At the beach this morning. It’s Dylan’s habit to provoke Ollie into chase. At the moment I can’t take them up there at night, which is my preferred time, as the rabbits drive Dylan insane. He is no longer a pet dog, he is a fierce hunter. I really thought I’d lost him last week. Took me one-and-a-half hours to get hold of him once he’d started. I’m just writing it up. Here’s a passage in progress:
I blew the damn whistle. Nothing. I sensed a movement behind me. Dylan had emerged from the lower slopes, north of the highest dune, from, as it were, further away than we actually go. I called his name, he half-glanced my way. Otherwise he kept his nose to the ground as he swung off with a low, cunning, quick and stealthy action on another oblique tangent. Was it the same long trail, or many shorter, different trails that he was following? I didn’t know, but whichever it was it was much more important than me or Ollie. Ollie, having noted my movement towards Dylan, found that this gave him the clue to catch sight of his brother himself. He is no detective, that’s for sure, and he had no instinct to go and round him up for me either, more was the pity. If he wanted to, he could have grounded Dylan, he could have pinned him to the deck until I got there, he could have given me a genuine helping hand. None of this crossed Ollie’s mind, of course. But though he was of little specific help, his sanguine presence gave me great comfort in the difficult times that lay in the immediate future.