Beware of the Bull! It’s a week today since my Mum died and the people to see, arrangements to make and things to do have filled the days. How glad we are that the family gathered to celebrate her 95th birthday in November. She was so excited about it and talked about it non-stop for days afterwards. It seemed she set herself the target of enjoying her party and then she would call it a day. My dogs, Rudi and Fritz, have been an especial joy this week. I’ve tramped with them across the low-lying fields of the surrounding Somerset Levels, boots squelching in the peaty sogginess. Rudi, the pale one, has looked the same colour as Fritz, but it was worth it to see them running free and investigating all the fascinating smells and rustlings in the grass, safe in the knowledge that there was no livestock nearby. That is except for one beast! It’s difficult to distinguish one field from the next on the Levels, as the boundaries are rhynes (water-filled ditches) rather than visible hedges. It looked to me as though this very large creature was safely separated from us, but as I drew nearer I realized this was not so. To avoid his field would have entailed a wide detour and it was near dusk. Peering through the fading light, I detected that he was in possession of all his ‘bits and pieces’. As the dogs trotted close by, they paused and inspected the mighty fellow. He in turn stopped grazing and returned their interested gaze. I rapidly surveyed my options and assessed that, should I have the advantage of a surge of adrenalin, I could just clear a nearby rhyne into the next field. In the event, my fears were groundless. With no harem to excite him and the two dogs continuing on their way, he resumed his chomping on the grass, ignoring me completely. Reaching home, the dogs stoically endured the cold hosepipe. Please let it be dry underfoot for the Granny Trek, they woofed! |