In a weekend when, as the hyperventilating news madia (not that’s not a typo, they’re not media, they’re madia) call it, “the weather is the news”, we have not been spared on the vineyard. Hello? This is midwinter. The weather is bad. Lambs are born in the middle of a southerly blast and die. It did happen before we had television, believe it or not, but then the news madia can’t countenance a time before television. “I view, therefore I am.”
We too have been biffed and bashed by the bitter winds. I don’t mind it, really, a good excuse to light the fire, wrap up warm and go for a walk around the vines, put a bottle of Taittinger Prestige Rose NV in the fridge, fill up the two-people bath with hot water, and enjoy the seasons.
But the animals hate it. I would not abuse the gentle viewing folk who visit this blogsite by posting photos of how we enjoy the cold weather (cf former paragraph) but I went out and paparazzi-ed the three stooges who absolutely hate the rain. Here is their story:
The Duchess is Not Amused. Sadsack Taja – could any dog be more explicit in the way she holds her mouth?
Taja is insanely jealous of Kete. She pretends to love her when I’m around (I think she does, actually, love her) but I’m sure when they go to bed together each night in the shed, in their separate beds, she uses all her manipulative wiles on Kete to try and convince her that I love Taja more than Kete. You can see it on her face here, right?
Smitty, on the other hand, looks straight down the barrel of the camera and says, make the rain stop.
Taja (Princess Diana), again, who despite the rain, must always ensure the photographer is capturing her best angle.
Look at those gorgeous colours on the cat. What a wonderful coat she’d make (just kidding, just kidding, settle down Imogen).
Kete: “I might have once been a trendy, inner-city Auckland, poncey cat, but that doesn’t mean I’m not scared of mud.”
“See, I can even sit in it if I have to.”
I used to make a pudding called Horse’s Nose – a recipe from my first mother-in-law, but it didn’t look anything like this;
Kete – the cat that got the horse’s dinner
“There was nothing in there anyway, unless you count my slobber.”
Fatcats rule, old dogs drool.