Contemplations on a morning walk

      Breakfast and coffee already consumed and two terrier faces start to give me the imploring look that says 'time for a walk, shift yourself'. The camera is collected in the hope of seeing the Barn Owl and Little Owls and off we go. On the way out we meet the farmer's Golden Retriever who plods along with us while Lucie tears around as if her life depends on it, so I now have a pack to walk.
      That's always fun.

      Meanwhile Barney, the twelve year old terrier just does what he does, sniffs things, pees on things and trundles along at his own pace. The farmer says he's built like brick privy and he's not wrong, Barney is just a solid block of muscle. The walk continues, now in bright sunshine. A rogue hollyhock about nine feet tall is duly peed on, not the top obviously, a bird must have dropped the seed and now the hollyhock will start its own colony of towering plants.

     Just past the hollyhock we reach the edge of an old orchard and I mark down the location of the Bullaces for some Christmas Bullace Gin, they're growing up from the rootstock of an old dead plum tree and they're now slated for some serious attention in the autumn when they ripen.

      We pass old barns and buildings where the dogs disappear rooting and hunting, you almost have the time to make a camp while they hunt around nosing into everything and looking for interesting scents, in the case of the Jack Russell Terriers it's rats to kill, their prime directive and instinct.
      Forty-five minutes later we finally turn for home, well I turn for home, the dogs don't care one way or the other but on balance I think they'd rather stay out regardless of the steadily building heat.

      Past one more derelict and infinitely interesting barn or old tractor shed and despite all of the exercise they have to be dragged in the direction of home. Needless to say when we finally arrive home they have a noisy drink of water and promptly go to sleep.
      On reflection perhaps there's an old Bentley, Jaguar or Vincent motorcycle residing under a dust sheet in that tractor shed.
      Dream on.