Making The Most

The world became exquisite again today. Light filtered through the well-covered oak trees that line the lane where we took our morning walk, and for once I was glad of my photochromic lenses. The mist had been slow to lift, but by 8.30 it had gone and the day was clear, bright and glorious. How strange that I passed my neighbour on this very spot the day before, me in winter jacket and care-in-the-community hat, her jogging in cosy track suit and bobble hat. We exchanged comments about the weather as you do, bemoaning the fact that it was June and here we were swaddled to the ears. But now it was summer, and we walked in a leisurely way until, suddenly, there was a hare on the lane ahead of us. A big sally I reckon, and she wasn't in a hurry to go away. Hugo stiffened, ears erect, body taut against the lead as we watched her walked ahead a bit, stop, and walk a bit more. It was almost more than he could stand. After a bit we swerved off the lane and cut across the bottom of the field. He couldn't believe we weren't going after her. All the way along the track, the grass beaten down by early riders taking their horses for a walk, he kept looking back, bouncing up and down trying to see where she was. He's so cute when he's in professional mode, his body swinging into readiness for the chase. How disappointing for him that it is never going to happen, not with hares anyway.

In the heat of the day I started work on my new path, but had underestimated how much work was going to be involved. Lots of digging, for a start, right next to where I've sown seeds of escholzia, and several small bulbs. I should have remembered that the hard landscaping has to come before the soft, but how was I to know that my brilliant idea for a path would only occur to me now? I tried to be careful, but by 4pm I was quite tired and hot, and in need of a treat. We dashed into Framlingham for a Co-op chocolate cake to have with my tea, and there bumped into a friend who followed us back and shared the repast. She was full of praise for how the garden is developing, which is always nice to hear. When she'd gone I took my hot little sausage off to Pound Farm for a run, but I think he overdid it this time. The panting in the car was violent, and even drinking lots of water back home didn't cool him down. He lay on the cool kitchen floor, ribs rising convulsively until I feared he had heat stroke. I took him outside and splashed handfuls of rainwater over him, water that had collected in a bucket. He didn't flinch as I soaked his head, but shook himself calmly and lay down again. But the panting had stopped, mercifully. Whippets: who'd have 'em? Their resting heartbeat is violently erratic, they are sensitive and nervous, and they don't know that the shade is where you go when it's hot, not the open sunshine. But they are adorable in almost every way, and once they get into your heart they're there for good.