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Friday Cow Blogging

Cow at Langley Park, Iver

We've gotten into a rut. When we want to take the dog for a weekend walk, we typically go to Black Park, near Pinewood Studios. We know the park well, and while there may be livestock there, they're behind an enclosure. So it's a safe walk, fenced off for the most part, and about halfway through our walk we come upon a nice stream for drinking water. 

But last weekend we decided to try Langley Park, which is across the road, more or less, from Black Park. My gardener had told me about it before, and I thought it might be an equally nice place to walk. It's lovely—the rhodedendrens are in full bloom. Towering ornamental cedar trees line the wide paths. It seemed safe enough for a dog who has a tendency to bark at cows. 

We followed the path out of the park and into the Langley Estate, once owned by the grandson of the first Duke of Marlborough (he didn't get along with his grandmother, so he bought his own place). We walked along a haha, and then to the ornamental lake, where we came upon these beautiful blond cows. 

With Sparky on a lead, we walked around, giving him plenty of space. Further on, we were able to let him off lead in a field, where he was mainly interested in eating the lush grass. I guess the cows gave him some ideas. 

It's a nice park, and we'll probably go back. But we do love Black Park, with its wooded paths and fine views of the studio lot. 

Right. I've dutifully reminded myself why I love this country, on a day which has no right to go by the name of Summer. 

Friday Ray Blogging

A thornback ray glides over for a cuddle.

I do believe I've committed a first in Friday Animal Blogging. How often do you see rays—those flat fish-like creatures commonly (and erroneously) known as stingrays—on Friday blog posts? Not often, I'd guess. 

And if I told you that we got to pet those rays—actually touch them—you'd probably be impressed. 

The thornback ray's eyes are on top of its body.

That's exactly what we did at the Nausicaa Aquarium in Boulogne-sur-Mer, France, this week. It seems to be a popular feature in French aquariums to have "touching pools", where visitors can get their hands wet and actually touch various kinds of fish. At the aquarium in Cherbourg where we visited several years ago, there was a hands-on exhibit that invited you to touch the fish, but there were no rays available for touching. (We did, however, have an equally amazing adventure, which I wrote about here. You can see why French aquariums are such tourist hotspots.)

These rays were surprisingly soft and warm. I could see keeping one for a pet, just to have an opportunity to pet it. And they obviously doted on the attention. They came gliding over, then stuck their cute little faces up to show us how friendly they were. One particularly grceful ray delighted in twirling about in the water like a ballerina. 

This graceful little ray performed a dance for us.

Too cute. 

I fell in love, needless to say. I also developed warm feelings for the sea lions, despite the dripping cold rain in their outside enclosure. And the penquins—oh, be still my heart! 

As an extra bonus, I'm including some Friday Penguin Video Blogging. But be warned, you'll want to tunnel to France right away—or fly, if that's more convenient—and rescue these poignant creatures, longing for the beach: 

Poignant penguins at the Nausicaa Aquarium. 

If you want to visit the Nausicaa Aquarium, first you'll have to get to France, which is quite easy via the Eurotunnel. It's easily a day trip from here, with the Folkestone terminal a mere hour and a half away. Boulogne-sur-Mer is 18 miles from Calais--take exit 32 from the A16, and follow the signs to Nausicaa, where you'll find plenty of free parking. 

And give my regards to Ray.

Our Long, National Drought Continues

The other day I drove through the pouring drought to Folkstone, my windshield wipers furiously flinging the water away so that I could get to the train on time. And when we came home hours later, we drove back through the drought-parched jungle of southern England while more drought clouds dripped sprinkles on us, taunting us with our inability to use a hosepipe. 

See how I've adjusted my language to the dialect of my adopted country? I know now that a "drought" is really a fancy British word for "malingering showers". And a hosepipe ban, a necessary component of a drought, is more of that wry British humor Americans seem incapable of understanding. 

We spent Tuesday in France, where they seem to be having a drought on, too. The fields between Calais and Boulogne-sur-Mer were verdant and green, and the whole time we were in the Nausicaa aquarium the cold rain poured outside. Even the fish were glad to be indoors on such a day.  

Some water companies lifted the hosepipe ban yesterday, in a fun little twist on irony. Yet my water company, Veolia, is determined to stick to the script. No hosepipe relief for its customers, no sirree! We'll suffer through this drought thingy, come hell or high water! 

High water it is, then. 

Americans watching our damp Jubilee celebrations were probably wondering why on earth England scheduled a Jubilee during a "drought". (Scare-quotes necessary to clue in you Yanks to the ironic use of that word.) Since the Jubilee celebration seemed entirely arbitrary, why not schedule them whenever they could do some good, tempting the gods to rain on our parade—literally—and ease dry conditions much more effectively than cloud seeding? 

We could ease any future recession at the same time, by increasing sales of bunting. 

Bunting and brollies! We'll have a right jolly olde time! (On the other hand, our rain butts will sit swollen and useless, alongside our limp hosepipes. C'est la vie!) 

Long live the Queen! May she reign—or is that rain?—indefinitely. Or at least until we get some proper weather. 

What Kind of Parent Are You?

I saw this at the Roald Dahl Museum in Great Missenden. 

When you grow up and have children of your own do please remember something important

A stodgy parent is no fun at all

What a child wants and deserves

Is a parent who is 

Sparky

I'm sure I've always tried to be a sparky parent. And also a good parent to Sparky. 

For more about the Museum, check out my other blog, where I've posted more images of Roald Dahl's comments on writing. It's a great place for a writer, of any age. 

Friday Chicken Blogging

Chickens deserve love, too.

Yes, chicken blogging. I've been remiss in focusing on the smaller barnyard animals here at WDIK, home of Friday Farm Animal Blogging. But never let it be said that chickens are less deserving of digital space. 

We found these chickens not at a farm, but at a beautiful garden in the countryside. Walking along the paths at the wonderfully chaotic Hidcote gardens, we almost stepped on these chickens, busy scratching for bits and bobs in the dirt under the flower beds. 

Of course they were willing to pose for a few photos when I asked politely. Their sleek feathers are a gorgeous shade of auburn. (I grew up a redhead; once I learned the word "auburn" to describe my fiery locks I was quite relieved.)

There were other animals at Hidcote too, including a lovely ewe with her twin lambs. And bees. But bees aren't so willing to pose, at least not without exacting a price.