fishydreams

Last night I buried my dog Bonita between some fruit trees on our little plot of land. It was late when I started and I finished the task in moonlight.

She had died the previous night and, truthfully, had been in deteriorating health for some time. We all knew that her days were numbered.

I was probably closer to Bonita than any other dog I have owned and for many years we walked together, usually at night, for a mile or so. I don´t know how many times we did this. It must have been a thousand at least, and it occurred to me this evening that our walks, if linked end to end could take us from one end of the country to the other.

Bonita was about as white as you can imagine and she stood out even on a dark night. She was pretty fat too, to be honest and would gobble down, not only her own food, but her sister´s too if she had half a chance. Her tendency to put on weight was one of the reasons for our nightly walk.

If she was close enough to you and her legs were tucked underneath her she looked like a white cloud drifting a couple of feet above the meandering dirt track we followed.

At night you can have the campo to yourself and there is no one around to listen to you. So it was Bonita who heard many of my most private thoughts and listened to many of the songs I would be too embarrassed to sing publicly. She also listened to some comedy scripts that I was writing, some pieces of which were later performed. Nobody else has heard anything like as much as she did.

We will all miss Bonita. I was the last to see her. Her white silhouette stood in stark contrast to the dark floor at the bottom of the cubic metre of soil I had dug out for her and she was illuminated, fittingly, by the light of the moon.

Bonita

Remember Jack and the Beanstalk? This kid Jack wanders off to market to sell his cow, the only possession of any value his desperate family owns and, instead of returning with some cash for selling the thing, he returns to his distraught mother with a handful of beans. What an idiot! View full article »

The sky in not the same size everywhere. In Montana the people describe their State as “Big Sky Country” which seems only fitting in a place with a horizon broken only by the distant Rocky Mountains. I have never been to Montana but I think I would love it there with all those famous trout streams below and all that big sky above.

The sky here may not be as big as it is in Montana but it´s pretty big all the same. And sometimes it is so eye-catching that it makes you stop what you are doing and just take stock of all the drama above you. Yesterday the skyscape was so striking on the way back from the river that I stopped the short journey, not just once but twice, and stepped out of the car to take a few photographs. View full article »

We´ve got this great big lump of a dog called Brutus. One time, a few months ago, Leo used the internet to try to find out exactly what breed he is. He narrowed it down to some kind of mastiff. He is a bit scary to look at. He looks like the kind of dog that would take your hand off. But appearances can be deceptive, Brutus is as gentle as a lamb.

Brutus has only got one working eye but this doesn´t seem to hold him back in any way. When we walk each day he sees the world, like most dogs, pretty much at knee level. It is often dark by the time we head out anyway and so not having two good working eyes, or even one, is no great loss. View full article »

I guess I´m a creature of habit and fishing the local river seems to be a habit I cannot shake off. There was not much fishing time this afternoon and the shadows were already lengthening as I headed out but I figured I had nothing to lose.

It seems that in winter the fishing needs to be approached a little differently. It is not so much a game of stalking. The fish are hard to spot. They have largely abandoned the shallows. I caught two barbel but did not see either fish before it took. I guess it is a case of finding stretches that you imagine hold fish and search them out with a little nymph. Today I used a little yarn indicator about three feet from the nymph and probably would not have caught without it. View full article »