‘C’mon gaffer, keep up!’

 

The forest path is muddy, soggy and slippery. An ever cheerful chap, is looking back at the gloomy old poop trailing in his wake.

‘Cor look guv this tree has up-sticks!’ (A large beech has come down, fortunately landing in an open area.)

The panting grumpy old 'huffer' sniffs and wonders if there’s any chance of a breather.

The boy Bing, undeterred and as bright as ever, positively dances along the trail oblivious of the doom and gloom 'humphing' behind him!

Of course it’s only natural.

Here, we have a hound bred to be impervious to all that the elements can chuck at him, followed by an old poop, not so bred, and longing for the delights of a cosy room and a steaming cuppa!

By the pond, the ducks are huddled in the reeds, sensibly staying out of the biting wind.  We notice some bubbles and the lazy roll of a fish.  A thrush is nearby, and a pair Blackbirds are out and about, their feathers being ruffled by the wind.

‘Isn’t it luvverly out here guv?’

Lovely?  M’mmm……lu-vver-ly…that’s not quite the description I have in mind.  A tree decides to rid itself of surplus droplets just as I’m passing.

‘Oh nuts!’

My companion is far too delighted with a new smell, to hear me.

Lu-u-u-vver-ly? It’s late November, the sun has most definitely not ‘got its hat on’ the clouds are loading up for a mighty downpour, yet again I’ve forgotten a scarf and my ears are ‘barking!’

Bing trundles on, we cross a bridge that might have harboured a troll underneath…..if it wasn’t so blasted cold!

We've now settled into a rhythm, and making fair progress, given the conditions.

Lu-u-uvver-ly? (The old grump's still musing)  We have the forest to ourselves this morning, nobody’s silly enough to be out and about.

I nearly trip over the lad.

He's stock still, and looking dead ahead.

There in a clearing stands an old dog fox, with white cheeks and chin, much of his red coat now very grey. He has a front foot raised and is listening to the sound around him. We dare not move, and we’re hardly breathing.

He hasn’t spotted us, and with his head slightly raised he’s slowly sniffing the air, and we can see the steam from his breath.  A bark in the distance, and the old chap cocks an ear deciding on which direction it came from. 

Slowly the front foot returns to the ground and he moves forward a few paces. His ears prick, suddenly he's become aware of us...the hound and the old puffer.

This is an old fox, he’s seen it all, and frankly a couple of strollers are really of very little interest to him. He trots towards us and then turns slowly to his right, cocks a leg and leaves a mark, before wandering off into the forest depths.

‘Well guv, he was a big’un.’

‘He was indeed young Bing.’

Once again the forest has reminded me not to be such an old duffer, and enjoy what ever it has to offer......no matter what the season.

I look down at my companion who is still looking in the direction of the old fox trail.

‘I reckon he’s off to the old Lowtown Camp you showed me in the summer.’

‘Ah you remember that Bing?’

‘Oh yes, blokes painted blue and such like and so forth, not to mention old Mick Gerkin!’

‘You mean Dick Turpin.’

‘Probably old poop.’

‘You’re right Bing, it’s a good place to live, plenty of cosy spots, nice and peaceful.’

‘See what I mean guv, it’s blooming luvverly out here, lots to see, and for chaps like me, plenty of hooters full of tasty smells!

 

He’s right of course.  We’ve been lucky enough to see a little of the wildlife that resides on our Lowtown doorstep, all for nothing….well except for a bit of effort from a grumpy old poop!

Snacks are had....we turn for home, only the trees note our progress.