Through a little gate at the bottom of the garden is a buttercup meadow, where a fox I named Finbar often frequented. He was aware of my presence as I felt his stare, but knowing my scent had no fear of me. I watched as he stretched out his length in the sunshine, I could see his long ears and his elliptical eyes. I named him Finbar, for a name makes a difference, be it a person or an animal, don’t deal with them as strangers.

It was now early July, the morning was fine, the sky blue, and the clouds below like fluffy white balls of cotton. The lane was awash with the great willowherb, a splash of pinkish mauve amongst the tall umbellifers. There was an abundance of golden yellow ragwort, this plant being the distain of many, but not for the ephemeral wings of the cinnabar moth who rears her yellow and black striped caterpillars on this tenacious plant.

Our beautiful robins become engaged in January and marry at the end of March. The male presents her with a courtship present, a tiny grub, a love gift to prove his feelings for her. If she accepts his gift the days of engagement are over and the serious work of married life begins.

In the early summer, when the hedgerows are white with May (the blossom of the hawthorn), the scent of which is heavy upon the breeze, and the birds singing lustily above, the spirit of the times is felt even underground by the mole—the blind miner whose senses are so keen it triggers him to start breeding in earnest.

It is now early August, the lanes and the woods are silent, without the pellucid sound of birds singing. Only the yellowhammers in the hedgerows are with song. In the skies above the cries of the buzzards can be heard. This is the time when birds begin their summer moult to replace their suit of feathers ready for the harshness of winter.

Beneath the flailed clippings of a hawthorn hedge is the home of Fidget and her little friend Piccolo. This is the place where Bob and his trusty spaniel Blue would frequent every morning, a little lane which winds like loose string baffling your sense of direction.

Woody the woodlouse makes his way home from school one day; He couldn’t wait to tell his mum what Mr. Slater his teacher what he had taught him in the classroom. .

How privileged I felt watching him, he snuffled as he suckled, letting go of his mother’s teat momentarily and whimpered as he sought to regain it, I knew then that he was the one.

Several weeks later he left his mother and siblings from the dimly lit barn and came to a bright and happy home.  He settled in quickly and in no time at all had formed a strong inseparable bond with Maverick.  Moses quickly became a curious and playful ginger kitten, always ready to explore the world around him.

Woodrow arrives home late from school. His mum had already prepared tea and was waiting for Woody to arrive home. Just then a grubby little face peeps around the door. “Where have you been Woody, you’re late, what have you been up to?” “Sorry mum, I’ve been with my mates, Chiggy, Chuggy, Tiggy, Fuzzy and Roly.

Woodrow came home from school and handed a letter to his mum, it was from Mr. Slater his teacher. The letter was about a school trip with an overnight stay in Gribble Woods. As Winnie Woody’s mum reads the letter Woody could not contain his excitement and cries out “Can I go mum, please, the place is whispery with good ghosts’ mum, and Mr. Slater is a wonderful storyteller.” Winnie asks about his teacher, “Is he married Woody, what does he look like?”

All the other birds were so busy that they didn’t notice Dougie all alone, he had no-one. He would regularly visit the Cuddlewick’s garden, and whilst Gracie and her pappy were digging in the vegetable patch Dougie would often settle on the spade.

Nature is a majestic artwork that is constantly changing and surprising us. There is always something new to see and appreciate in nature.  I believe we can all get carried away with modern technology that we can all too easily forget the beauty and the wonders to be found around us in ordinary situations. 

Moses is a little long-haired kitten; his fur is champagne in colour and as soft as the early buds of the willow. He would often sit beside the pond and watch Big Fish basking in the sun.

Spike came under my watchful eye on the 20th November, 2016. This gave me a further opportunity to expand my observations and knowledge on his mode of life. Spike was not the first hedgehog I had reared over the years.