Trip Start Jul 19, 2009
160Trip End Oct 25, 2010
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The garden, at the back of the barn, is full of them - as is the whole area. Come to think of it, we are, strictly speaking, living in and amongst a heap of old stones, albeit some more efficiently arranged than others.
Whenever the stones turn up - never fails to amaze me: what makes them decide to surface and is there no end to it? - Peter adds them on to the neat rows he makes marking the borders and garden wall.
Sheppie, however, has made it his business to transport as many as possible out of the yard, through the barn, past the court between house and 'grange', across the small road, to the field, where he dumps them.
By the end of our stay there'll be a pile big enough to build a small pyramid
No idea why he does it, but to him it is a matter of great significance. It's his job.
Carefully he selects a piece, not just any old stone. Delicately pawing at the mound until he manages to dislodge the chosen one. He prefers the bigger ones, the rocks.
As if not to damage it, he will gently take it in his mouth, and off he trots, full of self-importance.
Sometimes he lies next to his collection, eying it with, what seems to be, great satisfaction.
A dog's life?
Not for Shep - he's a V.I.D.. A Very Important Dog.