Bennie and Sophie in Wonderland

Dogs. Strange creatures, dogs.

Dogs are really a loveable and affectionate part of the family. They certainly want to be in on the action, whatever the action may be, and wherever it may happen. This morning I went out strolling in the garden, camera in hand. Yes, two black Labradors, Bennie and Sophie, in tow following me.

Just in case. I’m not sure what they were expecting, but they were following, just in case.

Nearing the end of my excursion, I turned and started heading for Goat Hill to spend some time with residents Jacko and Beebs, who were naa-naa-ing in the distance. Now, that’s something they didn’t teach us at school: a horse neighs, a lion roars, an elephant trumpets, but what on earth do you call the sound made by goats? The naa-naa of a goat is called his bleat. Just like Mary’s famous little lamb.

English lesson done.

I had just turned, when it was as if the sky had fractured. Silently and suddenly, just like a earthquake – you might call it a sky-quake. Huge, and I really mean huge, rain-balls were pelting down and smashing themselves to smithereens on the ground around us. I was being soaked as I stood, undecided, trying to determine where the best cover might be. The camera instinctively crept under the front of my jumper, away from the deluge.

The front door was closest, but that was about thirty metres away. Usain Bolt would do it in 3 seconds on a good dry day and on a good track. This was not a good day, it was certainly not dry, and there was no track, just a watery concrete path. I am not the Usain Bolt I used to be, and I was wearing floppy gumboots. I calculated that I might need a fraction longer than 3 seconds.

There is a saying that the dog might get under your feet? Obviously not literally, unless they are those flat little sausage dogs. But in this instance, Bennie and Sophie really got under my feet. Both at the same time. This nearly resulted in me being floored. Luckily the dogs are large and I managed to remain upright, stumbling along, rainwater splashing everywhere.

The dogs were looking up at me, terrified at the unusual phenomenon.

“Where on earth are these huge balls of water coming from?” Bennie seemed to ask.

I could become scientific and give him an explanation, but that would be like water off a duck’s back. Not that he’d understand the simile. Nor, would he even want to know what a simile is…  He doesn’t do grammar, not even dog grammar. Grammar or no grammar, all three of us were almost at the safety of the front porch.

I was still about 10 metres from my target, water splashing up as my floppy gumboots dragged along the cement path. Then, as suddenly as they had started, the huge rain-balls stopped. The sky-quake had ended.

Prior to this little episode, I’d been strolling around like, I imagine, perhaps Lewis Carroll. Not physically like Mr Carroll, but like he might have done, collecting ideas for his type of writing of fiction, humour, word play, logic, fantasy and nonsense.

 
One of the most widely read and remembered tales in the English language, Alice in Wonderland.

So much of the Chartwell gardens could well have provided Lewis Carroll with ideas for his literary works. Simply dim your eyes a bit and use your imagination, and you’ll see the sights (and perhaps even hear the sounds) which might have inspired him. 

There goes a white rabbit, darting away between the shrubs. Drat, did you miss that?

We approached the top of a hill where the wood thickens. Sophie looked like a real giant – we were really approaching a Wonderland…

A sheltered little arena of moss-covered stones, where the Queen of Hearts may have been ordering “Off with their heads!” One cannot see any of this from the surrounding gardens.

Sitting on one of the number of large tree stumps, it is easy to imagine the Cheshire Cat with its mischievous grin, sitting on the branch above, where it appears and disappears at will, engaging Alice in amusing but sometimes vexing conversation.

At one point, the cat disappears gradually until nothing is left but its grin, prompting Alice to remark that she has often seen a cat without a grin but never a grin without a cat.

Although it bears no resemblance to The Sleepy Hollow Tree, I am totally fascinated by the hanging bark of this tree in our Mad Hatter’s Garden. The deep brown colour dominates the otherwise grey brush, kindling and branches of the surrounding growth.

Prickly (Pair) Trio

The Chartwell watchdog Benjamin Labrador is surely one of the most prolific scouts to sniff out and bring home hedgehogs whenever he can. If you have ever tried to pick up one of these little critters, you will know how difficult it is, and how painful the pricks in your fingers can be.

Nevertheless, last night Bennie lived up to his name as a dedicated scout. Just after supper, as the family was settling down to watch the TV news, Sophie alerted us with one of her famous yelps that something was up. We went to look, and there was Bennie with a cute little very-much-alive hedgehog. Time for incarceration in the green laundry bucket. Bennie was awarded his regular “Good Boy” pat on the head, and everyone settled back to see the news, which had been placed on pause.

Everyone, except Benjamin.

Ten minutes later, Sophie alerted the household once more. No prizes for guessing. However, this time the hedgehog was a late hedgehog, with blood and a bit of guts all over the shop, so to speak. Bennie’s mouth was also not quite perfect. The ex-hedgehog was placed in the red laundry bucket. This coincidence had nothing to do with green=oK and red= dead , it simply worked out that way. Another “Good Boy” pat for Bennie, and finally we looked forward to seeing what the news had to offer.

Everyone, except, yes… Benjamin.

Half an hour later, with most of the news (including all the adverts) having been digested, Sophie sounded her final alert. A third still-living hedgehog was proudly displayed by Olympic-potential hedgehog hunter Benjamin Labrador.

Should number 3 be imprisoned in the green bucket or the red? It turned out that the red bucket was closest, so the newcomer ended up with Dead Dannie. Somehow, I don’t think that hedgehogs think that deeply, he simply accepted the local hospitality with the grace which befits any well-educated rodent.

This morning, I loaded the two buckets, with their three stinky inmates, into the back of the car and set off for St Andrew’s Presbyterian. After a few minutes I arrive. At my back is a signboard showing Reikorangi Road and Ngatiawa Road in opposite directions. To my left is the red roofed church of St Andrew. Our hedgehogs (well two of them) lay curled up like balls of grey knitting for a few moments, and then  scurried away to freedom of the bank of blue agapanthus flowers.

(Above): The trio of Bennie’s haul lie waiting on the grass opposite St Andrew’s, before heading for the hills.

What a Load of Bull!

Yesterday morning, after a sudden cacophony of gut-wrenching roars, I almost thought that I’d been teleported into the African savannah, and we were being besieged by hungry lions. Our two intrepid hunters/watchdogs Bennie and Sophie, who’d been sunning themselves outside the kitchen door, sprang into life and went tearing off into the undergrowth of the secret garden and then out of sight. The roaring continued.

Went I reached the far fence, half out of breath, there stood Bennie on his hind legs attempting to straddle the fence with the neighbour’s grazing paddocks. Sophie was hopping around excitedly, yelping as only Sophie can.

One the other side of the fence were some forty sheep munching in the long grass. A few of those closer to the fence were standing attentively watching these two black strangers across the fence.

Then further back in the paddock I spotted the “lions”

Some two dozen black bulls. Big bulls. Scary bulls, if you’re not a farmer.

As the bulls came closer to the flimsy fence, I started retreating ever so slowly but surely. They were probably quite tame and friendly, I tried to reassure myself, but I was scared that our two beloved Labradors would come off slightly worse if they managed to accidentally enter the bull ring.

Down on the ground quite near our fence, I spotted this little Mount Kilimanjaro. It didn’t belong to me, nor did it belong to Benny. That left only the two dozen…. yes, what a load of bull!

Today, the bulls appear to have calmed down quite a bit in their new home and Bennie and Sophie, although clearly accepting that they should not try to challenge the presence of this gang of monstrosities, have remained in the general vicinity of the fence and are keeping a close watch on the grazing neighbours.

There will be bull reports if there are any further developments in the ring.

Benny! Grandma’s Back!

I am sitting at the dining-room table tapping away the keyboard, busy with… well, with important stuff. Sort of important, with the dogs lying peacefully asleep at my feet – like an author writing a novel in front of the log fire in the highlands. Sort of.

There is an explosion under the table and two furry black streaks make a bee-line for the door, slipping and sliding as they career uncontrolled, like a bison stampede.

Moments later, I reach the door to see the gate-scene above. Judging by the vigourosity of the tails, it was not hard to fathom who had arrived and parked outside on the verge.

It is quite apparent that, at this moment, Grandma is the most popular person at Chartwell. And, look, Benny… she’s got some yummy stuff for us!

Jump, Sophie, jump!

To end off the year 2013, Brynn demonstrates her animal training skills with a display of various show-jumping activities, using a set of cane chairs.

Dad gets summoned to act as assistant handler. Here he oversees Sophie on the seat, while Brynn explains to Bennie what is required of him.

It is amazing to see the obedience of both dogs, irrespective of whether there’s a treat on offer or not. They simply do not dare to disobey, because their trainer does not accept second best. Try repeatedly until the trick is perfected!

Here Bennie clears the “obstacle” with miles to spare! Quite obviously destined to be a star show-jumper, if Brynn has her say.

Bathday

At Chartwell, we don’t bath every day, we bath on Sundays – but only if we pong a bit – like dog! Sunday 29 December dawned with some decent sunshine, and it was Sophie and Bennie’s turn for a jolly good scrub-down.

The team effort starts with Sophie getting shampooed. She’s not keen on the initial wet-down, but then the finger-nail action is obviously most enjoyable. I don’t just like it… I love it!

Now it is the turn of Bennie, who has been standing idly by, grinning at little sis. This involves a bit more pushing and shoving. And grunting and resisting. Bennie isn’t really phased by water, but any self-respecting male dog should not simply submit, not so? Brynn waits patiently to wet down her beloved pet.

There! Bennie stands perfectly still while Brynn gently soaks his entire coat to prepare him for the shampoo.

There… that’s more like it. This scratching and rubbing around the chest and neck is the life. Bring it on!

Christmas on Boxing Day

At the Wellington airport, sailing clear through customs without a hiccough, we were greeted by Bianca, Brynn, Clayton and Tyler at around 00:45 on Boxing Day.

An uneventful trip along the SH1 northwards, found us at Chartwell and opening Christmas gifts with lashings of warm coffee until about 3:30am, after excited introduction to Benny and Sophie – what affectionate pets!  Bedtime was welcomed by all, in anticipation of a re-scheduled Christmas as agreed.

A few hours later, we enjoyed an informal Christmas breakfast and a stroll around the property to familiarise ourselves with the various aspects of the garden, the happenings of the recent past, and explanations of anticipated developments to be tackled in the garden.

All Black Tyler demonstrating his passing techniques to dad Clayton, with the aid of his Gilbert rugby ball Xmas present. Clayton was attired in the customary tartan kit.

 

Jeanette was feeling out of this world, quite astounded by the splendour of some of the many fine displays of hydrangeas all over the garden.

While waiting for the gammon to be done on the bar-b-q, a few drinks were enjoyed under the warm but cloudy sky on the lawn next to the kitchen herb garden.

Followed by a walkabout to the lower cliff garden and to inspect the recently-erected fence, designed to keep Bennie and Sophie from getting at the dogs on the neighbouring property to the south of Chartwell.

Back towards the house, we passed through the pergola which separates the western and eastern lawns.

Purple flowers offering their juices to the busy bees…

Clayton and Tyler head past the new veggie garden towards the proposed future chicken coop. They will be free-range, organic and happy creatures. They will be so happy that they will lay dozens of fresh breakfast eggs. Clayton assured everyone that he is on top of the matter, and virtually knows everything about chooks that is needed. We shall wait and see…

Whilst walking around the grounds, were constantly “tailed” by Coco, the cat. Here, Coco presents his best end as he disappears back towards the house.

Another huge blue and white hydrangea display looking northwards.

Sitting down to Xmas dinner of traditional crackers, French champagne (given by the Real Estate agent when they purchased the house, and saved for this special occasion), gammon, chicken, roast potatoes, and a selection of fresh vegetables, followed by a huge bowl of trifle.