BeAnne is different now.  She is very down and has little or no enjoyment in life.  Her spark has gone. Everyone in the family is noticing it.  This is the first time in her life BeAnne has ever been on her own.

I am wondering whether she needs a friend and quickly before she gets used to feeling miserable.  Cat or dog?  My plan was to take her to Turriefield, where I pack veg, but she wouldn’t follow me so I put her on a lead and she grudgingly came too.

On our way to the car, we went past the horses.

Efstur’s new rug has arrived and, huzzah, it fits!

I had warned the Turriefield folk that I was bringing Her Maj.  While we packed and distributed the veg, she quietly took herself away.

Anyway, at Turrifield there is a wonderful little cat, called Trotsky, who played with BeAnne last August when he was a kitten.  Once we had finished with the veg, Trotsky was brought in.

Trotsky remembered BeAnne and she seemed genuinely pleased to see him.

(this little film was when Trotsky and BeAnne first met in August 2017)

Now six months on.

There was the statutory sniffing.

A nose booff from Trotsky for his canine friend.

And another.  He really was pleased to see BeAnne and remembered her.

But then BeAnne took herself away again.

They didn’t stay together for very long as we had just about finished.  There was almost a tiny bit of playing – but I am not sure.

So, now I don’t know.  A little puppy?  BeAnne has huge mothering instincts or a cat, as she does like cats, though her body language above is a bit worried.  She did like Wu.  He was a good friend.

And she mothered Lambie when he was little.

It is truly vile out there.  So cold, wet and windy.

We are all hating it.

Efstur’s second new rug has arrived this afternoon so we will be trying it on him tomorrow. I went up a size when I ordered it but it is a different make so it could be anyone’s guess whether it fits or not.  The science of horse rug measuring remains a mystery to me. I think it is more chaos theory really than actual mathematically acknowledged measurements.

We are trying to keep our heads above water and everyone is on two meals a day of silage apart. I did not see any shivering and the horses and ponies are clever at finding the best place for shelter.

The hens are laying, though, so they must know something I don’t.  I had to use my hat to collect today’s eggs.  Don’t worry, I didn’t let them lay in it, though it does look like a good nest.

Every day we go to Leradale to feed the littlies as well as one of the Icelandic horse mares, Brá who is giving her all to her foal, Dreki.

Hetja, the other mother, doesn’t need any extra food.

Poor Hetja gets a headcollar put on plus her statutory three carrot ration but we get to talk.

She agrees this is an ok compromise and I tell her she is beautiful.

Not brilliant, but certainly acceptable.

While I was talking to Hetja, she kept asking to go to my left. I thought it was to have a shot at the lick bucket so I let her go but I stayed standing between her and Brá as I don’t like Brá to be hassled when she is eating.  Hetja is the dominant mare and Brá would have to give up her food.

But Hetja had spied the spare bag of carrots that I though I had hidden on the “aeshins” (n – top of side wall of house, inside roof – Shetland Dictionary).  Her devious greed made me smile and I so I quickly gave the bag to Floss to feed to the Minions in the other field.

On another good note, Mr Headcollar is making huge progress.  Dreki expects it to be put on every day.  He is very calm.

Madam Lilja is now much better about the whole ordeal.  She adopts the Lady Di look – a coy smile!

She is very pretty too.

Dreki is the charmer.  His happy-go-lucky attitude is wonderful.  He is very like his half-brother, Efstur.

Dreki is also guaranteed to make you smile.

This is good because we are all feeling rather bleak at the moment.

Today I needed a change of scenery.  I didn’t want to be at home.  I wanted to see a completely different place so Flossie and I headed off to Whalsay – the sixth largest island of the Shetland Islands.

It is also known locally as “The Bonnie Isle”.

We were visiting an old friend and so, first things first, we went to find some lunch.  There was a pop-up Café at Livister Youth & Community Centre.

(These are the photos after a herd of folk had swarmed by for lunch and/or take-away)

We easily found a spare table and had a delicious lunch.  There had obviously been some serious cake-making and so we had to do it justice.  Only polite, really!

Homemade soup, amazing homebakes with decent portions.  We were stuffed!

Afterwards, we went for a drive.  Whalsay is situated on the east side of Shetland.  It is a peat-covered island, with history going back to Neolithic times.

Our guide, friend and native Shetlander told us that these small traditional circular stone enclosures are called “Planticrubs”.  They were used in Shetland for sheltering and raising young cabbage plants.

We drove around the island – it didn’t take long – 7.6 square miles.

Whalsay is only 30 minutes by ferry from the mainland, which can be a tad bouncy.

Anyway, it was nice to be away from home.  Daisy was kindly holding the fort as well as Her Maj.  We did not bring her cake and now I feel bad but I doubt it would’ve made it home.

I am sitting here in shock.

This time 24 hours ago, we had two perfectly healthy dogs.

Now only BeAnne sits at my feet.

I don’t know where to begin really.  Everything was normal.  Loki had his usual normal day – breakfast, loafing about, a good long walk, and then in the late afternoon Daisy found him lying by my desk (unusual for him) while I was out.

Loki refused his tea at 17:00 – something not right but he eats everything around outside and in so we weren’t too worried.

While we ate our supper (19:00), he walked into the kitchen to be with us but by 10:00 when I wanted the dogs to go out, he couldn’t stand at all.  We phoned the on-call vet and took him straight in to the surgery.

The vet examined Loki and said he thought he was anaemic (but the blood results came back fine) and stuck a needle into Loki’s abdomen.  The first time he drew out blood, the second nothing and the third, again, blood.

A drip was set up and Loki just lay there.  They x-rayed and operated on Loki.  I was phoned at 02:30 and told Loki didn’t make it.  A small tumour had been removed from his spleen but he died while he was being sewn up. Loki felt no pain and I believe this because he never reacted to anything.  He was the type of dog that would.

I just don’t understand what happened. I can’t get my head around it.  It is sort of the same thing that happened to Wussums.  What am I doing wrong?  Is there a connection?  We are all very numb.

Loki was 6 years old.  It is not fair.

Goodnight Loki.  Run free.  You were loved.