Unsuccess

So, the chicken sheds are staying put. Or at least they may be replaced by state of the art hen concentration camps, once the old ones have been pulled down and the asbestos removed. Well, it's an agricultural business isn't it, in an agricultural spot, providing jobs for local people. A poultry farm has been there since the 50s, so it's got form, previous. Yes, there are feathers flying around, dust, stink, flies, particles of dried poo, the stench of death, chicken shed maintenance traffic and noise. In the summer it can be intolerable for the neighbours opposite when the sheds are cleaned out. But they chose to live there, didn't they. Who can they blame but themselves? I thank the lord that I am at the opposite end of the village, and only experience any of these problems when I walk the dog that way. I simply could not live there, for many reasons.

After a jolly day at work when most clients stayed away, I walked Hugo on the college sports field. He knows the score by now, and he raced down the steps and then zigzagged from right to left wildly as I always trick him into doing, unleashing lots of energy. But the grass was wet and he was running too low to the ground. He slipped, skidded along the ground on his side for several yards, and then was up and off again with barely a falter. Gosh, but he covered a lot of ground. And when I thought he would have no energy left, he spotted two little dogs at the opposite end of the field and hared towards them. "Wow!" called their lady owner when she saw his speed. "Golly!". Still he had oomph to spare, and a pale labrador didn't stand a chance as Hugo pelted up to him and charged away, repeating the exercise a couple of times. His joy is so obvious, the pleasure he takes in letting his body have full rein, and I just watch in admiration, laughing at his antics. Soon he'll have a house full of pals and he won't know himself. What raptures.