Eight in the morning. Our first walk of the day. At the foot of the hill Bob charges into the middle of the cold stream and has a long, noisy, drink. Sophie stands carefully on the dry ground at the streams edge and slurps. Wet paws are not her thing. When it comes to icy water brother and sister are very different characters. Or as Sophie might put it : " We're as different as beauty and the beast ". To prove her point the little 'beauty' triumphantly drags the remnants of a long dead, and now partly mummified, crow into the back of the car.
Mid morning. A man from the town council comes to measure the oak trees in the garden. A visit as unexpected as it is unusual. The man has a little white van with an orange light on the roof. He also has a clipboard .
'' We're registering all the ancient trees in the area. I came across one last week that was at least four hundred and thirty years old. A trunk diameter of five metres thirty nine ". The man with the clipboard repeats the words '' five metres thirty nine '' . Angus makes a whistling noise which he hopes will convey interest while precluding the need for further conversation. There is only so much a foreigner can say about trees before reaching the limits of his vocabulary.
The man measures. He whistles and hums while he does so. Someone who is happy in his work. Our trees it seems are three hundred and forty years old and have a trunk diameter of four metres seventy two. They will be entered in the register but won't warrant a special plaque.
Bob and Sophie enjoy meeting the tree measurer. There again Bob and Sophie take delight in meeting everyone - no matter how unusual their job .
