Feathers and Fur.

This is the post that I was planning to write this week, except for the ending. And the middle.

While I was away, Rob said that a dove had built her nest in our tree aloe in the newly improved bed outside the kitchen window. And just before I arrived home, she laid a second egg and was now sitting tight! She had chosen a safe place, surrounded by spiky leaves to ward off any pawed intruders, but our three lads didn't even notice her sitting quietly day after day.

Look below the flowers, right in the middle of the photo, see her?

We noted the date and looked up all there was about doves, and waited patiently along with her. We chose the right time to rush out to gather wood for the fire and replenish the water in the bird bath, and I noted with horror the amount of grass that I wasn't able to pull out!

The egg behind has the crack and chip.

And on Tuesday we saw a small chip and crack in one of the eggs, exactly on time!

Wednesday they hatched! Alfie was an uncle and we were grandparents! (Or something like that!) They were feathered but blind and looked healthy, and we started counting the days until they could fly.

Newly hatched!

Then this morning when I was making coffee I noticed that she was not on her nest and I quickly took water out for the bath. And this is what I saw:

Empty.

Nothing.

No bodies, no babies, no mum, no dad. The nest looked exactly the same, but empty.
We shall never know what happened to them. I have a feeling that an owl could have taken them. Or a kestrel or kite, we often see them overhead. A friend said this morning that there are so many doves around, it wouldn't make any difference.

Mum or dad, wondering?

But it did to that mum.

And now for the fur.

Remember Boscombe? My sister and brother-in-law's gentle giant of a dog? The one who looked after kittens and allowed them to climb all over him?

Boscombe being attacked by a tiny Phez!

A few months ago he was diagnosed with cancer and although he was put onto medication and seemed to improve, they knew it was just a matter of time.

On Tuesday I heard from Diana that he had suddenly deteriorated. They phoned their vet and she came almost immediately and confirmed that there was nothing that she could do. They had had Boscombe for eleven and a half years and he had 'mothered' more kittens than they could remember. He had played frisbee and chased balls and champagne corks, slept on their bed leaving them to fit around him, and had been their constant and loyal companion for all that time.

They were distraught. I phoned them and we cried together.

Then on Thursday I had a text from Diana to say that she had been at the SPCA that morning and had chosen two homeless pups to take home to love. I was thrilled for them and for the puppies. They will have more love than they will know what to do with.

Diana with Darcey. (Pic thanks to SPCA Facebook)

Boscombe left a huge hole in their hearts and their lives. And although these little pups will never fill that hole, the edges of it will blur and shift and fit round them to hold them safe.

(Pic thanks to Google)

And Saint Roch, the Patron Saint of dogs, has another soul to look after.

RIP Boscombe.