One of those days.

One of Wilfs rough days. The once every six weeks cycle he seems to have developed. Climbing the stairs for dinner his back legs give way. The first time this has happened. A look of surprise on his face . A quick rest and he's shakily on his feet again.

Up in the night at one , three and then at five . The blood problem . No interest in breakfast this morning . Out with him for a walk across the village green at six . A pre-dawn chance to take his mind off whatevers troubling him. There's an old saying : '' Walking with an old friend in the dark is better than walking alone in the light " .

As I leave the cafe under the arcades the waitress brings me a half croissant wrapped up in a serviette. '' It's for Wilfee " . Some morning routines are too important to forget. As I walk through the door , Wilf miraculously wakes up , smells the croissant, and follows me into the kitchen . The magical healing power of bakery .