Creative writing submission from the Rest Less community – submit your entry here.
Well, autumn is definitely upon us. The nights are drawing in surprisingly quickly and you can feel the subtle changes in the air creeping in on silent, newly socked feet. Vibrant, verdant greens are washing out to soft creams and warm pumpkin oranges, mixed with a touch of energetic burnt umber and muted mulberry. The sky has given way from sublime blues to thin, watery sunshine that’s easily overtaken by softer, ghostly, graceful greys that change the shape of things and hide the hard edges of certainty.
Strangely, this summer has not had its usual, heady impact of joy, with many flowers in my garden completely failing this year. My Giant Agapanthus, whilst full of huge, waxy, sword-like leaves has failed to flower; my white Hydrangea Paniculata (of which I have many), with their large, graceful cones of small, delicate wedding blossoms, never really materialised; and the bedding plants which create a gaudy splash of instant colour were up and singing for the briefest of times, before sadly bowing out, show over.
Of course, as always, it’s all down to the weather. So much rain in the growing months combined with hot, hard rays of sunlight meant that young, tender shoots were burned and singed at the off, the shrivelled leaves of the Japanese Maples bearing testament. Strangely though, half of my trees have also died this year, having been topped out the year before. The other half are still alive but are feeble in terms of lushness and their usual vegetation.
Only the roses did well, their bright, gaudy colours like giant jewels splashed around the garden; their velvety scents heady and full of saucy spice – delicate, soft, floral sweetness and fruity hints of pear, apple, and blackcurrant. I was able to cut them and bring them into the sitting room every few days and oh my goodness! Coming down in the morning and opening the sitting room door to be assaulted by an intoxicating mix of perfumes that have filled the emptiness with a cacophony of outdoor aromas, literally bringing the outside in. Could anything be more glorious?
October moves swiftly in, shops begin to deck themselves out with ghosts and ghouls, mini pumpkins adorn checkout counters, and leaves fall crispy underfoot. As I take my two new mini Dachshunds out, our relationship cementing itself, autumn’s wet grass means that harnesses must be dried out daily on our return.
Paws and tummies (which are very close to the ground) must be gently towel dried; my little Bear rolling over onto the carpet, his legs waving in the air as he purrs and trembles under the touch of a warm, fluffy towel and firm fingers.
Willow is less demonstrative in that way and instead of rolling over submissively, chooses to stand up on my lap, her long body stretched upwards, paws on my chest, and head on my shoulder as she enjoys a more vigorous rubbing up and down the length of her.
I confess though, as the winter starts to creep in, I can see that a problem I’m already facing will, without doubt, escalate. Willow and Bear simply don’t do rain. They even have to be gently persuaded to step out onto damp ground. Of course, I remember this from 50 odd years ago with my first Dachshund. He used to try and use me like a human umbrella, walking between my legs, and sheltering under my skirts, but, unlike these two, Henry was considerably more amenable.
These two come charging down the stairs in the morning to the back door wanting to go out for a pee, but as soon as they realise it’s raining, the brakes go on. It’s like watching a Road Runner cartoon; their little back legs frantically pedalling backwards as they see the raindrops on the glass door. I have to get down to their level and gently manoeuvre their little, furry bottoms out over the step as they push hard, backwards against me.
Once achieved, I must move quickly to close the door behind them and then stand fast against the whimpering, trembling, pawing, and sad, pleading eyes directed towards me as they try to resist the urge to pee and persuade me to let them back inside. I often get soaked myself.
It’s taken as long as 12 minutes as it chucks it down when, had they both just given in and had a pee, we’d be back inside, warm and dry within seconds. I can’t let them out on their own as I have absolutely no doubt that they’d con me, removing themselves from sight in an effort to pretend that they’ve done the deed when, in truth, they’ve crossed their little legs and hung on!
I’ve read about creating dry areas in the garden but, here, only a shade sail would be possible and as I’ve experienced previous storms, my garden acting as a wind tunnel, I’m not keen on that idea. I even have to put the chairs away over winter for fear they’d take off over the railway line in strong winds. Hey ho! I think I need to get a better waterproof. Oh, and on that note, I bought them posh, Barbour, waterproof, wax jackets, but has it helped? No, not at all!
On another note, we’ve met a lovely neighbour who also has two mini Dachshunds so we feel we’ve joined a new club. One that’s kind, supportive, and accepts us, with all our shouty, nervous lunacy and sudden charging off after every dog and owner in the field (Willow) once off a lead. There’s no doubt that Dachshunds clearly recognise and enjoy being with other Dachshunds so this is a lovely meeting, and, hopefully, these two gentle, well-behaved, little sausages will teach Willow a few manners and social graces.
She’s totally harmless and doesn’t nip or use her teeth, but she does bark incessantly and bounce up and down like an idiot. Hopefully a spell of road walking and training will help as Willow is to be spayed tomorrow. We’ll all be sleeping downstairs for 14 days so she won’t be using the stairs and there’ll be no running after unsuspecting innocents over the field until she’s fully recovered.
And watch this space as I’m told she’ll be wearing a dachshund sized baby grow to cover her stitches…how cute is that! Pictures to follow.
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