Being

The Dog

The dog is Andy, a white Maltese Shitzu cross.   The dog thinks he runs my house and my life.  Treasure has moments when she thinks that the dog is a total ratbag, and that he has taken over from her in my heart! Not that she can complain because it is all her fault really.   When my old dog Reggie died she decided that I needed a new one.   Read she really wanted a puppy.  So she went shopping and Andy the Christmas present that keeps on giving was the result.   For weeks he went without a name.   My preference was Snowy (as in Tin Tin), Treasure wanted Bennie.    But Andrew Christmas it is, and has been for the last ten years.   He cuddles, gardens, barks and loves with total enthusiasm.

Home of the turandotz
Once upon a time there was a little girl who was fascinated by the word ‘turandot’. In the walls of her house lived a family of beautiful colourful parrots. Every year the parrots would return to the hole in the wall to lay their eggs and raise their babies. These parrots are boringly known as Eastern Rosellas, but why call them such a dreary and pedestrian name when they can be that magical, mythical and marvellous bird – the turandotz.
I live in the home of the turandotz.  My nest is empty so I travel, aspire to grow roses, spend time with good reds, take Nina Simone and Leonard Cohen with me where ever I go and disappear for days into a book.  My garden is a secret world.  Food a vice.  I work with words and creative people. I can be gregarious and a hermit. I love my daughter, my dog and my cat. Oh, and shoes! And shoes! Always shoes!

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One Response to Being

  1. bronween says:

    Shoes are a very good thing

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