Mr Greedy

What a great weekend! The weather was mostly kind to us, and we made the most of it, even having a huge seafood spread in the courtyard of the Southwold Smokehouse under clement skies. Hugo settled peacefully beside my chair, curling up on my jacket on the hard concrete flooor, and only once getting up to pounce on a fallen chip from our neighbours' table. We gorged on crab, home-smoked crevettes, fresh anchovies brazenly dripping pieces of garlic, shell-on prawns, smoked sprats, and lovely freshly baked baguettes to mop up the juices. Afterwards, a walk along the perilous cliffs at Cove Hythe was more scary than usual owing to fresh falls right across the old path, but we stuck as close to the barley as we could (just think, we told each other encouragingly, with shaking voices, a huge combine will be along here in a few weeks to cut this lot. Must be safe!!!). The tide was a bit too high to walk back along the beach, so we set off inland avoiding the treacherously crumbling track and instead taking in the old abbey ruins and the Blythburgh pigs. On Sunday I was awoken at 6am by Hugo bursting into my bedroom and leaping onto my bed. God, what the ....? I insisted that he went to sleep, and so did I for another hour or so. At 7am I came down to find that he had pinched a large half moon of ripe Reblochon from the work surface and scoffed the lot. Horrified, we all watched to see what effect it would have, but he seems to have guts made from cast iron. Later we walked from Snape to Iken along the river, a round trip of 5 or 6 miles, and he was full of beans the whole way there and back. We stopped occasionally to eat the lovely salty, crunchy samphire growing along the edge of the estuary, but by the time we'd got to Iken Church, a complete dead-end miles from an inn or a shop, we were hot, tired, hungry and thirsty. What a miracle, then, to find a stall outside an old house selling cans of coke and punnets of fresh raspberries! We lolled in the grass behind the church having our fill, replenishing our energy stores for the journey back, congratulating ourselves on our good luck. Memo for the next walk: pack a picnic!

Hugo didn't stop at the Reblochon, oh no. This morning I found that he'd been in the cupboard where I keep an uncovered tupperware of his dried food, and it was empty. But this time he didn't get off so lightly. He's been feeling ill, very ill. Evidence of his greed has been visible throughout the field where we've walked him every half hour or so, and after a quick trip in the car he was a bit sick, some of the undigested pellets that must be packing his stomach finding their way out. He's rallied from time to time, but he's not very comfortable. Will he learn his lesson from these escapades? I doubt it. It's in his DNA. Don't try to take food from people's plates when they are eating, and don't beg, his whippet genes tell him. But once they're out of the room, grab what you can before they can stop you. Well done Hugo. You're an exemplary whippet.