Hibernation

Whoever said global warming was a myth didn't know what they were talking about. Today's weather was distinctly odd, especially for this time of the year. We really haven't had a cold winter so far despite the Incoming Cold Front threat which is mentioned on a weekly basis. Except for one acutely cold spell a few weeks ago, it's been T-shirt weather during the day. I'm guessing that winter has finally arrived in my part of the southern hemisphere, with rain and snow forecast elsewhere for the rest of this week. The clouds and unseasonal rain cleared this morning revealing a bright, sunny day... but the cool wind turned and now you can feel the bone-aching cold creeping in. A necessity, I know, but not my favourite thing. If I were a bear, I'd be well-fed and hibernating with another three months of sleep ahead of me!

sunday solstice

My mom decided to participate in the Canadian Prayer Quest: 8000 Drums. Apparently there is an ancient prophecy which states that when 8000 drums beat, Mother Earth will be cleansed and rejuvenated. We added our own intentions and prayers to the day and walked the Animal Labyrinth of Remembrance too. The labyrinth was my mom's brainchild too.

This is the last pic I took before my camera's card was full... It's interesting for a couple of reasons: Apart from the huge Orb like blob on the left of the pic, my mom appears to be seated beneath an amethyst-coloured shower of light with that horizontal rainbow above her head.

Yes, I know i took it straight into the sun, and that those are 'flares' and blobs of 'dust' or suchlike. However, if you are into Orbs and odd photographic effects, then you tend to view such photos in a different light.

I did a similar ritual to this a year after I lost my mare Melody. When I took the first photos of the then new Labyrinth, some interesting things showed up in the pics. They were also taken from a similar angle to where these were taken from.

Amethyst is my mom's favourite colour, there she is dressed in purple, drumming away, something she loves doing. I'm guessing that when your actions match your intentions, the Universe will use any means possible to give you a thumbs-up, letting you know that your efforts are appreciated.

I'm wondering who the Orb belongs to...

Why bother...

... being anything EXCEPT a dog? There must be some unwritten law of nature which predicts that if you live with dogs, they WILL expect you to get out of bed at an ungodly hour. If you don't, then playing 3-a-side bed rugby is bound to get you up.

I've just figured out why it feels like I have weird indigestion. Weird only because when I located my indigestion area, it felt BRUISED. Only then did I remember how my day started – with a Jack Russell using my chest as a spring board to referee the Labs as they tackled each other. On the bed. Where I was still sleeping. In the dark. At 5.30am. Dark because it's mid-winter!

This is Jackie now, doing what Jackie does best: sleeping. Throughout the day, while her human walks around, bleary-eyed, stumbling over sleeping dog bodies.

Hazy shades of winter

South Africans are funny people - as soon as we get a bout of weather it makes the news. Of course, summer on the highveld is super hot with thunderous storms and thirst quenching rain. Winter is another story though. Usually bright, clear, cold and sunny days are the norm. Except when we have unseasonal rain, like we had yesterday. It really whacks the temperature down, but it's pretty to wake up to. The mist sets in and creates monochrome scenes reminiscent of London.

S'no goose

I'm really having a hard time of it, trying to organise the chaos in my head. Manic thoughts are having head-on collisions and that pure stream of consciousness that we should all be plugged into seems to have been hi-jacked by the pins-and-needles party in my brain's frontal lobe.

Basically, by now, I of all people, should have my thoughts under control. I should be thinking useful things to help me create my reality. As opposed to those thoughts that resist reality and continue to wreak havoc with my daily existence. Our spiritual gurus remind us that thoughts are things, and by focusing on the negative ones, or rather, on the reality that we DON'T want, we bring into existence the very situations we are trying so desperately to avoid.

My dog Joe acts as a good Colleen-Reflector. Always up for a laugh, I think his job in life is to show me where my thinking has taken a wrong turn.

Yesterday he chewed through my only pair of warm winter thermals, the ones a friend brought me from the States. This morning he bit the goose. That goose drives me crazy. Every morning he charges at us when we get to the stables. Wearing wellies is fine, but when I forget that I have naked legs under my jeans, his beak attack leaves me looking like I've been crawling around the floor of a heroin hostel.

The goose and Joe have gotten personal before. I've seen the bird run his beak up and down Joe's neck and back while he just stood there, taking it. Instead of getting the hell out of the way, he stays within beak-biting proximity. This has been going on for months until this morning, when the dog must have decided he'd had enough. I heard a commotion and when I looked again, the goose was clucking forlornly to itself, waddling away from the stables. That animal NEVER waddles, it's no Jemima Puddle Duck. It usually swaggers, wings outstretched, hurtling towards you...

Anyway, the goose looks ok, still yelling at the top of it's voice. Doesn't look like there's too much damage. I put an emergency call through to my mom – she's used to getting frantic requests for help with our animals. She's sending healing energy and I'm praying to the goose gods that they spare the noisy duck, while I promise to never allow Joe within biting distance again.

What does this have to do with thinking mean thoughts about geese then, you ask. Well, the noise that goose makes is enough to rattle the teeth in my head. I must be honest and admit to wondering when it would shuffle off it's mortal coil and leave me in peace. His rooster companion must surely be deaf, talk about being hen pecked. I'm figuring this is what the Universe delivers when you allow aimless thoughts to run rampant inside a busy head. Darling Joe, being a steadfast co-conspirator, no doubt thought he'd help out and put a sock in it, so to speak. Which takes me back to yesterday's stocking fiasco. If I moan incessantly about how cold it is, my Reflector Dog is going to help create that reality for me and keep me cold...

The damage is done

Joe just chewed through my thermal stockings. It wasn't really a surprise as I'd already taken them away from him once this afternoon. The resulting tennis-ball-size hole renders them useless in the freezing cold weather we're experiencing in Jozi right now.

He has this thing with socks – carries them around in his mouth. At the beginning of winter he left a small hole in my long grey socks. Yes, I wear LONG socks in winter. I'm allergic to the cold and go to great lengths to convince my brain that my body is warm. Wearing long socks under my jeans is NOT super sexy, I know. Especially when BFB runs his hand up my leg, expecting the smooth, silky, shaven limb one expects to find, as illustrated by lady-razor tv ads. It does however, ensure that the object of his desire is not the same temperature as a forgotten pork chop stuck to the bottom of a vegetarian's freezer.

I'm not sure why my dog has a sock fetish. As a puppy he shredded some really important things - like my riding boots, the strap on my crash-cap, my NEW gloves and my favourite Bach Flower Remedies book. I thought he'd gotten over that, but clearly he hasn't.

It's not enough that my dog causes unnecessary damage - my glasses and cell phone have been through the ringer too. A couple of weeks back I made the mistake of leaving my jacket hanging on the fence behind which a mischievous pony was corralled. I'd had carrots in the pockets the night before, and she was making sure that there were none left. By the time someone noticed my jacket, the sleeve was on its way down her throat. I didn't think anything of it until I was walking home... when I put my hand in the pocket, I noticed the unmistakable grass-green gobby sleeve. With a sinking feeling I extracted my glasses and phone from the mess... Glasses were in two pieces and the phone – well, it still works, but the screen was crunched by some heavy duty horse teeth.

BFB came to the rescue, yet again. He popped the lens back into their frame and gave me his spare R200 replacement phone. I'm guessing he's glad the stockings were made redundant and probably wont be replacing those anytime soon.

Dogs have souls, but you already knew that

Great article published in The Seattle Times, quoting Marc Bekoff, one of my favourite human beings. Imagine trying to convince your peers that the earth was in fact round. This is similar to the gargantuan task that scientists such as Bekoff and Sheldrake have taken on. They would surely have been burned at the stake as heretics by their fellows for acknowledging concepts such as animals having souls, or using ESP. I for one am glad these guys are sticking their necks out to prove what animal lovers have always known, in their hearts and souls. That the love we feel for our furry and feathered friends is much, much more than anthropomorphism (a word they can delete from the English language as far as I'm concerned).