Errrmmm, sorry, what was I saying?....

I've been pretty quiet recently, I've written some great posts in my mind, but when I came to actually write them,  I can't remember what I was going to say.  Despite the fact that my baby is 17 months, I'm blaming baby brain.  To be totally honest, I think I've been suffering from baby brain since my oldest was born 7 years ago.  I might have been just as forgetful before that, but I can't remember, which of course might have been baby brain.

As I have no idea what I was going to say, I'll talk about dead weasels instead.  (As you do.)

We were outside a few days ago, and Anja was playing (tormenting) the cat.  She loves our cat, Percy, and although Percy is very good, and doesn't mind too much all the hugging and carrying around she does run off at the first given opportunity.  Our garden is somewhat overgrown, (ok, it's very overgrown, so much so that we ended up with goat invaders the other morning, that's another story though).

Anja followed Percy into the long grass, and came out again a few moments later, carrying what looked like a stick.  On closer inspection though, it turned out to be a dead weasel.  At least I think it was a weasel rather than a stoat.  I made her drop it, and then took a photo, but being as it was all fury and soft, she wasn't too keen on letting it go.  A bit of distraction, and all was good again.

I didn't know that there were weasels around here, apparently there are more stoats than weasels in New Zealand, and of course non of them should be here.  At least our weasel was a dead one, so that's one less.

Ok, enough random waffling, hopefully next time I'll have something a bit more interesting to say.