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"Come on, if we don't go soon it will be dark before we get back," the Webmaster urges. It is early afternoon and usually by this time on a Sunday we are returning from our walk not just setting off.

Outside it is warmer than yesterday, but not so bright. It appears to be going dark but it is still only 14:30 so the overcast sky is more likely to be the cause of the gloom.

"I think we need to keep it short otherwise it will be dark before we get back and I haven't brought a torch," I say when we are half way down the lane, "we can go on the Tongue Lane and St. Anne's route. We should have time to go all the way down to the feeder."

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"Hang on. The dog won't move." The Webmaster calls for me to wait as I reach the gate and turn down the lane. I look back. The Young Dog is standing transfixed. Staring across the garden. "There's a cat up there somewhere and he won't move if he can see a cat."

"You need to get that dog under control. You haven't trained it properly. It can do anything it likes and it has no idea you are annoyed with it. At least make it know it is misbehaving."

I shout the dog's name and distract it for long enough for the Webmaster to get it moving.

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"We should be OK through the woods and round the lake."

"The field may be boggy. We haven't been all the way down through the woods past the rock for ages. We could go that way. It's a bit shorter too and we are later than usual."

We set off down the lane. The Old Dog stops and wees right in the gateway of the neighbour's dog. Right in front of the dog herself.

"Well that's a bit gratuitous. Weeing on someone else's patch while she's watching." But the Old Dog walks on without looking back.

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