Jackie was sick as a ... well, sick as a dog yesterday evening, poor little tyke. Literally tossing his cookies. He was fine all day, enjoyed his breakfast, his egg and his salad that followed. And had his share of cookie treats out on our afternoon hike through the forest. Later, when I began preparations for our evening meal -- paella -- both he and his sister came around to cadge more vegetables. They can always detect the irresistible fragrance of vegetables being cut up at the kitchen sink. 

And then, suddenly, while he was listening to a lecture on his computer, Irving heard Jackie retching. And more. And more again. Every time we thought he was finished, he wasn't. Moving him out to the backyard was a good idea, but a little late. Never has Irving ever cleaned up as much stomach-ejected gut-processed food as he did yesterday.

Jackie kept following me about with mournful eyes. All he wanted to do was to get away from whatever it was that was making him so miserable. He put himself to bed, then wandered about again and retched again. No dinner, thank you very much. But finally he was finished, looking somewhat the worse for wear. He slept the evening away and then transferred to the bedroom, slept the night away. Quietly, peacefully.

In the morning you'd never know he was that level of miserable the day before. He was game to go. He and Jillie played their game of 'catch-me-if-you-can while their breakfast was prepared. Breakfast? You bet! Any more, by any chance? How about a scrambled egg? Down it went, too, shared with his sister. What a relief that was for both of us. Irving always has the impression if one of them is not feeling well, that they look at him expecting him to solve the problem and make them feel better. It's dreadfully guilt-inducing. We deduce that it might have been something he picked up in the ravine, despite our constant admonitions.

 

I'd decided to bake a blueberry pie this morning. Blueberries are practically being given away; going on sale everywhere at prices a fraction of what they cost when they first came into season. The same with strawberries. I'd bought a little basket of prune plums and they're a little different. We once had a plum tree in this backyard that bore incredible harvests of prune plums. It went the way of an equally productive apple tree, both of which became infected with some kind of vegetation-misery.

Later, during our ravine ramble through the forest trails, when Irving stopped to pick ripe thimbleberries he was there, front and centre. But when the pickings were blackberries, the rare fruit he passes by, he left it all to Jillie instead of racing down the hill where Irving was picking the berries, to leap about begging for some for himself.

 

Turned out to be a hot day, just nudging 30C, and tomorrow forecasted to be even hotter. We set out under blue skies hosting large white fluffy bubbles of clouds. Much less of a breeze than in previous days. But the deep shade of the forest did the trick and made us all comfortable. 

 

On our return home, the intensifying heat build-up wasn't much of an encouragement to remain outdoors in the garden. And it's just about now that we can see the relentless heat is telling on the garden, despite a cooling rainfall last evening when the temperature suddenly dropped.