Each morning Willow and I walk down the river and watch the birds. She likes it as much as me which I find funny. My old dog Slinky used to put the run on every living animal, winged or legged, it made no difference. She was a beauty in her own right and always on the hunt. Although the same breed, Willow watches, standing still with head cocked. Owls, ducks, geese, eagles; she is enamoured by them all.
We have been watching the Swallows nesting in the banks. They come out in a flurry and dart across the blue, this way and that, catching mosquitoes. Sometimes they fly too close to Willow and she gives them a bark. I spent hours as a child, wandering the tracks, watching these amazing little birds as they made their nests in the surrounding clay banks. I was lucky to grow up in a time and place where I was part of the outside world. Adulthood takes you from that unique place of watching the birds soar or the fish swim, never considering your place is different. Swallows always remind me of being young, walking home with nothing on my mind but the slow turning light in the warm settled evening.
Willow has started to notice the fish in the creek and likes to wade in, dunking her head under, scattering them upstream. She still has a lot to learn, but so far she is doing marvellously.