or in our case, grandchild. The first grandchild. She's gorgeous. A lovable, wonderful, perfect package of all that makes up human. I dare say this will change as she grows up. It is what happens to little humans... and big ones too. So this is a uniquely special moment in time for this singular human baby. We and circumstance have not messed her up yet. 
Surely, she comes with all human foibles and attitudes, good and bad, hot-wired into her; but she has yet to make her choices; her blind alleys are light-years away, and will come upon her sooner than any of us can comprehend. I am savouring this moment. We pray that The Lord will bless her and lead her into a full relationship with Him.
Whatever her path, I shall love this little life to bits.

or in our case, small kommandant (Ein Kommandant ist Führer eines militärischen Fahrzeugs, einer ortsfesten militärischen Einrichtung oder eines militärischen Verbands. Auch in einigen zivilen Organisationen werden die Leiter von Einsatzeinheiten als Kommandanten bezeichnet, ebenso wie der Verantwortliche Luftfahrzeugführer eines Flugzeugs)...or so she thinks!
I have mentioned our little invader already (see Man's Best Fiend), and she continues to live up to her reputation. Look at those eyes. One ear up and alert; the other cute, trying to lure you into her power.
OK I may exaggerate. No small dog has that hold over a higher mammal. Really, she's such a dear. I chuckle when she trails mud over the duvet; I smile indulgently when I cannot catch her to put her on the lead and she would rather dance in the middle of a main road; I laugh at her rolling in deer and fox droppings; I clutch my sides when she steals my dinner. 
Could she be any cuter or more innocent? But she is a smart little vixen, who likes to read books. Eat books. And boy can she spell. Smell. Especially after the 'rolling in' thing...

or in our case, where are they? I needed to go out in the car. I could not use the car we bought with thousands of pounds of something called money - rare as hen's teeth nowadays, but still - because our car is long-term sick in car hospital awaiting an organ transplant, but with no donor available in the UK. We must wait for Fiat in Turin to find the will to manufacture a small cog to replace the damaged cog that caused our car such pain and trauma.
What has this got to do with car keys, I hear you ask? Let me illuminate. Through the good offices of the car hospital, we have been allocated a care worker, or courtesy car, for we know not how long. It is not perfect, but so much better than the bus (which rarely if ever, follows a route to our preferred dog-walking spots).
I attempted to go out in this vehicle the other evening, only to discover that I could not find the ignition key. A search was initiated and house turned inside out; garden searched (in the pouring rain); car searched (in pouring rain), all of which produced a lot of bits and pieces but a cold void in the car key department.
A call to the car hospital revealed two interesting little nuggets. The first was that our car was likely to be staying with them for another 3 months (at least!), and the second was that they did not think that they had a duplicate key. We prayed.
Following Sherlock Holmes' advice - Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth - we searched our refuse bins, as they only remaining part of our Estate that had been left unturned. The recycle bin was easily tipped into our back garden and within 5 minutes we had established a freedom from car keys. One suspect eliminated. The remaining bin was not so easy. This is the non-recyclable one and contains all the stuff that is not allowed in the other bin. Consequently it has all the messy, sticky refuse you just do not want to be raking through.
I raked through it. We prayed again. I raked again.
I had to be sure as it was bin emptying day, and the refuse collector's could be along at any moment, consigning anything important or indispensable (like a car key, for example) to an ignominious demise, so I stirred the ash, plastic bags, bits of uneaten foodstuffs and other detritus once more. This time I even opened the plastic refuse bags from the kitchen in which were bits of chicken carcase and ... I shall not elaborate.
But there - in the last bag in the bin, underneath a sticky crisp packet and a soggy piece of tissue paper was a piece of brown leather, attached to which was our missing car key. I removed it as if I had expected it to be there all along and proceeded to put all the other stuff back in the bin. I phoned the garage to tell them the panic was over.
Twenty minutes later the refuse collectors took away our trash. Prayer answered.
Photograph of car key courtesy of
My thanks to our dog for allowing her portrait to be shown on this site.


  1. Never a dull moment with you George...I noticed the Evangelica did not make an appearance in this episode, she must be behaving herself!?

  2. Evangelica may not have made an appearance, but she is always involved. Who do you think put the car key in the bin in the first place?!


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