There was nothing to climb in our new home in Hale, Cheshire. Our old place had walls and trees, and a garden swing that inventive minds turned into a climbing frame and circus trapeze. Life takes on a different perspective when you’re soaring in the breeze. Imagination gains more freedom somehow.
I still recall perching high in a leafy lilac tree in our front garden at Knutsford, calling down to my mother, “I’ll be climbing trees when I’m ninety!”
Anyway, we took the little black male home, and I was happier than frog in a rainstorm after a drought. After all, a real live dog was way more entertaining than an imaginary horse.
I’m sure my brother and sister had some claim to Gyp, but in my mind he belonged to me. He was a bright little friend, quick to learn tricks, and devoted to protecting our household. I think he must have thought he was ten times his real size from the way he defended us and our property.
Climbing trees may not be for the older generation, but it brought happiness back in the day.
Happy Easter, everyone. And remember, "Our Lord has written the promise of the resurrection, not in books alone but in every leaf in springtime." (Martin Luther)
Famous Family Nights