Taking the Lead

The weekend involved a riverside walk, lunch in a dog-friendly cafe, and a mixture of rugby and music. Daniil Trifanov was beamed life-size to Woodbridge, courtesy of friends with a cinema and a direct line to the Berlin Phil. You can't help being moved by his extraordinary playing and equally extraordinary presence. He is without artifice, a performer who allows his audience into his own private space and treats them to the most intimate experience. He is a beautiful person, true and sensitive, and watching and listening to him is such a joy, a privilege even. I feel very blessed to be allowed to share this music.

 Hugo is getting used to being on the lead again as he was when he first came to me and I was too scared to let him run loose. He walks along with his head so close to my knee that, for the umpteenth time, I praise the people who trained him. But I want him to do his own thing once we're in the fields, albeit on the end of a long extension lead, and so I urge him on, tell him to move, and sometimes nudge his rear quarters to get him going. With him out in front I can watch to see where he is looking, and spot at once if his attention is suddenly focussed. It requires an alertness from me that I'm not used to when walking. Oh, I'm aware of everything around me, and notice slight changes to the topography, the light, and any unusual sounds. But I have tended to ignore Hugo apart from registering most of the time where he is. I like to daydream, but I can't do that any more. I've been warned that I must not let him pull me over if he suddenly decides to gallop. And I've heeded the warning.

I suddenly remembered Happidays, the dog play centre, and Hugo is booked in for a trial session on Thursday. For two hours I can wander in and out of the shops, visit the library, and maybe have a coffee. It sounds like such a treat, and I don't even like shopping. There's desperate for you. But I think he'll love it, and wish I could be a fly on the wall. On our walks now, if we meet the one or two dogs who share these fields, he can't charge towards them and play. It's such a shame. I wish there was a solution.

Sleepy boy resisting bedtime. He stood up, and then flopped sideways

As we left the house this morning a huge bird whistled past my ear and flew low along the edge of the field just inside the hedge. I thought it was one of the ubiquitous wood pigeons, perhaps the one who keeps raiding my bird feeder. But it was a beautiful white barn owl, and as I watched it swooped down and caught something in its talons. I know two people who would like to have seen that. I wish I could have taken a photo for them.