My house is very quiet. Too quiet. There are no giggles or sounds of wooden spoons banging on pans. There is no excited intake of breath every time the stuffed owl is spotted on top of the bookcase. Fergus and Jenny no longer have a miraculous source of food falling to the floor every time a meal is served. And I no longer have an early morning companion. (Lucy and I seem to be on the same internal clock, one that isn't appreciated by other members of our family.) It was a wonderful visit, but over far too soon. Here's a little glimpse of our time together.
There was a visit to the blueberry farm.
It was a bit like Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Lucy loves blueberries, but they have to be just right or she won't eat them. Not too ripe and not too green. Nothing but perfectly blue would do. Doesn't she look like a little farm girl in those overalls? They belonged to her dad when he was a toddler.
The dogs adored her. She was like manna from heaven. It didn't take them long to realize the best spot in the house was to be stationed directly under her chair. But they were interested in her even when she wasn't eating. I think Jenny viewed her as a puppy without any hair, while Fergus thought of her more as an interactive doggie toy.
I introduced her to whipped cream.
We spent time on the porch.
More than anything else though we played chase. As in, "quick, grab her before she falls or gets hurt!"
The stairs were her favourite place to play. This would have been fine if she had any sense of danger, but unfortunately she's not quite to that stage yet.
Now that she's gone you can see why things are so quiet here at our cottage.