Pink camellia.

Before I went out yesterday Iris was asleep and Hazel was draped over me, silky head under my tilted cheek, as we made up a story (Hannah and Flora have got to the African exhibit on the zoo planet that orbits Alpha Centauri and are enjoying flying with the brightly coloured flocks of parrots). I was not surprised when she didn't want me to leave for role-playing, it was rather detached of me to wish to tell stories with somebody else and she has a romantic nature. She came out to wave to me and I pointed out a pink camellia bud growing by the path. She called me back to present it to me but I didn't understand and merely waved. Hazel was terribly sad and Sean had to send me a pxt of her with the pink camellia and an explanation before she could move on. When I returned the pink camellia was waiting by my place at the table in water. I was forgiven. It bloomed as wide as the smile of a child today.

Iris stepped up her dog campaign tonight:
"I run on grass, my white dog run on grass, we run and run. I crash, my white dog crash. I run on grass, I walk my white dog on the path, I hold my white dog's lead."
I said that the problem with dogs is that they poo on the grass and it's yucky. She agreed it was yucky and gave the matter sincere thought;
"I know, I get my purple spade, I pick up dog poo and put it in a plastic dog bag."
"You'd pick up the yucky dog poo?"
"Yes, I get my purple spade. My dog, my dog poo."