Never a Dull Moment

What a long day it has been, in a nice way. I started and finished a book, Ron Rash's Above the Waterfall, did the crossword apart from one clue that I can't figure out, even mowed the lawn with the ride-on, which requires no effort. I'm not feeling too bad, just the weird tiredness and a sick headache from time to time. I added to the sore head this afternoon as, bending down suddenly to fasten Hugo's collar, I forgot the wall jutted out sharply and cracked the side of my head on it. I haven't looked, but there may be a lump, or a bruise.

We had adventures too, the dog and me. Out strolling along the bottom of the field, Hugo suddenly galloped ahead and disappeared. He reappeared in the next field which is the other side of a wide, deep ditch. How on earth had he got there? I watched him chase something through the wheat, vanishing and then leaping up into the air, only to vanish again. The hare was more than a match for him, with its wily, ancient ways, twisting and turning as it raced off, first in one direction and then another, spinning on a sixpence. This I could only guess at as I could see nothing through the dense unripe wheat. The poor dog was bemused in its wake, not knowing where to run, and eventually he gave up and came back towards me. But he was still on the wrong side of a ditch full of water after the wettest June on record. I watched aghast as he ran towards me, picturing those long, elegant limbs cracking from the unexpected fall. I think I screamed Noooo, but suddenly there he was beside me, panting but completely dry. Had he jumped over the ditch? Since its banks are covered in high growth, how did he even know it was there? He was very pleased with himself, and I patted his hot little body, telling he was surely the cleverest whippet who had ever lived. He already knew it, and so did I.

As the day wore on we found ourselves suddenly trapped in the summerhouse by, of all things on July 2nd, a hailstorm. Tiny frozen balls rolled in through the open door as we watched the lightning flash overhead followed almost immediately by a hideous crack of thunder, the skies black and sodden. After a while I risked putting my arm out to unhook and close the door, and my sleeve was instantly soaked. We couldn't leave, but it was rather nice being out there in the storm, dry and safe enough. Hugo was unperturbed by the bangs, and mostly slept through them. Is there no end blah blah blah? We went in at last, when the evening had settled down to a calm, sunny blue, as if butter wouldn't melt in its mouth. I found my saturated leather gardening gloves on the lawn later, but they'll dry out. We ended the evening together in harmony, Hugo twitching and yipping as he relived the day's fun, and me wondering why four days of seeing nobody hasn't driven me crazy. Have I had a lobotomy? Or could the answer be curled in his basket?