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A cloudless Boxing Day was perfect for the planned scattering of our little dog's ashes just over a year since he died. The volume seemed to be slightly more  that one might expect from a small Jack Russell but we hoped that at least a modicum of his remains was contained in what we sprinkled around the local coast circuit that we trod so often with him. We read a couple of poems from Mary Oliver's 'Dog Songs' given to me by Kendall on her visit last year, and revelled the pleasure of a  remarkably balmy December afternoon.  The picture shows younger son Gwyn (left) in mid scatter.

The mood changed a few hours later when he was heading for hospital with a broken leg sustained when negotiating a low wall on the way to DJ at a local music night. The very heavy record bag he was shouldering unbalanced him,  dragged him down and snapped his femur.
 It was a very long night.

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