Thistles and Bees

9 07 2008

Hyde Park is glorious in the summer.  London - Part 1A 017 - Hyde ParkLong grass and thicket abound, begging to be trailed and explored.  And I am the dog to do it.

But the British squirrel is as stoic as Churchill, with a schizophrenic look in its eyes. When Squirrels Attack! The last thing I saw before the ER visit... It sits upon the lowest branch of a tree in temptation, just high enough to foil me, just high enough to vex.

Sometimes I sit motionless, intending to be a piece of errant statuary, misplaced by a bemused tender of the yard, but just as Churchill was too smart for Hitler,hitler-kitty the squirrel knows my game.  I move on.

Behind a well-kept row of roses, over a small berm, there is an orchard of thistles in full bloom.  Purple ThistleThey smell like honey and clover.  I have learned that if the blossom is tender and one nibbles carefully, it will come clean away from the thorn.  It is lovely to eat, even for a small dog.  It has no ill effect beyond tempting my tongue for more.  But there is something missing.  The air is still and clear.

No bees.European Honey Bee Touching Down

No bees to chase and snap up along the way.  The park is full of blooms, open and fragrant…and without a single bee.  I worry.

Even a small dog knows that the world was built from the ground up.  Everything in between exists for the next along the way.  Like taking a step out of the stairway to heaven, without that one step there may be no where to go but back down.

Where are the bees?Bees together


The Crossing, Land, Ho!

2 07 2008

Denny opens the kennel door to the deck and there is a new scent in the air: raw, dirty, earth.  god made dirt, dirt don't hurt


I push my nose under the rail and, with one eye, catch a glimpse of land.  With a simultaneous jerk, I am whisked into the arms of my Contessa and pointed in the direction of the elevator. 

My fair-sea friends bark a “buon viaggio”.  We have reached Southampton and the odyssey is over.

The clean sheets and clotted cream of London await.  Hyde park in the gentle mist of an English morning.  The fur hats of the palace guards…Buckingham Palace Guard

For a dog, life is clearly in the destination, I think.  For that is always where the nose points: discovery in middle of the unknown.

I am a traveling dog.are you walking the dog?


%d bloggers like this: