Strolling in the garden of my father after midnight. Paddy Pup is scuffling in a pile of dried leaves somewhere up ahead. Jessnut is at my heels. I can see stars through the branches. The constellation I call Orion's goat seems to be following us. I am savouring the illusion of a goat made of stars stepping lightly from tree top to tree top.
And so we go on.
Sheepdogs and James, alone in the garden with the night, the wind and the stars.