Looking Back

I have to admit to a sneaking concern that, if push came to shove, whatever that means, Hugo would choose Penny and Roger over me. They feed him delicious food when they have charge of him for goodness sake. What dog in its right mind would pick the person who sticks to the book when it comes to mealtimes and only occasionally provides treats? This boy would go to the ends of the earth for you, just for love. But that was before tasty titbits entered the equation. Today I returned early to collect him but he was out walking with Penny. Roger and I sat chatting for 20 minutes or so before they returned, whereupon the lad threw himself at me in paroxysms of delight, and refused even to countenance Roger. I was slightly embarrassed at his reluctance, but secretly thrilled that I am still number one in his eyes. He's my boy! The bond is stronger than lovely treats!

Yesterday we walked alongside the sugar beet field where the microlight aircraft had lost its engine. No fewer than five tractors were making short work of the task of uprooting the beets and preparing the field for the next crop. I was fascinated by the conveyor belt that raised them from the earth, shrugged the mud off them and deposited them in a cage to be offloaded into a truck, thence to be conveyed to the Tate and Lyle factory in Bury St Edmunds. I was so busy watching that I failed to notice the hare until Hugo was 20 feet or so away from it. Nor had the hare seen the dog it seemed. Off they tore, Hugo so close he was almost touching it. Over the horizon they raced, down the hill to the valley below, then back again past me by which time Hugo was slowing a litle and the hare was getting away. Through the hedge they pelted, across the lane - heart-stopping moment for me - then off across another series of fields before they came back again. I rushed to the lane to try to head him off but he was nowhere to be seen. Back at the house I spotted his brave little black body running towards me. What could I do? I patted him, praised him extravagantly and hooked him onto his lead again. He must be getting fitter with all this racing as he was barely panting. It's a fine balance, letting him off the lead. I think it's vital that he has that freedom to run, and have to weigh that against the very small risk of him running in front of a car. What is life if you're not free? I know the answer to that, and it applies to him as much a me.

Last night I relayed the tale of the microlight to my neighbour Sarah who came over for a drink, and she knows the owners. I've been trying to contact them for days to tell them where their machine part is without success. But she promised to pass on its whereabouts, or its ex-whereabouts given that it must have been discovered by the farmer when the field was cleared. Sarah is as much in love with this place as I am. She moved across the lane just a few months before me, and has been a wonderful neighbour and friend. We're going to record the lives of as many locals as we can before they all disappear for good. Sarah was a BBC camerawoman, and she has all the equipment still. Together we drool over what we know of the village history, and the role its inhabitants played in times past. We can't get enough of it. Soft pair of dates, we are. But whatever makes you happy.