Creative writing submission from the Rest Less community – submit your entry here.
While I was sitting out in the garden yesterday and painting a table, I became aware of a kind of tapping sound. Now, those of you who follow my writing will know that, these days, my world revolves around caring for two ancient dogs: one with dementia, the other almost totally blind and deaf. This means that I continually have one ear tuned in, just in case either of them get themselves in trouble (again).
Listening closely to the noise, paintbrush poised, my eyes narrowed as I tried to identify the sound. Could it be Arthur, always highly intelligent, tapping out morse code in order to raise the alarm with his head stuck in a corner somewhere? Or was it Ila, over excitedly tap dancing on the floorboards? Ila is the most cheerful little 16-year-old you’ll ever meet and, though blind and deaf, she still very much enjoys herself.
When I’m at home my back door is almost always open. Earlier in the day, there’d been a torrential downpour and, as the rain began, I went in search of the dogs to check if they were inside – and, of course, they weren’t! Initially, I’d tried calling them in. Though, why I do this I really don’t know. Shiba Inu never come when they’re called if they’ve a mind not to and it’s become particularly noticeable as they’ve got older.
Ila is the only dog I’ve ever known who’ll sit eye-to-eye with you and watch as you call, whoop, gesticulate, and bring out tidbits of food as temptation, with an expression of quizzical indifference. It absolutely doesn’t matter what you do or say. I’ve known her to dissolve like a sack of potatoes, spread-eagled on the paving slabs, resisting poking, shoving, sliding – in fact any kind of propulsion – if she doesn’t want to go inside.
What if it’s snowing, hailing, or chucking it down, I hear you ask? Nope! She simply doesn’t care and, all other avenues exhausted, you’re left with having to pick her up and carry her in. Arthur was always far more amenable, generally doing as he was told. But, though entirely not his fault, that’s all changed with his dementia.
Anyway, as the heavens opened, there I was, once again ‘herding cats‘ in the garden. With my arms wide, I gently ushered them forward to get them in through the back door, all three of us dripping everywhere and soaked through. It took three bath towels and a change of clothes before peace was restored. So, going out in the garden again later, my senses were somewhat heightened.
Forced to put down the paintbrush, I felt I’d established that the sound was definitely coming from outside. I thought both beasties were asleep inside, but I decided to do a quick check in the laundry area and behind the shed just in case Arthur had wandered out and I hadn’t noticed.
Nothing. But, on coming back around the shed by the gate, a piece of twig was suddenly propelled towards my head. Looking up in the direction from where it’d come, I was delighted to see a small blue tit with her head stuck out of one of my nesting boxes on the wall, doing some housekeeping.
Just as I began talking to her, Arthur wandered out. I squatted down beside him and pointed out our new tenant. Of course he was interested and gave me a brief head snuggle and tail wag.
All but rats have always been welcomed into this garden by Arthur.
When I still had a cat, he’d sit guard over any fledgelings, calling to me with Shiba screams so that I’d come running to the bird’s rescue. We’ve had nesting wood mice which he’s completely left to their own devices – they’d literally hop over him as he sunned himself out in the garden! Hedgehogs are also always welcome.
Though, on the rat front, he’d dispatch them quickly and cleanly, throwing them high up into the air, so we literally never saw rats after our first year here.
Leaving murder to one side, only last week when putting the washing out I became aware that a hedgehog had taken up residency again in one of the hedgehog houses. I noticed that small pieces of the new straw I’d put in during April had been pulled out by the entrance. A sure sign!
I can’t tell you how the sight of that blue tit picking up Shiba fluff to take back to the nest lightened my heart and compensated for our earlier soaking. Arthur and I sat and watched for around 20 minutes as both mother and father birds popped in and out, clearly preparing the ground for eggs if, in fact, they’re not already in there.
As for the sound, I could hear the same tapping, scratching noise each time one of the parents disappeared inside, so problem solved and all Shiba Inu are safe. Arthur is by my side, Ila isn’t tap dancing in the kitchen, and our new residents are safely ensconced. We could relax and welcome the blue tits as part of our garden wildlife family. What could be more joyous than that?
Are you feeling creative? We are proud to have a hugely talented community on Rest Less, which is why we’re so excited to open up a section of the site dedicated to showcasing the wonderful and diverse writing of our members. If you have a piece of creative writing that you’d like to share with the Rest Less community – you can do so here.