Country Walks

Driving to work this morning, I sped past a man out walking a dog in a nearby field, no doubt on his way to discover a murder victim in some nearby copse as men out walking dogs are wont to do. In fact, there’s probably competition among dog walkers who compare tallies of the amount of poorly-dug graves and dead bodies they and their canine chums have stumbled across on their daily strolls through lonely woodland.

My lovely lady wife and I (and our two miniature look-alikes), undertook a much more pleasant walk on the weekend. A short drive away from the village where we live is an estate with all the usual countrysidey-type stuff like lakes, woodland, hills and trails, all collected by Mother Nature in a single place. The ground was sludgy, the weather was British and the world smelled of earth, rotting leaves and duck poo. In other words, It was a glorious winter’s day in a muddy, grey drizzly British paradise, unsullied by cars, crowds, unsightly buildings or indeed homicide victims – perfect for layering up in Michelin-style clothing and blowing away some cobwebs.

A short while ago we played with the idea of getting a dog. Now however, I’m reluctant to let the discovery of decomposing corpses spoil our enjoyment of the great outdoors.