With British Summer Time fast approaching (the clocks go forward at the end of this month) , the dog is getting herself organised accordingly.
When the clocks went back last October, it took her at least 6 weeks to settle down.
She tends to get us up in the night between 2 and 3am. This is probably our own fault as when she was a puppy, we used to get up around this time and put her out for a wee.
Over the past few months, her get-us-up time has been around 4am, but last night (or rather this morning) she got me up at 5.30.
The garden was in silhouette, with the silver birch trees reaching out and up into the night, but merging slightly with the higher branches of the apple tree. I could just make out the bird table and bird bath.
I spent my own penny and as I let her back in, a lone pheasant ‘squoughed’ (they don’t squawk or cough, it’s a mixture of the two to my ears) . Closing the door, I noticed the darkness had turned to that inky blue, denoting the approaching dawn.
It would be a glorious day.
Lying in bed, I could hear the chatter of sparrows in the trees alongside us, and the single tone of a bird I could not identify by sound alone. I remembered from my childhood the number of ‘bird impressionists’ that would grace our TV screens in talent shows. I never appreciated them then, but how I miss them now.