These past few weeks I’ve been getting loads done in my poor neglected garden. The bright, cold and dry days are perfect for clearing away all the withered stalks of the herbaceous perennials. The more I clear away, the more I expose nettles with fresh runners a metre long, creeping buttercup – not creeping but positively racing into new growth. And that’s just two of the weeds that have set up base camp in the border.

Every time I work in the garden I’m joined by one of our sheep dogs. Milly stays within a few metres of me, ever alert for an idle moment when she can command my attention and earn herself a good scratch. I like her company and loyalty because no matter what’s going on or who arrives into the place, she remains with me.

These days the pair of us have been joined by another charming little friend, the robin. The minute I appear in the garden, there he is, hopping along just in front of me. It doesn’t matter where I go, he and Milly come along too.

This season’s robin reminds me of another little robin that I made friends with 30 years ago this month. We were newly married and it was my first Christmas in Shanagolden. I was feeding the birds outside the front door and a little robin would literally hop right up to me to get his share. I was charmed by him.

Anyway, a few weeks before Christmas I was visiting one of our neighbours and told them the story of my robin. Quick as a flash, the woman of the house said: “Oh, that’s great news, you must be pregnant. A friendly robin is always the sign of a pregnancy.”

I nearly went through the floor as I swallowed hook, line and sinker every word of what she said. Talk about being naive. We had just discovered I was pregnant and had planned to tell everyone over Christmas – but now it was out of the bag as I blurted out our great news as if to confirm the so-called old saying.

We have lots of little birds around the place this winter. I’m feeding them peanuts and bird seed, having given up on the meal worms and fat balls because of the crows. The crows have my heart scalded. They use every trick in the book to break into the peanuts. I’ve watched as a couple of them weigh down a branch while one of their co-culprits tugs the bird feeder along the branch until it slips off, spilling all its contents for them to devour. If you have a fool-proof way of feeding meal worms and fat balls without the crows getting them, do let me know.

With 8 December and The Late Late Toy Show over us, no doubt lots of small people are busy writing their letters to Santa. When I was little, we posted ours that first week of December and our postmistress, Susie O’Callaghan, always made a big deal of putting on the stamps and dropping that precious letter into the postbag.

This is a magical time for small children. If you are lucky enough to have some little ones in your life, treasure this time as it passes by all too fast. CL