And when we arrive at the end of our journey ?

To the vets. The cancer returning. Wilfs given an injection. This morning I'd expected to find him asleep but somehow the old fellows summoned up the strength to stand by the front door. That comical ' come on , let's get going ' impatience. 

Back bowed, legs stiff, head down, he moves off towards the church. A walk done a thousand times before. A familiar , comforting, routine. Village green, war memorial, pond.  The fire hydrant christened with a half stumbling cock of the leg. A look of male determination etched on his face. I chuckle and give encouragement. The precision of a champion.He shuffles playfully through the leaves. The slow, crinkly, sound of mischief .

We pause by the stream. Water rippling over pebbles, a distant cuckoo, chattering finches, sunlight. Frogs. Lots and lots of noisy frogs. There's no need to hurry today. A fact unspoken but understood. Some days are special. Today is special . He lies in the long grass holding his head high , slowly sniffing the air, as if to fix this moment firmly, forever,  in place .

' The font ', back from the airport, joins us. Wilf dissolves into a fluffy ball of stump wagging joy. He ambles happily back home. By the pond he stumbles. I pick him up and carry this old friend towards the gate. It won't be long now. A gentle, oh so gentle, gathering in of the light . There again Wilf has never been one to be hurried .