Carpe Diem

Oh, what a perfect day. The early sky a brilliant, flawless blue bubbling up later with tiny ragged puffs from Helen Macdonald's fag (https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=553807433670&set=a.553806400740.2223145.36916331&type=1&theater). Not a murmur of air, barely a sound apart from an unidentified (as yet) bird that emits an erratic staccato from its hidden perch. Sasha doesn't know what to make of it. We linger on the terrace for the first cup of tea, then after breakfast we're off down the hill, up the hill, then down the other side. Is this the same dog who appeared in my life nearly three months ago? She's on the extended lead, and glances back at me for approval every now and again, her doe eyes gentle and trusting. "Good girl" I say every time, "You're Mama's good little girl." It might make Ruth want to puke, but I can't help it, it's just me. The views are breathtaking, the morning an absolute peach. We both breathe in its loveliness with deep satisfaction.

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The new shrubs planted

Back home I tackle the area where the trellis will cover the oil tank tomorrow. After a burst of energy which involves digging up all her bones from their secret hiding places (don't think about a career in MI5 Sasha) and flying around the garden as if a hornet were after her, the dog settles down beside me in a long relaxed stretch. She watches, she bats the occasional insect, she closes her eyes and lets out a long sigh. I move to the front for a rest on the bench which is just coming into sunlight, and she follows, drops to the ground, rests her head on some soft leaves overlapping the path, and watches me through half closed eyes. I move back to the digging, and she drags herself after me, flopping down again near my feet. Oh Monty Don, eat your hearty out! This is what I dreamed of but didn't imagine would happen for another ten years or so. Wonderful little dog, ideal copmpanion.

Not yesterday she wasn't though. Running through the fields, taking big deer-like leaps every two or three steps in what looked like sheer exhileration, she found what must have been fox poo and rolled in it. And rolled in it again. The small pieces of delicious sausages I carry around with me now (Bramley apple flavoured, two packets for £5 in Waitrose) lured her away, but the smell was horrible. I tried administering a dry shampoo when we got home but she smelled worse - fox poo and some disgusting fake perfume - so it had to be the bath. She's very good in there, quite enjoying the hot water around her feet and on her body. But she has to shake herself, it's what wet dogs do. At least I ended up with a clean bathroom floor. Back downstairs, after my supper, she came into the sitting room as usual to snuggle up on the sofa. But all the activities of the day had exhausted her and she sat looking at me, bewildered. "Are you ready for your beddybyes?" I asked her, and carried her unprotesting to her crate. She was out like a light.