Hunting with hound

Mary and I took advantage of a beautiful sunny afternoon to walk around the grounds, the first time for me in more than a week. I wanted to see if there were any signs of spring, other than grass trying to establish itself on the dried-out mud. And we were rewarded down by the stream, where there was some pussy willow on the verge of bursting, and dog rose in bud.

We were joined by Billy, the friendly small black dog from our neighbours at the bottom of the drive. He wasn't interested in anything as petit bourgeois as fetching sticks, but was quite happy wandering off and rejoining us and rootling in hedges. He dove into the hedge near the southeast corner, and worrited away at something as we approached. There were some strange coughing barks, which I thought at first was Billy, but then looked closer. The smell at two metres was a pretty obvious give-away; it was a fox. S/he coughed at Billy when he got too close, but otherwise just stood at the back of the hedge and watched us warily. The sun in the west lit up its eyes and highlighted the beautiful auburn colouring of its winter coat. But for the smell and Billy, I would have liked to watch for longer, but instead we called off Billy and left it alone.