A little rain through the night, with a grey sky this morning. Looking out from the salon window the line of oak trees which define our boundary going off down the hill have golden leaves blowing off in the breeze. The acorns are mostly all down and have either been raked up by us (too many eaten by donkeys are toxic) or eaten by donkeys, sangliers and squirrels. The sangliers do not now go in the donkeys field but on the other side of the hedge you know when they have been by the rutted earth.
Yesterday a hunting dog on his own got in to the donkey field and was chased around by Filou, the big ugly chap. He protects his herd, but I was worried he would injure the dog as his flashing hooves got very close. Fortunately the dog escaped with no harm and Filou went back to his herd who were in a group. I imagined him with a swagger getting back to be given laurels from his grateful followers, but Rosie turned her back and gave him a playful kick.
Perhaps that was donkey talk for "well done lad."
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