late morning

I am beginning to find it increasingly irritable that the results of my hoarding are described as nothing more than “utterly fruitless” by my handler, and although the words may have never been spoken... the tone of her vague words of praise delivered that quote with ease. I know that she did not find my ‘job’ adequate, especially not with my supposed position of being in Vervain’s shadow when it comes to this particular task. Not very comforting considering my talents lie elsewhere...

How preposterous to even think that I should be judged for collecting junk! Least to say, what I bring back is not junk! Seeds and fertilizer for that magnificent garden is helpful for all of us at home, and I personally find it delightful to see the individual saplings work their way up from the soil. To lend a wing to shade the young flowers, to sink my paws within the dirt - it’s not the least bit difficult to see how much more engaging the garden is compared to fetching useless tables and rare art pieces!

And, as I write, I find I am being too quick to judge. These ideas of logging my experiences every now and then seems to be already proving useful for the purpose of my reflections. Very well. My apologies, dear handler. Even I can admit to being overly prideful at times. If she wishes for furniture, then perhaps, if I feel the desire, I will bring back something of value for our handler. As busy as she already is, perhaps a gift of that sorts could be translated as some sort of thank-you note for when she finds it. It is the least I can do.

Until next time, little scrapbook...

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the unsigned entry is written in a tidy and shockingly elegant script.