Sitting back and enjoying the last few days of 'summer'

Earlier this morning, feeling particularly industrious, I also cut the grass, aided and abetted by the Brigadier who now has green paws for his trouble. Meanwhile, Teddi has taken to sitting in an empty plant pot, obviously trying to emulate the sun flowers.

On balance, apart from one small but notable incident which resulted in a back injury, September has been a fairly relaxing month. We’ve had a few trips to the beach with the horses and one weekend I met with a friend in Helmsley for lunch, at the charming and dog friendly Crema Coffee House.

The deliciously wicked, hot chocolate fudge cake, generously drizzled with Belgian chocolate is to die for, but what added to the ambience for me, were the beautifully well behaved dogs who called in accompanied by their people. A smart Cockerpoo was very much at home beneath one of the tables, obviously a regular.

The same could be said of the rather dapper West Highland White Terrier, but my favourite had to be the sweet little Jack Russell, on holiday with her family for the week, all the way from Northumberland. I was also impressed by the manner in which the orders were processed, with the waitresses never failing to ask if a bowl of water was required for the canine customers, who were invariably served first.

Throughout the entire month, albeit due to the aforementioned back injury, I am happy to say that I have been able to enjoy some delightfully tranquil days in the garden, soaking up glorious autumnal sunshine. Unable to do little else, this enforced period of rest gave me the chance to sit and do nothing, except listen to the birds sing and to actually take notice of my surroundings.

In the corner of the lawn, for instance, is a small hole which I now believe leads to a "field mouse house". I came to this conclusion by observing the cats who spend an inordinate amount of time crouching in the grass, willing the small furry occupants to surface. On occasion, I even saw Teddi, lying flat on her side, with one paw outstretched and disappearing underground.

The house martins, it seems, have also now disappeared for the winter. One day the sky was filled with tiny black and white shapes, milling about, discussing the route for their flight to warmer climes and the next, they had all gone, leaving their nest, high in the apex at the back of the house, eerily empty.

And, as dusk begins to fall at the end of the day, the silence is broken by the haunting cry of geese flying overhead in their seemingly effortless v-formation, coming home to roost for the night. So, sad as it is to mark the end of summer, this time of year also holds her own distinctive brand of grandeur.

On a different note, last weekend I had the pleasure of spending the afternoon with my youngest granddaughter Maisie, aged four. We enjoyed a lovely time together, picking brambles and reading the Tale of Peter Rabbit, yet again.

One of Maisie’s favourite pastimes, however, is looking through my old photograph albums, in particular finding pictures of her Mum and her Uncle James when they were small accompanied, as you can imagine, by a variety of four legged friends. This, understandably, leads to the question as to where all these dogs, horses, cats, guinea pigs etc, have gone. Delicately and sensitively, I hope, I told Maisie all about The Rainbow Bridge, that wonderful place where all our animals go when they become too old or too sick to stay with us here on earth. At the Rainbow Bridge the sun always shines, old friends meet each other, happy once again and all poorly animals are made better.

Maisie listened carefully to my explanation, before turning to the next page where a picture of Milo, one of my very early Cavaliers, smiled up at us.

"And this one Nanny? Has he gone down the river too?"