There was no camera handy to record two of Baby's best
happenings today. The fall from the wash basket was clicked, and the sleeping
on sofa with Dog. The first unseen piece was playing in the water that gathers
in the kayak, using an empty snail shell as a dainty cup, and a piece of fir
twig as a spoon. Ingestion was gently dissuaded for sanitary reasons; by way of
a distraction because I should dislike to curb those fey impulses. We took
ourselves to the little stone shed to watch Grandad fine tune the chainsaw.
Down at the woodpile, Grandad hewed old trunks and
Baby was introduced to cows. At first they were giant heads squeezed over the
low wall and under the bars, with brown eyes even wider than Baby's. She put
out a hand and a cow tongue rasped the quilt of her coat sleeve. After a few
laughing fits, Baby gathers handfuls of hay to put over the low wall. The cows
are not cows, incidentally, they are skitty bullocks, most uncertain of the
kneehigh pink coated thing that is chucking food at them. Tentative mooing ensues.
One shows leader potential and re-licks the coat sleeve. Baby hoots. More
mooing, one more re-lick. Baby holds up two palmfuls of damp hay, fingers
boldly splayed: this second uncaptured piece is a fabulous balance of sound and
picture:
'Mmmmm. Mmmmm. Slup slup slup. Mmmmmmmmmmm!'
Followed by emphatic head nodding. 
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