Raspberries are densely flavoured little packets of yumminess.  I have some growing along the fence. They appeared a few years ago (or possibly ten), volunteers from my compost.

Raspberries are pretty determined to exist. The raspberries in my garden have a challenging life. My golden retriever loves them.  In the winter she chews the canes to snow height. In the summer she plucks the barely ripe berries off.  If I didn’t know better I would say she has prehensile lips.

Last fall we moved one of my raised beds in front of where the raspberries grow, unintentionally blocking them.  They spent a peaceful winter not being chewed on.  In the spring there were more blossoms than all previous years, and I was delighted to see so many shaping into fruit.  It appeared, without intending to, we had rescued the raspberries from Hazel’s attention.

Today, I looked out towards the back garden and there was my golden.  She was perched, balanced so she was not sitting in the garlic in the raised bed, nibbling on the raspberries.  I shouted for her to get out of the garden and she came bounding towards me.  There was no remorse, no eyebrow semaphores communicating feelings of guilt.  She came to me with a happy golden grin and wagging tail, so very pleased to have partaken of such a fabulous snack.