After 11 days of travelling around wild Scotland, including the Outer Hebrides, we returned home to an allotment swamped in vegetables and weeds. However, the animals had been well cared for and were pleased to see us. A huge sigh of relief!

It was our first trip to Scotland and certainly not our last. Quite often we felt we had the world to ourselves as we jollied along in our old camper, three pairs of eyes glued to the scenery before us. We took the wee dog of course, the one we didn’t want, didn’t ask for but got, nevertheless! She is our baby now, despite the fact she is 12 years old. She means the world to us!

We notched up 1,300 miles and memories to last a lifetime. Fairytale castles, mysterious lochs, Enid Blyton type islands and towering mountains. Oh, and not to forget the incredible Caribbean look alike beaches on South Harries. The water was a tad cold though!  

Well I have to dash and crack on with my novel. Nearing the end now! Have a great weekend everyone!

We are not the only animals on this planet that experience grief. For many years, I have watched animals grieve in very much the same way as humans and today was one of those days.

       As a young child my father taught me that all animals should be shown respect and he talked about the grief they felt for each other. The first time I saw this for myself, was when our cat caught a magpie and left the poor dead creature on our doorstep. As I cradled the large black and white bird, I was alarmed at the screeching and screaming of another magpie in a tree nearby. It cried pitifully for the next couple of hours.

        Sea lions also wail pitifully when having to watch killer whales eat their babies and dolphins mourn for sometime after the death of their young.

        Back at our home for waifs and strays, I have endured many times the harrowing cries of a sheep when its lamb has been hit by a car on the common close by.  The same applies to horses and cattle.

        But stranger still are the hens. Not so long ago I witnessed an amazing sight. I thought it was odd, that despite the sunshine, there was not a hen in sight. I wondered around the garden and down by the pond but still no sign of them. Remembering that one young girl was broody, I opened up the henhouse door and to my surprise, they were all inside. I watched for a moment in disbelief that they could all be laying eggs or possibly gone broody, but then I saw the reason for their strange behaviour. Our oldest hen, Freebie, was dying.

        As I have said before, hens always know when another is sick or dying. One will almost always stay close, until the end. But here were all my hens, standing in a circle around poor Freebie. She died shortly afterwards, peacefully.

        Grief is a powerful emotion and although we think differently to other animals, our feelings are quite often the same.

For those of you who suffer from alliumphobia, look away now, as I’m about to talk about a member of the Lily family....Garlic!

     Over 5,000 years ago the Egyptian slaves downed tools when their daily ration of garlic was stopped. This was probably the first ever labour strike. They used it in cooking and for medicinal purposes. And today, nothing has changed. Garlic (or stinking rose as some call it) is still grown and used all over the globe.

      So what has garlic got that makes it so desirable? Well I do know that it contains polysulphide allicin, ajoene and adenosine and these ingredients are the key to the bulbs health benefits.

      If you rub garlic oil directly onto psoriasis (a skin condition) it will possibly bring relief. Also, by rubbing raw garlic onto athlete’s foot this will speed up the healing process.  Or try placing your feet into a bowl of garlic water. This might or might not work but it is well worth a try. And should you find yourself with a splinter, place a slice of garlic over it then cover with a plaster or bandage to help draw the offending object out!

       And for those of you that keep hens, place a clove of garlic into their drinking water to keep them healthy.

      As for myself, I use garlic in cooking and for medicinal purposes. Here is one of my favourite recipes......

Garlic Potatoes

• 500ml double cream
• 500ml milk
• 3 garlic cloves
• 8 large potatoes
• 100g cheese (optional)

Heat oven to 190C/170C fan/gas 5. Tip the cream, milk and garlic into a large saucepan and bring to a simmer. Slice the potatoes very finely, about 3-4mm, add them to the cream and simmer for 3 mins until just cooked. Gently stir to separate the potato and stop it sinking and catching on the bottom of the pan.

Remove the potatoes and place in a wide shallow ovenproof dish so that they are about 5cm in depth. Pour over the garlic infused cream (discarding the garlic) – just enough to seep through the layers and leave a little moisture on the surface. Scatter over the cheese, if using, then bake for 30 mins until the potatoes are soft and browned – increase the heat for 5 mins if not brown enough.

Miss Peri Winkle (Littorina littorea) is one of the slowest moving snails in the world. ‘Why hurry? Don’t worry, is her motto.

      So she travels at about 1 -2 metres per hour. But if she is pushed for time, as young lady’s often are, then she can up her speed to about five metres an hour.

      When she gets too hot, Miss Peri Winkle will roll down the slope and plop into the water! But if she accidentally lands upside-down on the rocks or the sand, she could be in BIG trouble! Laying on her back, Miss Peri Winkle won’t be able to eat and could possibly die, unless of course, the sea comes in and turns her up the right way! But if Miss Winkle dies (God forbid!) her leftover shell will soon be on the market as a home for a hermit crab. Shameful!

      Her daily diet consists of seaweed and algae, which she finds disgusting but was taught by her mother to eat what’s put in front of her or go without.

      'You will live for ten years if you look after yourself,' her mother would say.

      So with starvation as her only option, Miss Peri Winkle reluctantly eats her food. Although at times, she has threatened to go and live at the home for waifs and strays.

       These so called pebbles of the sea, cope with dehydration quite well! In fact, they can survive for many weeks without being in the water. They withdraw into their shells and close the operculum (hornlike lid) that’s just above their foot. A mucus is then secreted that hardens in the air and the shell sticks to the rocks.

        So if you see Miss Peri Winkle down on the beach, lying on her back, please turn her over or put her in a pool....she isn’t sunbathing, she’s dying!

     .

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 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.