Everything's Just Fine!

Whoah! What good fortune. More rain today. Thunderstorms sweeping in, one after the other. Ah, but in between the storms there was sun and there was a gentle breeze to mediate the discomfort of the high humidity, with temperatures up to a kindly 25-degrees Celsius. In the ravine, fungi, mushrooms and lichen and were behaving quite boldly, springing up all over the place, wherever there was underlying wood fibres - which, in a woodland setting, is everywhere.

Colourful, intriguing, textural, fascinating. Responding to the inordinately high level of moisture; in the ground, suffusing the air. Given the opportunity, we made the most of it; mowing the lawns and roaming in the ravine in the morning, scattering peanuts for the squirrels who somehow seem to know when we're arriving, welcoming us, prepared to scramble and vie with one another for the treasures we leave.

Later, in came the waves of thunder, the relentless rain. Which meant that construction of the new garden shed was set aside, for the day. In lieu of setting up the sides against the carefully measured, cut and installed framing, the plans for the layout were once again minutely examined, and sense made of all the instructions. No point, obviously, in removing the tarpaulins this day, for tomorrow is another day, one forecasted for no rain.

Instead, I proceeded with plans to groom Button and Riley, bracing myself mentally for the task. I set up my grooming equipment on the deck, under the canvass. Both little dogs badly needed haircuts. Button, I knew, would protest vigorously and do all she could to disrupt proceedings, requiring a great deal of patience. In the process, while I firmly proceeded to mow Button's hair, she became increasingly agitated. No longer can I murmur soothingly to her; with her advanced age, her hearing is impaired.

Finally the anguish caused to her and the misery to me, ceased. That would do; she appeared infinitely more tidy. And my attention turned to Riley, who required no tempting; he knew the drill and was there, eager to participate, lending himself readily to the enterprise. Button insists on going directly back into the house, post-grooming. She no longer appreciates the heat as she once did, as a younger dog.

It begins to rain, but the rain does not penetrate the canvass, nor seek its way under it, to disturb us. It does ping heavily into their water bowl, where the water jumps about as the rain hits it, standing outside the canvass tenting. Once he's done and brushed, it's bath time. And for this half of the operation, Button happily cooperates; she loves water, and an oatmeal shampoo is good for her dry skin condition.

Riley, on the other hand, now hides, trembling, under the large chair in the family room, not at all eager to be half-submerged in water, which I have run especially warm for him, as he tolerates it; cool for Button, as she likes it. The towelling-off procedure takes more time, it seems, than the bathing. And despite the ambiant warmth, Riley needs to have a little sweater put on afterward, to halt his trembling, while Button runs about, eager to be chased, energized by her bath.

Later, we sit out again on the glider, under the awning, relaxing, enjoying the lazy feel of the day, hearing the song of a thrush in the trees nearby. Soon, a fresh wave of thunderstorms rattles the sky, one after another, drenching the atmosphere and the gardens, but not us.