Most mornings I look out and see the same procession. First comes the black and white collie dog; 15 yards behind comes its owner, the frail-looking lady who lives around the corner and who also dresses in mostly black and white; 15 yards behind her is a grey long haired cat, trotting along, but diverting into the front garden bushes if a car comes appears. The cat likes walks, too, it seems. I look across my own yard where, usually, the wild rabbit is chomping away in a favorite spot. I don't know what to make of this, but I do know that if it were to stop then I'd miss it enormously.