ELEVEN, ELEVEN, ELEVEN //

I’m not sure if it’s the endless family birthdays, the countdown to Christmas or the plummeting temperatures affecting my ability to think, but the springing up of paper poppies on jacket lapels and subsequent Remembrance Day takes me by surprise every November. Without fail. And while my days of compulsory Sunday School Chapel Services for such an event are over, I did feel compelled to take to the choir stands and belt out a tune or two on Sunday morning.

Rather than fight for a pew however, settling instead for a “Jerusalem” rendition in the shower, the Little Mummy and I buttoned up and headed out, mutts in tow, for some fresh air. With the church bells chiming in the distance (or rather in our imagination, they didn’t actually chime in usual Remembrance Day style- or at all, in fact- a disappointment for all concerned) signalling the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, the Little Mummy and I came to a halt in the middle of a nearby field and took a moment to think about the brave souls that have and continue to, quite literally, fight our battles for us. It was unfortunate that Plum and Emmie saw this as the sign to launch snout-first into the nearby lagoon and create a mini tidal wave. I questioned whether such a silence may have to be momentarily interrupted with a spot of Dog Rescue (not the greatest of swimmers is our Plum, she’s been hauled out of the water on more than a few occasions), but fortunately they had the manners to stay afloat and exit with moderate elegance. That’s the trouble with the dogs of today: No respect.

With our two minutes complete we went on our way. Soaking in the glorious (and really rather warm- the ski jacket was off within seconds I tell you) sunshine, we admired our green and pleasant land.

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