Flying the coop

A TEXT message from a friend held an unmistakable note of desperation: “Flew d coop! I’m at…X” I responded instantly: “Good on ya! X.”
Before I knew it, I was packing a bag to fly “d coop” myself – by myself. Driving somewhere – anywhere – would be the perfect opportunity to test out my latest brainwave – audio reading. And I’m hooked. I discovered a whole new way of ‘reading’ those books I never seem to get round to. An unqualified and unexpected success, I must say.
The Knockmealdowns and The Vee beckoned and I was willingly led. Journeying on and needing directions, I approached a local chap parking his car in his yard. Pulling up alongside and lowering my window, I made my enquiry and was given specific, correct directions. A doberman, who frolicked around him playfully as we chatted further, suddenly hopped up on the gate post.
Regal hardly describes her demeanour as she sat, gracefully poised, mistress of all she surveyed. Sitting thus, she appeared easily three feet high and her spectacular brown markings were displayed to full advantage. Occasionally, she glanced straight down beneath her and, wondering what drew her attention, I leaned further out the car window and there was the most delightful puppy, her exact replica.
“Oh! I’ve got to hold him,” I exclaimed. “He’s free to a good home,” said the man, observing the immediate bonding between the puppy and myself, who cuddled into me and all but licked my ears off. Puzzled, I asked why free? “Well, herself hopped over the fence one night – look at his chest.” And sure enough, there was the treacherous white mark, betraying the bitch’s night of fun and frolics with a neighbouring collie.
Talk about being tempted. When you’ve got a soft puppy nuzzling your ears, cuddling in to you and all but twining his paws around your neck, it is extremely difficult to resist. But resist I did, whilst shedding a few tears in the process. I mean, let’s be honest, now. I wouldn’t have been there in the first place had I not the freedom to take off when I feel like it. I love and respect dogs too much to leave them alone while I skyve off.
Timeless, yes, timeless is probably the word that best encapsulates the atmosphere of a monastery. The prayers, the chanting, the incense, the routine, the monks padding in to pray and their almost soundless padding back out to the tasks, the continual prayer and the reflection that occupy these men’s lives.
The monastery at Mount Melleray was completely booked out for 10 days hence but I was given the name and telephone number of a nearby B&B. The monastery itself and the coffee shop, gift shop and well-designed history/interpretative centre was a hive of activity at all times.
When one has an adopted child living elsewhere, it would surely be reprehensible to avoid visiting that child if one were within an ass’s roar of where that child resided. And so I pitched up at the donkey sanctuary in Liscarroll, Cork, armed with donkey treats for the communal kitty – ginger nut biscuits, carrots and polo mints.
The quarterly newsletter keeps me up to date on all the happenings at the sanctuary – who’s hot, who’s not, new arrivals and even news of those who have sadly departed. Particular news is always related regarding my own Lorcan. I enjoyed a most fascinating chat with Paddy Barrett, whose father founded the sanctuary, more by accident than design, in the 1960s. Paddy kindly took time out to chat with me although he was busy preparing for his stand at RDS Horse Show in Dublin.  
I have recorded previously how horrified I was at first glimpse of my ‘child’ in a photo, with his ears askew and how my heart melted with pity and love on discovering that he became thus deformed by thugs driving him into a barbed wire fence.
I regret to admit he was not the most amiable of the donkeys; perhaps his traumatic past has left its mark. Eventually, though, he did make tentative friends with me. My adopted nephew, Tim, was confident and sociable, as indeed were almost all of the residents. It never fails to amaze me to see the cross, distinct and definite, across donkeys’ backs.
A clever marketing strategy is to be lauded regarding the items on sale in the shop. I bought a few useful items but my inner child erupted at sight of the donkey umbrellas. I just couldn’t resist the umbrella, with colours to suit whatever I wear and sporting donkeys’ heads. When I sport such crazy accessories, I recite one of my mantras, “The people who matter won’t mind and the people who mind don’t matter.”
So, rock on.