30% had gone off with a sub-sect of the coven this morning for trip around Hidcote Gardens. I was left to my own devices and pottered around the greenhouses; watering, pinching out the side shoots on the tomato plants and tying in the tomato vines to the supports.
The afternoon started with a little snooze before I hauled the porn mower from its lair and mowed the front and back lawns. The attentive reader might recall that the self drive failed on the mower a week ago and I can certainly state that I miss it. It was quite a workout having to provide the motive power to cut the grass.
I decided that the lawns around the garage and greenhouses could left for another day and retired to the house for refreshments. As I was sat stroking Hobson I noticed a strange little lump on his leg. Initially I thought it was a skin tag, but as I examined it I realised that it was a tick, quite a large tick!
A quick Google session followed, leading to me digging out my old dissection kit and locating a decent pair of tweezers. Hobson was an absolute star and settled quietly so that I could grasp the vile little parasite where its head entered his leg and pluck it off.
They really are an unpleasant creature that is little more than a flabby grey sack about 6mm long with tiny legs and mouthparts at the very tip. I disposed of the tick and checked all of the dogs just in case.
That just about covers Thursday apart from a walk around the Three Miler with Bobyn and this time we managed to remain dry.
I do have a post script relating to an event earlier in the week. I forgot to mention that on Monday I was leaning on the garden gate having a chat with Sheila, who was on her constitutional around the lanes. As we chatted we both heard a familiar, but now infrequent* sound ... we heard a cuckoo calling. We both commented that neither of us had heard a cuckoo in years and it was lovely to hear one once again.
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* Apparently cuckoo numbers have declined by at least 65% since the 1980s.
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