A grand old man, Harry is 14 and has spent every Whit week holiday for nine years at Watermill Cottages.
And although his back legs are not too steady these days, and though sleep is almost, not quite, but almost, more important than food – he is a Labrador after all – he always goes for his morning and evening amble down to the stream to cool his paws, sniff the air and catch the breeze.
He loves scents and knows them well here, he’s at home in Barleycorn Cottage where he’s stayed every year for nine years. It matters, as his eyes don’t see too well now. His nose tells him who we all are!
As you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, Harry needs help getting out of the stream. Out for him is always up on to the grass. It most certainly is NOT up a plank of wood, onto a flat rock and then onto the lawn.
‘Honestly, who do they think I am!’ gruffed Harry, as he deftly removed a burnt sausage from beside the bbq.