You wouldn’t have to be a quick brown fox to jump over my
dog. I put it down to the unknown greyhound in her make-up, though I don’t know
that for sure. A puppy still, she does have bursts of frantic, frenetic energy
as she races round her imagined track, full speed and grinning manically, but
largely she lazes about, long legs concertinaed with elegantly crossed front
paws.
This morning she manages to combine two of her favourite
activities. She lounges and she looks. Stretched out beside me on the bed she
is at the same time perfectly relaxed, yet immersed in observant scrutiny as
she peers out at the field beyond my garden. To my eyes the expanse of emerald green
is empty of all life, yet still she stares.
I change from reading to distance glasses, in an effort to
catch a glimpse of whatever is holding her attention, but all is still. No
horse stretches his head over my fence to eat nettles, no rabbits dart across
the verdant green down to the narrow stream, not even a bird flies past to lightly
settle on branch or shed roof.
I look at her eyes. Do they focus on a secret world
invisible to humans? Tomorrow I will fetch binoculars along with my morning cup
of tea.
