The village pond is surrounded by a low brick wall. Every day Bob stands, back paws on the ground, front paws on the wall, staring at the fat frogs sunbathing on the water lilies. He looks. They chirrup.
This morning he does the same. I laugh. The pleasures of a dogs daily routine. No sooner have I turned to head home than there is a loud splash followed by thrashing sounds rather like a hippopotamus wallowing in mud.
Today, Bob has decided to show the frogs who's boss.
Bob chases the frogs with a half leaping, half swimming motion. Mud and algae float, profusely, to the surface.
Having made it into the pond dog does not want to leave. The pond is not deep, but it's deep enough. The bottom is also uneven .... and slippery .... and smelly. After several attempts dog is eventually grabbed by his harness and lifted onto dry land. Dog learns some choice Anglo-Saxon vocabulary.
Dogs sister, never one to let a crisis pass without a diva moment, yelps.
7:30 am and the dogs owner is already showering and changing clothes for the second time today.