The Princess and the Penny

We loved having Cherry's Aunt Anne over to stay with us from London las weekend. She made such a fuss of my little princess that Cherry didn't want to see her go. And neither did I of course. She called on Thursday night! She was setting off for Saudi Arabia the following morning; and she will be there by now. I can't wait to hear how she's getting on! This is your cue Anne luv !!!

Now Cherry loves to have a good scratch around, before making herself comfortable in her bed. What dog doesn't. HER bed being in this case, Mummy's squashy plum sofa.They say that this is the instinct of any canine who in he wild would have lain in long grass, and needed to turn and turn to flatten it, and create for themselves a cosy and well hidden little nest.

But in the last two days Cherry had been dutifully following her canine instinct to the extreme, whipping her towel up into a veritable cotton frosted icing extravaganza and then finally flopping on top like the ehm cherry on the cake.

So when Mum finally decided to tidy up after her cheeky pup, what did she find when looking under the towel but - two bright English pennies. And now all became clear. Cherry now complains that she is black and blue from sleeping with a penny under her bed. Just like that other delicate young lady in the fairytale who had similar problems with a very small and seemingly inoffensive vegetable, my Cherry has shown that she is indeed of royal blood!

The Fundamental Interconnectness of Things

.....and with a title like that, you can tell that this is very much my MUM'S post. You wouldn't catch me writing on such an airy-fairy, up in the air, head in the clouds, non-edible topic. I mean what does it mean anyway. Well according to my mum it's nicked directly and unashamedly from Douglas Adams and can, on occasions, have quite a lot to do with .... and pigeons .Huh?

You already know about my mum's penchant for pigeons - She says she can't help it if they will keep swooning in front of her. Put ' em in a pie, I say. But she won't hear of it. No no, we have to go all the way down to Chatillon, which is the other end of the number 13 metro line to the Societe Protectrice des Oiseax de la Ville each time my mum finds one of these injured birds. But the last bird we found in distress not only gave my mum another occasion to leap into action as Bird Saver Extraordnaire but to indulge in another of her favourite activities; musing philosopically on the fundamental interconnectness of things.

LondonAuntAnne, Mum and me were walking by the lake in the Bois de Boulogne when I saw a pigeon floating in the water. This isn't the usual behaviour of pigeons, and this particular pigeon didn't think so either, because he was clearly trying to get OUT. Miserably though, he was not succeeding. Too exhausted, or perhaps damaged, he could not fly from the surface of the water and he was bobbing along, alternately thrashing and resting exhausted. It was only a matter of time.....Well my mum stood there appalled by the water's edge, though whether it was the plight of the pigeon, or the thought that had occurred to her that if she was going to make a significant difference to this pigeon's lifespan she was going to very soon have to jump in, I am not sure. Certainly the thought never crossed her mind to send ME in after it. Do I look like a labrador?

Well would you believe it, while my mum stood at a loss by the water's edge, that pigeon - that little wild bird who wouldn't normally come too near to a human being, flapped and struggled over across the short stretch of water straight to us, where he floated exhausted once again, wings outspread, unable to heave himself up and over the concrete edge. So luckily, my mum was now easily able to scoop him out and soon, he was standing soaked, and trembling, eyes tightly shut, wings folded and chest heaving, on grass not far from the water's edge.

Now, my Mum and LondonAuntAnne debated what to do next, and LondonAuntAnne won the day with the sensible plan of going to the nearest outdoor cafe - a very short distance away - of which the Bois de Boulogne rejoices in several fine examples - all serving delicious baguette cheese sandwiches which My mum and I have sampled many a time. Here, she (LAA) thought, they could get the pigeon some bread and water. What about me I asked them anxiously as I trotted along beside, but they didn't hear my questioning eyes...

The sun was out now and wonderfully warm and Mr Pigeon was able to sun himself, and dry off somewhat, as he stood stock still, eyes still shut, while his breathing slowed, and his trembling subsiding. A man spied our pigeon and came over to offer some old bread given to him by the cafe manager, who luckily seemed to be a friend of his. Then a friend of this person luckily arrived with her family. Soon she too was looking over with interest, concern..... and would you believe it, it turns out she rescues pigeons on a frequent basis, and runs ' em down to our favourite Societé and had been there only the evening before! Luckily! Well she was soon offering to motor Mr Pigeon down. Oh well I could take him on the metro my mum offered valiantly. No, no, this lady wouldn't hear of that and that's how we didn't come home with yet another sick pigeon on Saturday afternoon. My mum has high hopes that he survived to avoid water another day. Daft bird, I say, that's what you get when you mess with water

Anyway, you've got the luckily heavily interspersed through this little blog offering. Yep my Mum believes that Fate, the Universe and/or Something conspired to tee up that pigeon's rescue beautifully in a fundamentally interconnected way. Sigh, look it's not all her fault. She didn't always have someone as sensible as me in her life!