It is Saturday evening. I'm on my second glass of red. R is in the shower. Outside it is blustery and cool, overcast with clouds that despite their threatening demeanor have not let go with their belly full of rain. It has been a good day. Not remarkable. R asked the other day what I was going to do with that particular day and I answered the same as usual, nothing special. But it is all special - if I can regard it as such. It's all in the mind, in the attitude of the mind. I can see this present life as limited and boring and unproductive or as the opposite; limitless, exciting and creative. Yes, the routine is basically the same. Get up between 5 and 6:30 am, feed the cats. That's the first priority. If that isn't done nothing else is possible. Put the kettle one, make the coffee, use the mixture of hot and cold (previously boiled) water to make the lorikeet food. I am down to three coop cups now so it seems easy. Measure out seed for Jack, measure out coccivet for whomever needs it (as of today the galahs and Jack still as he was off his food as mentioned in a previous post). Go outside, greet the dogs, put out wild bird seed for the galahs waiting on the overhead wires. Greet Jack, Marvin and all the birds. Do the c/t with Jack, put the food out, let the horses out into the dam paddock. By this time R might be up and taking up the dogs for their morning constitutional. If R hasn't surfaced by 7 I take the dogs for they are standing there with their legs metaphorically crossed and a strained look on their sweet whippet faces. (Radar this morning left two huge poos after having his usual walk yesterday afternoon in which he did one - plus two that morning - and they stunk! Had to hose then slosh disinfectant around. Suspect the treat of a bone each did the trick). Anyway, then back inside, swig a mouthful of coffee then head to the verandah to do some c/t with Dimitri (more about him later) and then when that's done to let the little birds out. Found that Dimitri will not participate if Tony is cavorting around. Then and only then can I sit with R and have our morning cuppa.

After letting Natalia out of the bathroom of course. She has to be fed separately as she's on CD for her urine. Matisse is fed on top of the fridge and Nairobi in the usual cat dish in the usual cat dish place beside the dish cupboard. Matisse and Nairobi, almost 7 and 8 years respectively, have become somewhat portly. It is especially important that Nairobi retain a svelte figure as she has only three legs. One was amputated because she blew her cruciate. If she blew the other one because it was strained with too much weight, and it is taking the entire weight of her hindquarter, we would have no choice but to euthanise her. Matisse, being a Siamese, had remained slim until the arrival of Natalia. Then we noticed he was eating his food, Nairobi's food and then Natalia's. He got quite thick through the middle and looked much like a watermelon with a pimple on one end.

So that's the morning, every morning seven days a weeks, 365 days a year and I wouldn't have it any other way. Yes, some mornings I think oh bloody routine but once I step outside under that big sky with the birds singing and the freshness of morning seeping through my skin I am okay. It is a privilege.

About Dimitri. I am working towards getting him to drop the plastic toy in my hand rather than the dish. Every time I work with him (twice daily) I have to court him to come closer. He is always wary, always on high alert. But it does get easier. Once he's dropped the toy in the dish the first time he usually gets braver and will take the treat standing quite close to me. It has been almost two years since he came and the trust is increasing with painful slowness- but it is better. He needs all the time he needs. I love him and am quite happy to work at a pace he's comfortable with. I should have another 30 or 40 years at least. If it takes that long to win his trust, it takes that long.

Tony, the former surgery budgerigar, has learned to say 'Pretty bird'. I am thrilled. We've had talking cockatoos. Jack talks. His repertoire is limited but he does talk. But I have never had a bird that I learned to speak from me. I know Tony doesn't know what he's saying. He only mimics what he hears but when he's perched on my shoulder and speaks in his tiny tinny voice, pretty bird, I am very pleased. It is such an odd thing. I never understood why people wanted talking birds. Having a bird in your life is fascinating/entertaining enough but there he is, half a normal budgie size, nibbling on my ear, clicking and whistling and then saying, oh there it is again! "Pretty bird!" I am undone.