and I shared a moment of mutual long-suffering when she dumped him at my feet, before he politely made his excuses and waddled back to the bushes. I made no attempt to detain him. The third time, old podge decided she wasn’t wasting her beautiful, though it has to be said extremely slobbery trophy, on such an ungrateful recipient, so she brought him into the house at midnight and dumped him under the fridge freezer, just as I was going to bed. Neither the mouse nor I was happy with this new arrangement and Podge looked on intrigued while the mouse, freezer and I, performed a time-lapse waltz around the kitchen. I moved the freezer an inch and tried to persuade him to come out, while he scurried further under, saying, “No, no thank you, it’s really lovely under here”. An hour later, Podge had retired to bed with exhortations that I stop swearing and try to keep the noise down, as skilled predators need their sleep, when a combination of broom and pointy stick convinced the mouse that a brief trip in a pint jug to the hydrangeas was preferable to a night spent listening to Podge snoring in the conservatory.
In other news:
Yay, finally a fuschia flower, a bit bruised from the rain but I’m in no position to be fussy.

The rowan berries are proving popular

And the see-sawing spugs have moved on to the next pampas,

maybe they'll stop it self-seeding all over the place.

Summertime

A whole week since I last blogged. Not good enough Yan. Shall I bother with excuses? Naaah.


So August is here, the peak of the Summer, long sunny days with the garden in full bloom, when gardeners sit back and enjoy the results of their hard labour? Pah. Not in Argyll. This poor camapanula sums up the feeling of my poor drowned patch. Everything is looking grey and bruised from the torrential rain. The mallows, after leaning drunkenly against pieris for several weeks have succumbed entirely and are now flat on the ground. The pansies are flattened, the violas are flattened, the fuschias and pelargoniums are still not flowering and the tomatoes have come to a full stop and are thinking seriously about climbing back in their seed packets. There are some bright spots though; my courgettes have decided they are actually marrows and these stoical calendulas, keep their petals wide open, flaming merrily despite the watery missiles from the sky.