Let Us Prey

I check the BBC weather forecast for Yoxford every morning, but when is it ever right? The day started hot and sunny again with a clear blue sky though bleak grey conditions were promised, and when I checked the dahlias it was too hot to stay in the summerhouse. It clouded over a bit after lunch, so they were partly right. The gardening jobs from now on are quite delicious, and I spent a few hours in the front garden, sliding along the gravel path on my bottom pulling up weeds. Hidden as I was when the refuse collectors arrived, I was just about to call out hello and thanks to a big burly man when he stuck a massive finger up his nose. I kept my head down.

I had to watch the time because there was an evening evacuation practice at Snape and I wanted to get the boy done and dusted and settled before I left. Supper was at 3.30, and then it was down to the woods where we were in for a big surprise. Well, I was. Yesterday our track was crossed by first one muntjack and then another. Hugo paused as the first one crept along and disappeared into the woods, and he was just about to follow when the second one did likewise. To my astonishment he then plunged fearlessly after them and disappeared. I wasn't too worried apart from the consideration that they might attack him, but he soon returned panting his head off. Today at the exact same spot he did the identical thing, but this time he didn't return unscathed. When he raced up to me blood dripped from his ear and there were cuts on his head. Thorns stuck out all over his body. It seemed that the old adage about whippets preferring to tear their flesh on sharp hedging than lose their prey was right. I mopped him up and patched him up and pulled out the thorns while he stood patiently beside me.

I made it to the practice, and though there were splashes and drops of blood across the kitchen floor when I returned, he was fast asleep on his sofa and only got up to greet me out of politeness I think. It's such a happy state of affairs, his willingness to be left at home when I go out. He seems to accept it as normal. I think he must have been used to it once. With his newly plumped up chest like a goose fattening for Christmas, I think I might have to eat him after all. I've been telling him for a year that I love him so much I could gobble him up. At least now there would be something to get my teeth into.