When Titch collapsed just before he died (I was on him at the time), I lost a lot of nerve, and it's taken me a while to get it back. But Fairfax (looking cheerful - left) and I had a nice if lively time hacking in the sun this morning. He seems to like being talked to, so having run out of things to say (he's not interested in weather), I decided to recite poetry to him.When I was at school, we had to learn a lot of poems by heart. I think this is an excellent thing, and children don't seem to do it any more. Anyway, searching the deep recesses of what passes for my brain, I came up with snatches of Tennyson, Wordsworh, Rupert Brooke, Shakespeare, Keats, Houseman etc, but could only remember two whole poems: The Owl and the Pussycat (oh dear), and a very depressing poem about growing old, by Hardy (who else?).
I did sing a bit, but I don't think Fairfax liked that much. Poor animal...
