The mornings thick fog is soon replaced by a constant, unrelenting, downpour. What started off as the wettest year on record is going out the same way. A day for any sane person to stay inside. Bob and Sophie have different ideas. They wander into the office and sit staring at me . That old canine thought control trick : '' I don't want to say anything but it's a beautiful outside ".
The water isn't trickling down the hill ; it's flowing down in sheets. Its collected in the valley and turned the path into a swamp. Two thirds water, one third mud. Bob sinks up to his chin in a puddle. He clambers out and then leaps back in. He makes a strange strangulated squeal of delight. Sophie joins him. Angus walks on. The demonic duo remain firmly rooted in their wonderful, joyous, life affirming game. Their very own PON Waterworld. After half an hour they get bored and we head back home. To add texture to his coat Bob detours across a freshly ploughed field. The prefect place to roll on your back.
'The font' takes one look at them and utters one word. ''Frightful".
It's a four towel drying down and mopping up job.
Those little routines, too inconsequential for a diary, that mark out a dog owners day.
