Gentle days.

 

Sophie sleeps a lot now. 

Sometimes she sleeps in the garden.

Sometimes she sleeps indoors. 

Sometimes she positions herself by the French doors so that her head is outside and her rump inside.

She's given up on stairs .

Four or five times a day (the timing is random ) she has a walk. This morning at sunrise we head down to the walled garden by the cathedral. Here she wanders, off the lead, on the soft grass. There have been foxes in the garden. This puts a spring in her step.

Her walks are short in distance but lengthy in duration. Laughter and encouragement mark her path. Sometimes we get to the front door, stand on the pavement and then head back inside. Sometimes she has a destination in mind. Sometimes she doesn't.

There is much staring into the distance.

And much standing waiting for doors to open.

Invisible things are barked at. This surprises her as much as it surprises us.

Loud noises alarm.

Another poem has gone up on the wall of the library portico.  Sophie stops, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun, while I read it. 

So starts another day of gentle drifting. Salmon and rice for breakfast . They're ignored this morning but we'll try again later.  Tomorrow more of the same ? Maybe.