There we were walking the two terriers when suddenly they sprint sideways across a dyke that takes them into the edge of a rape field and a frenzied rolling and wriggling on their backs begins.
Further investigation finds them scrapping and fighting over the right to roll on a decomposing bream tail.
By the way, the pocket knife has a two and a half inch blade so the bream was a goer. The tail had travelled half a mile from the nearest water able to hold what what was obviously a large bream. So how did it get there?
An otter kill stolen by a fox for a midnight snack? Or was it carried off by a carrion crow and dropped? Our favourite is stolen by a fox.
Marilyn Monroe may have famously said that all she wore in bed was Chanel No. 5 but this week our two Jack Russells, Minnow and Barney, are mostly wearing bream, rotting bream.