Muddy puddles .

Textbook April weather . Wet and windy . During a gap in the rain Angus decides to head off , Wilf in tow , for an afternoon walk . '' Do you think it's wise ? " asks 'the font ' , looking at the ever darkening sky . " It'll be fine . We won't be gone long " comes the reply .

We make it to the end of the lane . The first wild orchids appearing in the hedgerows. It starts to rain . Then it starts to rain heavily . Finally the skies open . It pours . Power shower precipitation . The wind springs up , thunder rolls , the tree branches wave wildly. Wilf takes the downpour as a heaven sent opportunity to sniff every flower, christen every tree , and roll - languidly - in every malodorous smell . The more Angus wants to hurry, the more Wilf wants to slowdown and savour the joys of nature . The selective deafness of a dog that's in his element . He stands, head high , nose sniffing the air , immovable. Muddy puddles a ' must walk in ' source of delight . Old , ' let me get my nose deep down in the grass ' , smells , reinvigorated by the downpour.

Wet, happy, dog and less happy owner are soaked to the skin when they return . ' The font ' looks up with a smile and asks " Is it wet ? " . Some freshly made fish terrine , a towel dry, and the old fellows soon asleep in the warmth of the kitchen . A scene acted out around the world ten million times a day ? Dogs and their owners . Lifes ever optimistic weathermen .