I wonder how many of us remember the Magpie Song! I certainly do because my father sang it to me so many times when I was a child. He was also very superstitious and if ever he saw just one magpie, he would climb through hedges and over gates in search of another. Thankfully, I’m not that obsessed but I am grateful that it’s two magpies that are building a nest at the bottom of our garden.

     It is true, that every summer for the past few summers, the young couple have come to stay at our home for waifs and strays. I am fascinated by the way they build their nest or at least, they built it some time ago and now they have arrived in time to carry out a few repairs before the breeding season begins, as you can see from the photo.

     The nest (or summer home) appears to have a roof and two entrances. It must be very hardy to have survived the severe weather conditions that hit Wales during the winter months.

    Once magpies have paired up, they usually remain within their territory and it’s rare for them to travel further than 10km from where they were hatched.

     ‘Welcome back my dear friends....You’re doing a grand job!’

One for sorrow,
Two for joy,
Three for a girl,
Four for a boy,
Five for silver,
Six for gold,
Seven for a secret never to be told.

Eight for a wish,
Nine for a kiss,
Ten for a bird that you won’t want to miss.

‘I don’t want to eat snails,’ said Hywel Hog, ‘I’m a vegetarian!’

      ‘You must eat up,’ said Mrs Erinaceus (this is Latin for hedgehog), ‘before the winter comes.’

       Hywel Hog moaned and groaned just like all children when they don’t want to eat their food.

       ‘Eat! Eat! Eat!’ he said, playing with a snail that was put in front of him. ‘But I don’t like snails!’

       ‘All hoglets eat snails,’ his mother replied. ‘Now eat up!’

       ‘I’m a vegetarian,’ said Hywel Hog and pushed the snail away.

       Now Mrs Erinaceus knew that unless Hywel Hog ate his food, he wouldn’t survive until the spring. She was a very worried mother.

       But the young hoglet would not eat his food and he got thinner and thinner. It was almost time to hibernate and Mrs. Erinaceus knew that her young son would die if he didn’t eat soon. She tried everything she could think of, worms, beetles and slugs, but nothing worked. Hywel Hog refused everything that contained meat.

        ‘I’m a vegetarian,’ he kept saying, over and over again. ‘I don’t want anything to have to die for me!’

        Although Mrs Erinaceus thought that this was a very sweet thing for her son to say, it wasn’t helping matters. The days became colder and colder and Hywel Hog got thinner and thinner. Then one evening, a very strange thing happened.

         They were wondering about in the garden of the home for waifs and strays, when the door of the house opened and someone came out. Young Hywel Hog and his mother watched from the shadows as the lady put down a dish of something that smelt delicious. They watched closely, as she went back into the house and closed the door.

          ‘You stay here,’ said Mrs Erinaceus, ‘while I see if it is safe.’ And she scurried across the yard to where the delicious smell was coming from. Her little heart raced and she prayed that the food would be suitable for Hywel Hog.

           ‘Come,’ she called softly to her son, ‘I think you will like it! It doesn’t smell like meat.’

           Little Hywel Hog hurried over to his mother and sniffed at the food in front of him.

           ‘It’s delicious!’ he said excitedly and gobbled it all down. Mrs Erinaceus sighed a huge relief.

           Every night they went to the yard and waited for the door to open and the food to be left. And every night until it was time to hibernate, the young hoglet gobbled it all up.They never once saw the lady smiling at them from the kitchen window.

On my journey home last evening, with the dog I haven’t got sitting beside me and a full moon ahead, I felt calmer than I have done for some days. I wasn’t sure if it was the wee dog that brought this contentment or the wee dog that brought the added stress that has hung around our home for waifs and strays the past few weeks. Whatever the reason, I decided to soak up the feeling and slowed right down. All the while, I felt the eyes of the dog bore into me as I hummed an old welsh folk song, one that my father used to sing to me as a child.

     I never intended to have a dog with rescued hens scurrying about the place, but she turned up at our home on Christmas day looking for urgent shelter. A refuge! Although there was no room at the inn, we took her and all her issues. We had no choice! And I have struggled to find her a place of her own, one without cats, dogs and hens!

      During our fostering time, I have decided to help the wee girl with all her anxieties and insecurities, in the hope that she stands a better chance of finding the right home. In order to gain trust, I take her on a lead to feed the hens and all the while the rescued cats watch from a safe distance, curious and alert. The chickens squawk and scurry away as I speak softly and pray for harmony. So far it seems to be working! However, she does growl at some dogs that bounce up to her when out walking on the lead. This will be a tricky one for me to deal with as I'm not sure why she does this. I shall have to watch the dog whisperer for tips and probably seek a class for disturbed dogs!

     The old car trudged over the moorlands, ever closer to home. I stopped for a moment to watch the reflection of the moon on the sea in the distance. The wee dog sat up straight and looked at me. I stroked her silky back and in return, she nudged me with her cold wet nose. There were obvious signs of aging in her face and a sadness in her eyes similar to humans. I wondered what she saw in me. Sadness? Confusion? Frustration? Did she know that I was once like her. Homeless! I closed my eyes and thought of all the animals that had passed through our home for waifs and strays, injured or homeless birds, goats, lambs, cats, hedghogs, polecats, ferrets and the battery hens, but this wee dog was going to be my biggest challenge. I am certain of this! A chill passed through the old car and I started up the engine. The wee dog curled up silently on seat beside me and I smiled. 

      'Lolo! I'll call you Lolo!'

      So an emotional attachment had been created, right there on the moors and training Lolo had began.

       ‘Will you keep her?’ people ask and a pang of anxiety strikes again. However, as I write my blog this evening, she sleeps on my lap, safe and content. I never asked for her, she never asked for me but somehow we were put together. Will it stay that way?

        ‘Perhaps,’ I reply. At least, I have stopped worrying about whether or not the house will be trashed whilst I'm asleep. She  has certaingly has passed that test. No trashed house!

Cleaning the garden is much more favourable then cleaning the house! But just like the house, I have a habit of changing things around. The garden never seems to look the same one year to the next and quite often, my kind and unassuming husband (a creature of habit) gets quite exasperated with my ‘uplifting’ projects.  But I cannot help myself! I see things quite differently, one season to the next. So it’s out with a spade, a fork and a pair of wellies. Oh! And a sketch pad too!

     Making a map of the garden is something I have always enjoyed doing. It’s a bit like art work! However, just like a sat nav, my paths around the garden don’t always lead to anywhere in particular. But I do try to make the journey interesting by adding plants that make me smile or herbs that release a delightful smell when I brush past them.

     Today, I looked at the compost bins and decided they ought to be moved to an area of the garden where they can’t be seen. However, when I turned to walk back up the garden path, I saw my kind and unassuming husband watching me. He was smiling and shaking his head so I guess I will have to work harder on that one.

      And for those of my readers who would like an update on our home for waifs and strays, here a few. All seems quiet in our log store, where last week there was evidence of a polecat or ferret. I guess it’s moved on for the time being, I sigh with relief! And do you remember Miss Broody Pants? Well she is still sitting on an empty nest, wishing and hoping for more young ones. We keep lifting her off and feeding her, but at the first opportunity, she scurries back. Then there is Patterjack, the wee dog we took in on Christmas day....she is still with is despite our efforts to rehome her. Perhaps, just perhaps, we need her as much as she needs us! Perhaps!

      Remember Missy Pippet? Well this poorly hen has lived in a box in our dining room for some weeks now and continues to get stronger. She is rather spoilt but if that's what it takes then so be it!

      So as you can see, life at our home is busy as usual but never too busy that I can't sit by the pond with a cup of sweet tea and just think, even in winter!

Mr Troglodytidae, or Mr Troglody for short, is nothing less than a polygamous Wren. A womanising bird.

       You can hear him even if you can’t see him and I can tell you that he will be trembling as he sings to all his potential partners. All this activity goes on in the dense hedges that surrounds the home for waifs and strays.

       This tiny, pugnacious ball of fluff, dressed in drably coloured clothes, will flit and flirt with as many female balls of fluff as he can, sometimes, as many as thirty but usually around twelve. He masterfully builds a range of cave-like nests then lets each female choose which one they prefer to lay their eggs. Once chosen, the female gets to decorate it with her own feathers. Soon after, she will lay around five to eight, tiny white eggs which are covered in reddish spots.

        To give him his due, Mr Troglody is a hands on father and despite having many partners, he will work tirelessly to feed his young. He sings as he darts from nest to nest.....proud to be a polygamous bird!