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.
