Every morning at first light Bob and Angus walk along the ridge. Most days ( if it's dry ) dog and master sit on the concrete storm drain cover and chat. The PON is happy to discuss anything. Venezuelan politics, China and land reclamation in the South China Sea, Brexit. Angus talks, his companion listens. A perfect relationship. Today, we look down into the valley and watch three deer bound through the long corn. To our left a hare, going who knows where, stops - nose high, long ears back - and sniffs the air. Above us a kestrel hovers, playing the breeze, for an impossibly long time. Important things.
The silence is broken by the early rising builder in his lilac metallic Mitsubishi pick-up. He passes and waves. The builder's followed by a farmer going the other way in his little white Renault van. He also waves. We know it's time to turn and head home when the mechanic at the Peugeot garage races by on his motorbike. He nods at us. A troubled teenager, he got a job doing what he wanted to do, working with cars, and is now the first in to work. Untroubled and happy and with his very own motorbike and the responsibility of opening up and of dealing with the first customers. A run of small victories in each 'and'.
As the rasp of the motor bikes exhaust drifts away I scratch Bobs head. He's told, as he's told every morning, that this is Bob's Country. Routine completed, we head off along the lane at the double. While Angus thinks about the implications of todays referendum his companions thoughts have already turned to breakfast and the fun to be had savaging his sister.
Those little dog owner routines too unimportant to be written in a diary but too important to go completely unrecorded.