The Cottage - Day 13
Clouds. Rain. Soft, but rain. Like a heavy dark ceiling with a light fringe that drags on the ground and hides the view.
Over the hill a mile away I see smoke I know that is coming from a chimney. I’d like a fire now. Switch to my big jumper.
The sheep are in the side field and again Dog-dog runs over to the gate that I covered with wire fencing. Maybe as many as 20 sheep scatter this time. It’s a vision thing. Dog-dog sees them and runs. They see the dog and run. They are never going to actually meet each other.
Ponder building a stone wall to break the sight of the dog. It would have to leave a clear path for the sheep though for whenever the farmer opens the gate and guides them past my door and into the front field. And where do I think I am going to get all these rocks?
To distract the dog I ask if she fancies a walk to the gate even though there can’t be any post as the van doesn’t come for hours yet, though he hasn’t been consistent in any sense. You probably can’t be with a rural route that changes so dramatically based on where you’re delivering. As she’s off leash I’m hoping this isn’t the time there are loose sheep at my gate.
I must stop going for walks in the rain while wearing sandals. This is not America, things do not dry quickly here. In fact some things never dry here. The cloud closes in and slides all around us.
We walk on further down past the bushes to see if anything has been dumped where I saw the large blue van stop a couple of days ago. Before we even get there I see a load of rubbish that was thrown into the bushes. Mostly it’s drink related, empty boxes of beer, and empty bottle of water, but in the middle of the bush is a full black refuse bag.
Looking back at the mountains behind the house it’s easy to count the sheep, as they are little white blobs stuck on to the side of it.
Down where I wondered if the van had dumped stuff, a spot where I’ve found some branches for burning previously, there is nothing dumped. We walk back a little and I hope the dog doesn’t see the large fuzzy caterpillar crossing the road. Then I see a car coming from the direction of the village.
-Quick Dog-dog, a car!
Rather than simply take my word for it, the dog turns to see if a car is really coming and when she sees that it is she simply starts smiling. She stands in the middle of the road looking at an oncoming car that is now slowing down, and she smiles at it. So I run.
Running back towards the cottage and the turn at the bushes, Dog-dog doesn’t like to be left out on a run so she runs after me and I catch her at the turn as the car then drives by to the mountains. It’s driven by a woman, beaming a big smile and waving quickly and happily as I wave back with my free hand from my crouched position.
Dog-dog is growling at the window on the world. I go to to tell her to leave the sheep alone only to see she is not looking in the direction of the sheep. The mist has hidden most things but I can still see the bog road, and nothing on it. Finally two red dots in the distance. The red-jacketed women out walking again.
I really want 4 sausages, especially as I’ll end up sharing with a 4-legged creature, but I need to make the packet last so I opt for 3. Hey look, use before today. Hmmm. I guess I’ll have 4 so. The others will keep. I must start checking dates when buying things.
The dog comes in before I call her, scoffs her half sausage that I’d chopped up into her bowl, and goes back into the porch where I hear her throw it all up along with this morning’s breakfast. And she’s still going.
Cleaning up such matters was fine back in Dublin or in America, but as here I carry out my rubbish on a bicycle I don’t want a load of dog vomit in the bin until I have enough worth carrying. At the moment, a week since the last rubbish drop, I have just 2 pieces of foil in the bin - everything else goes on the fire or the compost.
The toilet is an option, but, let’s just say there’s something I don’t want to risk.
So I clean it all onto a spare slate and decide to fling it where the sheep and the dog won’t go but the rain and whatever small creatures fancy a nibble will. The problem with taking a backswing with a slate is that the stuff on there doesn’t know it’s supposed to wait for the forward swing before leaping off.
Thinking I’m in a really bad silent comedy I find myself cleaning the grass in the rain while wearing sandals and a woolly jumper.
Backswing issues addressed I’m quite proud of the scatter I create.
In fairness it’s a warm cloud that is hugging us with its rain, and it’s quite beautiful to look at. It is so dense so close to the cottage that the sheep on the near little hill are just within visibility and have nothing but the mist for a backdrop. It’s much more dramatic than the green fields and headland of normal visibility.
The rain turns heavy and the bog road disappears from view. I close the porch door.
Walk 5 miles. From 4-6pm. It is raining. Take a chance that it won’t keep raining. Get soaked.
Our walk includes 100 metres on main road. It should be fine but there are a few vehicles (I forgot it’s rush hour) and Dog-dog is suicidal trying to pull into the road. There is no shoulder. It is an unpleasant 100 meters.
Back on a back road we see a donkey. The dog-is nonplussed as she was when we passed the goat and some chickens. Only a couple of guinea fowl got her attention.
Meet an old woman who doesn’t open with hello.
-That’s a good dog
-She can be
-Is it a Jack Russell?
-It is
-Do you know where you can get a good dog?
-I don’t; she came from America
-Are you from America?
-I’m from Dublin
-Are you on your holidays?
-No, I live in the cottage up by the gap
-Where’s that then?
-It’s there, by the gap
-Oh that gap place?
-Yes
-That’s a fair walk
-It is
-My dog is dead
-Oh, I’m sorry
-It was a labrador
And she walks off as the rain restarts.
I pick some blackberries and eat them as I walk along hoping we don’t get too wet in the final mile and a half.
And then the weather does something extraordinary. All around we are surrounded by a dark heavy cloud down to the ground. Rain everywhere. Then, directly above us and the cottage, the sky opens. Opens that is, not brightens. Opens to pure deep blue and we are not rained on as we walk our final half mile looking at the rain that encircles us.
Dog-dog demands dinner and isn’t prepared to wait for my promised Italian extravaganza probably because she knows my Italian sausages are really Irish sausages to be used by today bathed in a couple of spoonfuls of something from a jar that has the word Italian on it.
Dog-dog is in bed asleep before I even put my dinner on.
When the darkness comes and I can’t see the lights on the far island, nor even the light of its lighthouse, it occurs to me that this is the first day I have gone without seeing the far island at all.
Tomorrow we will have been here 2 full weeks.
Read the Next Day at the cottage
Read the Previous Day at the cottage
List of all the Days at the Cottage
More from The Cottage:
• Day 1 at The Cottage
• Photos of The Cottage
• 12 Photos of Scenery Around The Cottage
• 12 Photos not all Mountains and Islands
Eolaí gan Fhéile:
Eolai…….Dahhhhling…….you don’t need to share everything. I was reading this on my lunch.
Ah, it’s all about the practicalities, you see. But yes, I should’ve put a warning in there. Sorry about that.
(You should see what I edited out of the latest segment of the Cycle Across America!)
I can just imagine!
“My dog is dead.”…and the tears squirt from my eyes as I think about our good dog Fred, who was killed by a red pickup truck as he ferociously protected us from that particular monster.
Eolai, take good care of Dog-Dog, because I think she has vicariously become the dog of everyone who reads this blog.