Bill padded along the curved stone path until he reached the gate onto the road outside. Finding it locked and resistant to being unlatched with a well-aimed paw, he sat, waiting for his mistress to catch up. It was a Sunday in February and dawn had barely broken. A wet mist hung low across the valley in which the cottage nestled contentedly. Bill’s coat glistened with dew shaken from the over-sized ferns that spilled over the path. Excited plumes of short hot breath rose from Bill’s open mouth; his tail flip-flopped like a landed fish. The sound of stirring sheep in the field across the road rang like a bell to his pointed ears.

Bill emitted a soft growl of anticipation. He could hear his mistress making her way slowly but deliberately towards him through the cottage. She collected the keys from a bowl in the kitchen, lifted her walking stick from its iron stand then stopped to put on her old boots. Bill’s growl rose to a short, eager bark as she approached the front door. ‘Bill! Mind that. I’ll be right with you’, she said. ‘You know I’m not as quick as I was. Neither are you, come to think of it.’ Before the master had passed they had divided up the daily walking duties, although Sundays were always different. Every Sunday the three of them would walk the valley in a long arc, before returning home to a breakfast of fresh eggs. Now, only the two of them took the long morning walk. Finally ready, the mistress shook the chain lead as she came through the open door. ‘Right, old man, I’m ready for you’.  

Inspired by a story about the first female winner of One Man and His Dog sheepdog trials.