Sunday

A rather busy Sunday, in the end. So busy that now it is almost six and there is little brain left for the blog. I am hock deep in logistics and domestic activity. I go away next week, and dog-sitters will be arriving for Stanley. I cannot bear to send him to kennels, because of him having been abandoned twice, and I feel it might set up acid flashbacks in his poor mind. So now I look at the house and think everything must be organised, so the sitters do not feel as if they have come upon the place of a slattern. I am even eyeing the Cupboard of Doom, just in case they might open it by mistake and get a horrid shock.

The sweetest moment was working with Red. We did all kinds of groundwork. We went out into the wider field, beating the bounds, encountering new and sometimes faintly alarming objects. We did controlled circles, standing, stopping on command, and then some lovely liberty work, where she follows me without a rope. She was calm and good and responsive.

All the time I was working though, I felt a spark in her, some banked fire. When I finished, I thought she might go off and do some bronco tricks, but she just ambled off. Then, as I turned away, I heard a sound, and there was my duchess, heels in the air, doing her best slo-mo Spanish Riding School of Vienna trick. No matter how many times I see it, it never fails to make me laugh. It really is a thing of beauty and a joy forever.

Then she stopped, and stood very still, and gave me her dear old donkey, shucks Ma, it was nuthin’ face.

She made me happy and she made me laugh and she gave me a sense of achievement. That’s pretty good for one Scottish Sunday.