FOXGLOVE

The young owls had been practising their hooting, with amusing results as they could get the shriek right but were having trouble with the tu-whits.

The sky was scattered grey and silver with no blush of sunrise yet, and white flowers on the chamomile and hogweed shone with an unearthly luminosity. There was enough breeze to take the thistledown, and the air was deliciously cool.

Dogs do not mind what time they get up if a walk is promised, and the shadow at my heels danced with glee. Walking into the wind, the dog sipped and savoured the scents, checking back to look at me for permission.

I could see a cock pheasant running along the stock-fence: he wanted to go through but did not fit the smaller gaps at the bottom and had not the wit either to hop up through a larger gap or else take to his wings. Perhaps it was still too dark for him to fly, but what had disturbed him? I had a shrewd idea and so took the path away from whatever it was.

This was not our business today, but I could pass on knowledge to someone who would appreciate it. The dog knew that the pheasant was off-limits, and watched with interest as it ran and fluttered; then it found the end of the fence and was away, safely I hoped. Pheasants are lovely birds, but not the brightest.

For full feature see West Sussex Gazette September 5