We are walking along canal and see the first swallow. Uncle Dick has brought tea and biscuits and plays mother. He is in his eighties and puts us all to shame with his never ending enthusiasm and energy.
Whippet and I have a standoff, nether will budge. He eventually feigns interest a few steps upwind. But as soon as I walk on, he shoots back to reclaim foul smelling bit of fur. I however continue sure in the knowledge that he will have forgotten where I kicked it by now.
I sidestep through the hedge, minutes latter a worried whippet belts up the field, catching sight of me as he passes the gap and veering sharply, he is all wags and ears back nosing for a pat, minus his prize.
The hum of bees as they fly in and out of a hole in the tree.
Bit of that
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