Howling (the wind, not the dog)

I'm thinking of changing the name of this blog to Tales From Hugo's Life. I can see he is going to dominate it. Yesterday morning we walked down to the Bruisyard valley and up to the church, a lovely morning and so good to be out early. One of the best things about having a dog is the exercise I get. My hips were aching a bit after all the hill walking at speed, but they've settled down now. At one point a hare trotted across the lane and Hugo was very interested indeed, ears pricked, body tensed. That's the trouble with sight hounds, little furry creatures is what they do. But not this one, not here. When I do eventually let him off the lead it won't be anywhere near a hare. Hugo greeted Ruth warmly when she arrived for lunch, and was very friendly with her. He even followed her around a bit. Hey, Hugo, don't forget whose dog you are! But again I can see how well beloved he has been, how lovingly treated. He's lived in a happy family, that's for sure, and is used to friends coming and going. How lucky I am to have inherited such a socialised, well-mannered boy. This morning a gale is blowing and the lane is strewn with branches. We tried to walk, making it to Boundary Lane in the opposite direction from usual because there are fewer threatening old oak trees there. Hugo had his coat on, I was bundled up in thick clothes, but we didn't get very far before we agreed to turn back. The winds were so ferocious we were in danger of being blown away. The dog trotted staunchly beside me, but retreated, I think, with polite relief. The kitchen was a warm haven when we came home. He was asleep in his bed within seconds. And he doesn't even snore!

This is how I wait patiently for Mummy to get her shoes on

I may look hangdog but this is just a Whippet face

Waiting to go out