(I have technically failed at Blogtoberfest 2012 – apparently weekends are my blogging downfall and I’ve not been organised enough to schedule posts. But while I’ve not posted every day, I have posted more than normal, so that’s still a partial win – so far – in my book. :) )

1. The puppy-jump moment when Lily switches from searching for her ball to seeing it across the room.

1b. Under the hose her fur turns from black to white in seconds.

2. I like logistical problems when they’re a challenge I can get my teeth into – but they’re just as nice when they’re not really a dilemma at all, and everything just slots into place.

3. To reach the bus stop at the same time as the bus.

0. My fleshy radiator returns to me in the middle of the night. I am cold. He is not. Yay!

1. The fact that we can share a laugh over walrus tusks, made accidentally with a felt tip pen and pencil, in the middle of the day.

2. The crisp snap as we slap our hands together.

3. When a chore doesn’t take half as long as you think it will.

1. That special silence between us when we’re both trying to think of a suitable pun. Our mouths bobbing open and closed betray the internal cog spinning.

2. The delicate fishbone pattern in the stream of water running down the gutter.

3. Chopping fresh coriander always reminds me of when I first discovered the herb – and proper curries – at university. As the knife releases the smell from the green leaves, pictures flash into my mind: cooking spicy potato cake things with D, A & E at 83 and the smell of upstairs at The Future Balti in Wibsey.

1. A gust of fresh, cool air tickles through my hair when I open the door.

2. I guess at the size but it turns out to be perfect. And, better than that, the numbers are spaced exactly one ruler width apart one the board. I do like it when things are the same size as other things, far nicer than having to measure things.

3. Savouring each mouthful to try to identify the unusual flavours (onion seeds? lemongrass?).

0. (Something I forgot from Thursday) I know it’s invasive and bad in so many ways, but I love the smell of Himalayan Balsam. As I walk through the horses field to the canal, it reminds me generally of childhood and specifically of the times John and I first identified and remembered the smell (at Kirkstall Abbey), and of the time when I breathed it in while watching dogs play at the bottom of Shipley Glen.

1. The sudden change in the dog when she sees trees out of the car windows: from a completely shutdown grump slumped in the footwell to shining eyes and a hopeful pant as she looks this way and that.

2. I watch two little scenes transpire at the supermarket – simple interactions but ones outside my grasp for one reason or another. I register the positioning, the tones and the (not so hidden) intentions. The everyday is extraordinary sometimes.

3. I perch one of the red chickens on my knee so we can all stroke it. I’m always surprised how soft the feathers feel, how cool and smooth. (I’m also glad that she doesn’t poo.)

1. The clouds are soft and fuzzy, like creamy wool blankets on sky blue sheets.

2. The warm weight of the sleepy chickens as I lift them into the coop.

3. The vivid purple flesh of the pigeon, peeking out from underneath the paler skin.