Foxglove

THE pair of woodpigeons in the cherry tree bubble and coo, bowing their heads at each other and dislodging a shower of petals with every movement. Inside the ivy, the hen blackbird sits tightly, silent and watchful. Don't attract the magpies with all your noise, perhaps she is thinking.

Meanwhile, the puppy is helping me to clean out the ferret court, which means that the job is taking far longer than it should. When she is older, she will find these strong-smelling little creatures her allies, and she will work with them, catching the rabbits that they will bolt from the underground chambers.

Just now, she is not sure of them. She meets them under controlled conditions, and finds them curious: not friendly but not nasty either. I can trust the pup not to bite the ferrets but the ferrets might well nip the pup if they think she is not sufficiently respectful. This week, she saw another dog catch and kill a rat, so I am being extra cautious in case she transposes the idea. She knows the difference between rats and ferrets just as we do, but she is young yet and only just beginning to learn friend from foe.

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Meanwhile she gets under my feet and in my way, drags at the broom, dives through the ferretry door to pull a pheasant wing from the pile I have just swept up, needs a hand in her mouth to dislodge something stuck between her teeth which turns out to be a clump of feathers, and is generally a pest of the first order.