The squirrel was fine .

Lunchtime. There is a huge crash from the courtyard , followed by a drawn out whooosh , a house shaking thump and then a tinkling sound as tiles cascade onto the gravel . The tree surgeon , despite reassurances that nothing could possibly go wrong , has managed to get a huge oak branch to land on top of the barn roof . From fifty feet up a shout of " It wasn't supposed to do that ". A little squirrel , shaken but not injured , clambers out of the fallen branch and looks at us . '' The font '' laughs and says ' at least the important things are safe ' . The tree is quite rotten and will need to come down .

An evening walk with Wilf. The air warm, his fur glowing , the fields freshly tilled, farm geese cackling as we pass. He saunters, arthritically, down the lane. I try out an after dinner speech on him . Sometimes he walks ahead, sometimes behind,for the most part at my side . Plenty of time for an unhurried chat . He may be blind but he's strolling in the sunshine , uncomplaining . This wise old PON knows that half an orange tastes just as sweet as a whole one .