Most of today's excitements were provided by the assorted pets and livestock. The dog became very eager to get at whatever was underneath the low shelf we store multipurpose compost on. While watering inside the little greenhouse at the back of the shop I heard furious growls and squeals from the dog, mixed with vexed cries from the gardener, who was at that moment trying to top the pile up with extra bags. The situation didn't seem to be resolving itself, so I went outside to help. The gardener said that there was a hedgehog under the shelf. I considered whether to jet the dog with the hose, or pick her up. I thought that coming between a terrier and her chosen prey I ran the risk of getting bitten, on the other hand the dog and I have alwas enjoyed good relations, and setting the hose on her would escalate the level of violence. I decided she would probably not bite me, seized her firmly, and carried her up to the office. She managed to rip open several bags of compost in the stramash.
Later on there was a swarm of bees in the plant centre. I recognised the sound instantly, and saw them swirling around inconveniently close to the loos, but luckily they moved on. It is a waste not to hive a swarm, but they aren't something you want hanging around for the day where there are customers about. I don't carry my bee suit with me in the car, so I couldn't have done anything about them. I don't know if the owners rang the beekeeper who has some hives in the arboretum. If the swarm didn't settle there wouldn't be a lot of point. They may not have been his anyway. My bees at home were still not showing any signs of preparing to swarm when I inspected them on Friday, before my working weekend, but I can't believe that will last.
The dog escaped from the house and returned to the fray with the hedgehog, this time managing to get under the shelf. I think the second time the manager did flush her out with a jet of cold water, and I saw her being carried by the scruff of the neck back up to the house. I don't think he is especially fond of dogs.
The peachick was sent to a new home. In the end the gamekeeper's wife escaped being lumbered with him, as somebody who came on a recent guided walk around the garden wanted a peacock. He had been looking a bit lost in the plant centre anyway, since in the past couple of weeks his mummy completely lost interest in him. He was lured into the chicken house with food last night, caught and penned, and taken away this afternoon in a large cardboard box.
We were discussing on Saturday whether, if a famous person came into the plant centre, it was polite to recognise them, or whether they should be granted the illusion of anonymity when they weren't working. This came up because the designer Tom Stuart Smith was in. I love his work, and would cheerfully have said so if I'd encountered him, but I didn't. Today it was the turn of one of the editors of Hortus. I didn't recognise the face, but the manager told me who he was. Apparently he was doing an advance recce for a group he is bringing to visit next month. He bought a few plants and some pots, and apologised for keeping me after closing time, which was considerate of him, so I told him that we were there until six so up to that point I was entirely tranquil, and said that I really liked his garden when I'd seen it in magazines. He told me that the iris orchard was looking spectacular, and it was about to feature in the Telegraph magazine and Country Living. You have to be a very odd keen gardener not to be pleased when people say they like your garden.
Back home, the robin's nest in the greenhouse is empty. The anti-cat netting was in place across the door, and there was no sign of a struggle, so unless a very efficient magpie got in through the roof vent and out again I think the young probably fledged successfully. I wish them well, but it will be a relief to be able to use the greenhouse normally again without feeling guilty.
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