It’s been 58 days since I made the decision to foster little Lolo. I originally called her Cadi, but it didn’t suit her! What a Christmas day that turned out to be. But despite falling in love with her, I am struggling to commit to adoption. 

     ‘It would be better all round if you made the decision to keep her,’ say many of my friends. Even my kind and unassuming husband has an emotional attachment to the wee creature.    

     And so, the dog I haven’t got, still sits beside me as I write. She is real, more real than ever, but I struggle with the thought of becoming a fulltime dog owner. The extra work and responsibility is often quite daunting....I’m ashamed to say!

     So for now, life goes on at our home for waifs and strays. Little Missy Pipet no longer lives in a box in our dining room. I’m pleased to announce she made a full recovery and is back with the rest of the hens, down by the pond. Talking of pond, the frogs are back and their ribbiting voices call through these chilly nights as they lay mounds of jelly-like spawn beds.

     And poor old Rosie! Rosie came to us one wet night twelve years ago, a wild yet broken cat. She spent the following two years just peering through our kitchen window, watching us with the saddest of eyes. We left the door open for her, fed her, talked softly and treaded carefully whenever she was around but she would never cross the threshold. Then we went away for two weeks, after inserting a cat flap in the kitchen door. During that time, Rosie entered our home for the first time and never left and so the home for waifs and strays had opened! On a recent trip to the vet, we discovered Rosie was suffering from hypothyroidism and is now on medication. She also needs an operation in two weeks, but for an old cat of at least sixteen years, Rosie is doing well.

     Well back to Lolo. Training Lolo, who is almost nine, has been easier than I thought despite that old fashioned saying ‘you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.’ Well you can!

     Lolo, who has never lived with cats or hens, has coped really well. She comes with me (without a lead) to see to the hens first thing in the morning and last thing at night and although the cats are a bit edgy, it is much better than I thought. But Lola struggles with other dogs and little children, so I am afraid to let her off the lead when out walking off the beach. But every day, I see an improvement in her.

     And so we continue to make progress, but quite often I feel l take two steps forward and one step back. It is like that with the kind of animals we care for. But for all the backward steps, that one step forward is worth the world to me, my kind and unassuming husband and the animals that live at our home for waifs and strays.

Every week I pay a visit to Carmarthen, the oldest town in Wales (so it claims) and every week I travel the same road home. Yesterday however,  was different! I went cross country, thinking it would be a short cut...How wrong was I?

     Instead of going straight over the crossroads, I turned left onto a quiet lane, thinking it would cut off a huge part of my journey. There was no sign to say it would, it just looked like it should. The sun shone through the windscreen and I felt a surge of excitement. I love adventures!

     Driving down lanes laced with wild flowers took my breath away. Every so often I would pass an isolated farm but no other car, just the odd tractor as I drove up and down small hills and over the oldest of quaint bridges where our ancestors trodded. This didn’t seem to bother me at first, I was heading the right way, so I thought! My excitement grew, as if I had discovered a new part of Wales, a part no one else had ever seen. I just couldn’t wait to tell my kind and unassuming husband on my eventual return.

     I braked suddenly, just in front of the oldest oak tree I had ever seen. But it wasn’t just the tree that caught my eye, but the buzzard that sat on its naked branch. I turned off the engine and watched, mesmerised by its large broad body and a pale necklace of feathers.  

     Further along the lane, I saw newly born lambs wobbling besides their mothers. It reminded me Sandwich and all the other wee lambs that had passed through our home for waifs and strays and I smiled. However, my smile soon faded when I realised I was lost.

     Deciding to turn the car around and go back the way I came seemed the best option. The lanes were getting narrower and grass grew down the centre making driving difficult. And just at that moment, I saw the most amazing site. A Red Kite! It was unmistakable with its reddish brown body and forked tail. Saved from extinction by one of the world’s longest running protection programmes, these magnificent birds of prey can now be seen across many parts of Wales. I felt blessed!

     Back at our home for waifs and strays, I told my kind and unassuming husband all about my journey home and how the road less travelled took twice as long but a hundred times more interesting. And yet another tale to tell my readers!

Boys will be boys, and Gilbert the Great was no exception. In fact, he often over stepped the mark. You see, Gilbert was a ladies’ man and all the ladies loved Gilbert. Well almost all!

     The posh girls loved Gilbert despite his amorous ways. The raunchy rooster would strut about the yard with his chest out, trying hard to make himself look twice the size and butch.

     Although he was a great protector, Gilbert the Great was actually surplus to requirements. You see, hens do not need a rooster in order to lay eggs but they need one, if a chick is to be born.

     Gilbert the Great would sit on a fence at our home for waifs and strays and threaten anyone who came near his girls...especially those that were sitting on eggs. I’m sure the poor postman dreaded coming anywhere near the place and often left parcels in a house across the road.  As you can imagine, Gilbert the Great didn’t make us very popular!

       Well as I said, all the girls loved Gilbert, but there were one or two exceptions and Sandwich was one of them. At least, she pretended to have no interest in him at all but she did watch him from a safe distance

        When Sandwich first saw Gilbert she was pitiful looking, having just arrived from the battery farm and so Gilbert didn’t pay her much attention. However, he did tend to watch her over the shoulders of the posh girls. And when Sandwich’s feathers returned to full shiny glory, she outshone all the others. In fact, she looked amazing.

         Gilbert the Great saw the transformation and would strut across the yard towards her. He would dance the cockerel waltz, with one wing stretched downwards. This amused our many visitors but certainly not Sandwich, at least, not at first. In fact, they almost came to blows, on many occasions. This, it seemed, only fuelled Gilbert the Greats amorous ways.

          As I watched the love affair develop between Sandwich and Gilbert, I often wondered if she knew that this raunchy rooster had the potential to fulfil her dreams. Remember the egg she craved for, at the battery farm, the one that almost rolled away? I knew then, that Sandwich would make a great mother one day. But whether Gilbert the Great would win her over, you will have to wait and see.....It’s later than you think now, and the house is quiet once again. It is the foxing hour...a dreadful time for hens!

Ok, so this is a love story about two worms that live in the garden at our home for waifs and strays. I guess I might lose some readers, but hang on a minute! Worms have five hearts and breathe in air and breathe out carbon dioxide, just like us. So why not stay a bit longer? It wont take long. Their names are Wilma and Willmott.

     ‘Do it now!’ Wilma said. ‘While it’s dark!’

     ‘Why does it always have to be me?’ replied grumpy Willmott. ‘You know I’m afraid of the dark!’

     ‘You’re a grown worm,’ said Wilma. ‘Worms live in the dark and we need more air down here!’

     ‘But it’s scary up there. And those chickens bit off uncle Teds head, remember? I want to keep my head Wilma. Why don’t you do it for a change? I'm sure they wouldn't want your head!’

      ‘Willmott Wormery!’ Wilma shouted and made some earth slide down the side of their sitting room, ‘you are a coward and Uncle Ted was a fool!’ she sounded very cross. ‘He went up in the daytime. What did he expect?’

      ‘Not to lose his head, that’s for certain!’ said Willmott quivering.

      ‘It’s dark now,’ said Wilma more gently, ‘I can’t go, I can hardly breathe!’

      Willmott  loved his wife. She was getting old and lucky to have survived as long as she had but that was probably because he had taken such good care of her, he thought. No, he couldn’t possible let her do it. He had to pluck up the courage and go himself.

      As Willmott slid up to the top of their burrow, Wilma made the sign of the cross. ‘Don’t let anything happen to him,’ she said silently, ‘he’s a grumpy old so and so but I still love him.’

      Willmott shivered as he stuck his head out into the open and breathed in the cool night air. It was good, he thought and almost forgot to check for predators.    

      ‘Be quick!’ shouted Wilma. ‘before you lose your head too!'

      Willmott began to drag bits of leaves and straw into the burrow. Wilma helped at this point, by reaching up to get them.

      ‘Ah that’s better already,’ she said. ‘I can breathe easier now.’

      Willmott dragged some tiny stones into the entrance. 

      ‘We’ll soon have lots more air in here Wilma,’ he said cheerfully. ‘Put some supper on! I’ll be down now in a minute!’    (Remember, these are welsh worms!)

      Just as Wilma was about to prepare the food, she heard an almighty scream. It was poor Willmott.

      ‘It’s a chicken!’ he cried, his voice full of terror.

      Wilma dropped everything and slid quickly up the burrow after poor Willmott.

       ‘He’s got me!’ shouted Willmott. ‘Goodbye Wilma!’

       Poor Wilma struggled to the top to see that Willmott still had his head on and was smiling.

       ‘What on earth are you playing at Willmott?’ she said breathlessly.

       Willmott turned and wrapped himself around Wilma. ‘I needed to know that you truly loved me,’ he said grinning, ‘and now I know that you do!’ Then he kissed her.

Listening to Kate Hamer read extracts from her debut novel this evening, sent shivers down my spine. I’m not a crime/thriller reader, but I couldn’t wait to buy ‘The Girl in the Red Coat’ by this curious writer.

     What made her write a book about child abduction?

     ‘It’s just fiction, said Kate, ‘a story about the relationship between a mother and her eight year daughter and the pain of separation.’

     And so, despite the depth of this emotional and painful story, I guess the crux of this tale can be found lurking on the surface of every page I am about to read.

     Well done Cover to Cover in Mumbles, for bringing such talented writer’s to our library and thank you Kate for coming to see us on such a wild night.