Morning

I jumped out of bed with a small spring in my step at seven on the dot this morning, and could tell at once through the open window that there was a nip in the air. And other cliches. So much easier than being original, but it's early. Hugo is hard to shift from his comfy sofa these mornings, and I had to whistle three times yesterday before he leapt up the stairs, not at all resentful finally at being disturbed. Gone are the days when he went crazy with delight just to hear some movement from upstairs, but I put that down to complacency, in a good way. He's feeling secure and settled, and that makes up for the absence of jubilation whenever he sees me. As I put the kettle on and open the newspaper online he gets back to his warm spot and feigns sleep again. People are always surprised at his laziness. They think whippets are on the go all day, charging hither and thither. No, they aren't. Two good walks, two good meals, and they will sleep for around 20 hours on and off.

It was time for the first guernsey of the autumn, and by the time we hit the field I was swathed in warm clothing. The air was crisp and fresh but there had been a heavy dew - rain even maybe - and wellies were needed. I like nothing better than tramping off on mornings like these when everything seems to be reborn. Late last night as we took our final comfort break the stars were eclipsed only by the very bright half moon, and I stood for ages looking up while Hugo followed his nose up and down the lane. We have to be very alert to the sound of cars as he's off the lead now, but he stops the second I call wait, and then runs to me on command. It may sound ridiculous, OTT like so much else that I feel, but my heart glows in my chest with the pride I feel for this dog.