Two become one

Whilst contemplating the reason for the recent lack of blog posting (a bloggage blockage, I suppose), the obvious conclusion was that a lack of wildlife watching (and therefore source material) was a major contributor to the problem. The causes of this were manifold:

• Weather - lots of it and all quite unpleasant;
• Work - when able (see below);
• Wellbeing - we picked up a cold bug at the end of November and it is taking some shifting;
• Wherewithal - our stamina has been hit for six.

Let me clarify that statement about the lack of wildlife watching... there's been a lack of actively going outside with the intention of watching wildlife. Meanwhile, indoors, there's been much perusal of live webcams from at least four continents. I'm not complaining, mind, as I think we would have gone mad without the distraction from the previously-mentioned Four Double-ues of the Apocalypse. Thankfully, there have been fleeting moments of Nature's magic to lift the spirits and gladden the heart.

A trip to Sanday in the middle of a gale, where I had the good fortune to be up a ladder just as the eye of the storm went through. The ensuing calm brought all sorts of bird calls to my ears, including countless Snipe alarming at a hunting Hen Harrier and the delicate contact calls of a small flock of Skylarks. Always a joy to hear.

There was a journey to South Walls where the drive took me along a road by a field containing a big flock of Barnacle Geese, overwintering in Orkney from their breeding grounds in Svalbard.

Then, whilst in Tankerness at a house by the shore, the calls of Long-tailed Ducks and Great Northern Divers (more overwintering species) echoed around the bay, one rather comical, the other hauntingly eerie. And also, on Christmas Eve, this house served up a surprising encounter with the caterpillar of a Large Yellow Underwing moth, which was crawling up the wall by the front door.

There has been one other reason for my lack of muse. Between the Winter Solstice and Christmas Day, we had to say goodbye to Cookie, one of Megan's two cats. She was diagnosed with diabetes a couple of years ago, eighteen months ago was given 48 hours to live, but showed remarkable resilience to make it well into her sixteenth year. The diabetes changed her character, she became much more communicative and affectionate. I will fondly remember our early morning conversations as I made my way, blearily-eyed, betwixt bedroom and kitchen, ostensibly to fire up my day with a mug of tea, but first, always with preparing the cats' breakfast. However, recently she had tired of twice-daily injections and we wondered if this was Cookie's way of telling us something. Then she was off her food, not an affliction she had ever suffered from (I especially recall her returning from a trip to the vet where she had had some teeth removed and laying into her food bowl with gusto). But one recent evening her symptoms worsened rapidly, Megan made the decision to call the vet, and there was one final snuggle on Cookie's favourite part of the sofa. We buried her in the wildflower patch with a few of her favourite toys, so if you ever see me talking to the Orange Hawkweed, it won't be the plants I'm conversing with.

We're all struggling a little right now: Megan, Mocha and me. But we have plenty of happy memories of Cooks, admittedly most of them involving the words "No, it still isn't time for dinner." But it's the silence, more than anything else, for she could snore for Scotland.

Rest In Peace, Cookie (2009-2024)