High above the valley the old causeway
Runs across the northern hills from east west
A stony lane leads off to the farm below
In the old wall a gap stile lets me squeeze into the wood
Now in days of the old winter, its dark beneath the evergreen,
she runs ahead, white and brown under the trees
dancing on the pine needles that carpet the ground.
One leap takes her to the bank of the fast clean running beck
A water in the tongue of the peoples here.
She laps the cool water, leaps back and off again
flag waving tail , shining in the gloom, a whistle
and she turns and hurtles toward us laughing,
plants a muddy paw on my clean jeans and off
weaving through the dark conifers, following her nose
excitement, in every glance , every smiling look back at us
One last run to Redmires Water before it falls
into the ravine too steep even for her.
The wood ends and the open moor field opens in front of us,
scattered with great slabs of millstone grit, dry but cold
I perch for a while on the broad surface of the rock
And she flies down the field, no farm animals here today,
a narrow path leads down the field, but not for her
The tussocks of moor grass are full of precious scents
here one - there another, soon she is almost out of sight,
but ever and again there she is, the shining white and brown
winking in and out of the grassy mounds.
I call, and suddenly the sense of speed and dog
coalesce in the streaking joyous animal running to me.
Praised, rewarded she dances up and around me as we return to the wood
Retracing our path, thirsty, as soon as she can
she drinks deeply from the cold running water, jump ups the other bank,
has a quick nose before leaping the whole width of the brook,
landing on the soft carpet next to me.
Two years she has been on this earth and all is well, she doesn’t worry
unless we are five mins late with her tea,
unless we are upstairs, because then she greets us as if we have been to Ulan Bator
unless we have forgotten it is time for her treat and then the sadness of God is in her eyes as she lies her head in front of me. She is lying on the sofa, warm against my leg, head on my knee, her deep brown eyes looking across the room, gently closing.
Gently sleeping till another of her favourite people comes in, all is joy and greeting again
