Below :
One night a newly hatched Yellow Admiral made it's way into the house. Of course we set it free but not before Andrew and I had captured a few photos!
"The butterfly counts not months but moments and has time enough" - Rabindranath Tagore.
Sunday, 25 October 2015
Butterflies
The garden here is frequented by Yellow Admiral, Monarch and - very occasionally - Red Admiral butterflies. They always brighten my day. I have discovered that Yellow Admiral butterflies, like bees and other pollinators, have a great love of leek flowers.
Thursday, 22 October 2015
Border Collies
Below : Gina. Kewmarnic Cover Girl
Below : Splodge, son of Bailey, at 16 years old
Below : Bailey relaxing with her dam Polly.
Collies
From the first time I saw "Lassie" on the television when I was a young girl I was smitten. There were a few Collies in our area and I was always excited when we drove past the places that they lived. Another "Lassie" lived near the sea around four miles away and she would often be lying on the front lawn of the farmhouse where she lived. What a beautiful sight she was I used to think as I tried to keep her in view as long as possible when we drove past. Another Collie belonged to the local blacksmith in Leeston and she would wander up and down the footpath on the main street at will but mostly she lay outside the blacksmith's shop until she went home after work with her owner. I dreamed of the day I would own one of these magnificent dogs myself.
Finally, in 1976 when I was seventeen years old, I got my first Collie, Martell. Not long afterwards I bought my first Collie puppy Charn when he was just a baby. I've had Collies ever since. This gorgeous breed has been everything I dreamed of and more - beautiful, loyal, loving, intelligent, sensible and humourous. Every single one of them has a very special place in my heart. They have been some of my finest companions on this journey through life, given much and wanted so little, loved faithfully and unfailingly. Oh if only I could attain such virtue as they!
Below : Mickey, Ch Kewmarnic Highland Gold
Conan, Kewmarnic Desperado
Below : Abbey and Stacey In A Tug Of War
For if the dog be well remembered, if sometimes he leaps through your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, questing, asking, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where that dog sleeps at long and at last. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream he knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture land, where most exhilarating cattle graze. It is all one to the dog, and all one to you, and nothing is gained, and nothing lost -- if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a dog.
One place that is best of all. If you bury him in this spot, the secret of which you must already have, he will come to you when you call -- come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path, and to your side again. And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel they should not growl at him, nor resent his coming, for he is yours and he belongs there.
People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who hear no whimper pitched too fine for mere audition, people who may never really have had a dog. Smile at them then, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing.
The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of his master.
by Ben Hur Lampman
Finally, in 1976 when I was seventeen years old, I got my first Collie, Martell. Not long afterwards I bought my first Collie puppy Charn when he was just a baby. I've had Collies ever since. This gorgeous breed has been everything I dreamed of and more - beautiful, loyal, loving, intelligent, sensible and humourous. Every single one of them has a very special place in my heart. They have been some of my finest companions on this journey through life, given much and wanted so little, loved faithfully and unfailingly. Oh if only I could attain such virtue as they!
Below : Cheyenne and Carla,
also known as Kewmarnic Rise N Shine and Ch Kewmarnic Gentle Touch.
Below, Cheyenne, Kewmarnic Rise N Shine
by Kewmarnic Highwayman ex Northbrook She's A Sheila
Below: Mum and Matthew, Dawnbrae Lawmaker
Below (Left to Right) : Dad, Vicky, Mindy and Matthew
on the Kaikoura Rocks in the late 1980's.
Below " Lassie, Kewmarnic My Lady Fair (ADX - Agility Dog Excellence)
Below : Ch Vicky, Ch Dawnbrae Victoria Rose
Below : Mickey, Ch Kewmarnic Highland Gold
Conan, Kewmarnic Desperado
Below: Bridie, Jaymac Desert Rose at Kewmarnic
Dad with the Collies and pups in the early 1980's
Below : Aged 9 months, Quentin, Kewmarnic Excalibur
Below : James and Stacey at the lagoon.
Below : Abbey and Stacey In A Tug Of War
Below : Charn and Abbey cool their heels in a creek near the Rakaia River
Below : Simon, Ch Lochburn D'ble Thriller
Below : Lucy, Ch Burnfield Susie Quadra
Below : Charn and Martell 1980
Below : Charn and Dad, 1979
Below : Brandon, Zhavera's Exemplary
Below : Zara, Kewmarnic Bedazzled
Below : Martell the Collie, Switch the black cat and me - late 1970's.
Below : Mickey, Ch Kewmarnic Highland Gold
Below : Matthew and Daniel having a game at home, 1980's.
Below : Matthew larking about with Dad in the 1980's.
Below : Martell and Charn, 1980 at Cooper's Lagoon
Below : Carla, NZ Champion Kewmarnic Gentle Touch
Below : Mickey, Tessa, Matthew and Dad, early 1980's
Below : Chelsea, Enfelde Shot Silk At Kewmarnic
Below : Stacey, Jaymlyn Night Tango
Where To Bury A Dog
There are various places within which a dog may be buried. We are thinking now of a setter, whose coat was flame in the sunshine, and who, so far as we are aware, never entertained a mean or an unworthy thought. This setter is buried beneath a cherry tree, under four feet of garden loam, and at its proper season the cherry strews petals on the green lawn of his grave. Beneath a cherry tree, or an apple, or any flowering shrub of the garden, is an excellent place to bury a good dog. Beneath such trees, such shrubs, he slept in the drowsy summer, or gnawed at a flavorous bone, or lifted head to challenge some strange intruder. These are good places, in life or in death. Yet it is a small matter, and it touches sentiment more than anything else.For if the dog be well remembered, if sometimes he leaps through your dreams actual as in life, eyes kindling, questing, asking, laughing, begging, it matters not at all where that dog sleeps at long and at last. On a hill where the wind is unrebuked and the trees are roaring, or beside a stream he knew in puppyhood, or somewhere in the flatness of a pasture land, where most exhilarating cattle graze. It is all one to the dog, and all one to you, and nothing is gained, and nothing lost -- if memory lives. But there is one best place to bury a dog.
One place that is best of all. If you bury him in this spot, the secret of which you must already have, he will come to you when you call -- come to you over the grim, dim frontiers of death, and down the well-remembered path, and to your side again. And though you call a dozen living dogs to heel they should not growl at him, nor resent his coming, for he is yours and he belongs there.
People may scoff at you, who see no lightest blade of grass bent by his footfall, who hear no whimper pitched too fine for mere audition, people who may never really have had a dog. Smile at them then, for you shall know something that is hidden from them, and which is well worth the knowing.
The one best place to bury a good dog is in the heart of his master.
by Ben Hur Lampman
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