Our garden is a bit of a wildlife haven, it seems. We have a regular squirrel visitor, and another squirrel who gets beaten up by the other if they happen to visit at the same time. M thinks it's the fruit trees (apple, pear and plum) that attract them. I *cough* also left some nuts out once, but we won't mention that.
The overgrown nature of our garden - we have a strip at the back that we have left for years to go wild - has also attracted foxes, most notably a young pair of siblings, who were cubs when we first saw them rolling around together in the grass early one morning. A few mornings ago, I was surprised to see a large bright pink rubber bone in the middle of what we loosely call our lawn. I figured someone had accidentally thrown it into our garden. The next day it was closer to the house, with extra teethmarks, so we knew the foxes had been playing with it.
Today, M and I finished clearing out the shed, one of the many jobs M has set us in preparation for becoming parents in November. Seriously, we do not have a non-working weekend planned until mid-October, when I've told him I will be too pregnant to do anything (while attempting to drown out his mother's reminiscences about going into labour while she was working in the fields in Italy...) Rooting around in a shed that's full of spiders isn't nearly so daunting in England, where none of the little beasties are poisonous. Man, this country is so tame compared to Australia.
When he went beside the shed to clear what I hadn't even realised was a paved area (that's how overgrown it was) and stood in the cool darkness under the fig tree, he found a little den with more toys in it! A dog's ball, and some kind of plastic soldier toy. The foxes have been pilfering and storing their loot in our garden.
And I really am glad that they chose us. There's something very special about coming downstairs just after dawn (not a regular occurrence for me at the moment, but newborn baby here we come) and seeing rust-coloured beasts bounding around our garden, or hiding in the grass. We might be living in the country. And when, later in the day, the squirrel pops his cheeky head in and tries to get inside the house, then sits on a small concrete seat M made under the pear tree to nibble at fallen fruit, or seed pods, I feel very lucky to live here.
(btw, the paint colour in the nursery? Love it. It was just an initial 'that isn't identical to the swatch' reaction.)
The overgrown nature of our garden - we have a strip at the back that we have left for years to go wild - has also attracted foxes, most notably a young pair of siblings, who were cubs when we first saw them rolling around together in the grass early one morning. A few mornings ago, I was surprised to see a large bright pink rubber bone in the middle of what we loosely call our lawn. I figured someone had accidentally thrown it into our garden. The next day it was closer to the house, with extra teethmarks, so we knew the foxes had been playing with it.
Today, M and I finished clearing out the shed, one of the many jobs M has set us in preparation for becoming parents in November. Seriously, we do not have a non-working weekend planned until mid-October, when I've told him I will be too pregnant to do anything (while attempting to drown out his mother's reminiscences about going into labour while she was working in the fields in Italy...) Rooting around in a shed that's full of spiders isn't nearly so daunting in England, where none of the little beasties are poisonous. Man, this country is so tame compared to Australia.
When he went beside the shed to clear what I hadn't even realised was a paved area (that's how overgrown it was) and stood in the cool darkness under the fig tree, he found a little den with more toys in it! A dog's ball, and some kind of plastic soldier toy. The foxes have been pilfering and storing their loot in our garden.
And I really am glad that they chose us. There's something very special about coming downstairs just after dawn (not a regular occurrence for me at the moment, but newborn baby here we come) and seeing rust-coloured beasts bounding around our garden, or hiding in the grass. We might be living in the country. And when, later in the day, the squirrel pops his cheeky head in and tries to get inside the house, then sits on a small concrete seat M made under the pear tree to nibble at fallen fruit, or seed pods, I feel very lucky to live here.
(btw, the paint colour in the nursery? Love it. It was just an initial 'that isn't identical to the swatch' reaction.)
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