BeAnne is very much on borrowed time now.  We are going day by day and that is what we have.  Her heart is not good.  The vet confirmed it last weekend in an emergency visit.

BeAnne is spending her last days doing what she loves most.

Looking for bunny rabbitses.  Tis the season.

And today she found a lovely little nest.  I sat down on a cold rock and watched her have the best fun she’s had in ages.

My thoughts are if she goes, then she goes enjoying life.

BeAnne successfully dug up two rabbitses, ate one and brought the other home, burying it for later.

She was very pleased with herself and rightly so.  It was lovely to see, if a bit gruesome, but that is what terriers do and what they are bred for so there is no point saying no, being upset or stopping her.  It is my land, my dog and BeAnne has my full permission.

Afterwards we went back to my shed where she went to sleep in front of the fire.  She was very tired and had a good long sleep.

So that’s where we are.  Every day is a blessing and that’s all we can think.

Somewhere in Shetland there is a little faat black pony who loves dancing in all the water buckets left out for him and his friends by his kind and extremely tolerant owner and rescuer.

He just can’t help himself – like a moth to a flame….

Waffle only has to see a bucket of water and whoosh, he’s in like Esther Williams but without the flowery swimming hat.

Yes, Waffle, the finger points at you.  He is definitely the culprit, despite looking incredibly innocent and rarely caught on film comitting this heinous crime.

These are the preferred buckets, kindly filled daily with fresh water because of said dancing and they are always empty when we find them.

Luckily no one has to rely on this water because there are numerous streams, ditches and even a whole loch-full of water in the adjoining field below.

Which is lucky really because absolutely no one is talking to Waffle or He Who Dances in Water Buckets – that would be his Native American name if he had one.

Absolutley no one!

We had a go at trimming Hetja’s hooves.  It wasn’t easy.  She’s a big girl by our standards and was fairly unhelpful too. It made us realise that Shetland ponies are much easier to trim and also much more co-operative.  Well, mine are.  Having said that, we haven’t trimmed Newt yet so we may change our minds on that score. The night is still young.

Again, Daisy was on clippers and I was on rasp duties and we did our best, despite some severe leaning and snatching back of her hinds.  And yes, I did bollock her for this.

However, I think we did a good job. Like I said, Hetja was not helpful and we climbed back into the car feeling like we had been in a rugby match.  It jolly nearly killed us both.  Only another billion to trim (well, that’s what it feels like anyway).

I have renamed Hetja the Heffalump Cowbag!

I think we all agree that everyone has splendiferous hair today.

(even with a turquoise splotch).

A dignified old lady.

And, for some strange reason, everyone was looking remarkably clean.

Even Storm.

Albie is such a handsome chap.

Sóley and her silly-foalie-frilly!

One engimatic Waffle served with a side order of handsomeness!

And to think folk cut, trim, pull (and even dye to take away the natural wind bleached look) a Shetland ponies’ manes in some countries is quite beyond my comprehension.  Why would anyone do that?  They are truly beautiful as they are.