Porridge has, it seems, been a rather subdued since being attacked by the Beauceron from Hell, which is a crying shame, for such a buoyant, open and friendly character ( we have often discussed how if she were a Jane Austen character she would almost certainly be Lydia Bennett...)
Molly and the Quessoy arboretum were, it was thought, unthreatening, safe and clean enough for her at the moment. Molly is probably quite fond of Porridge in her own way; she tends to adopt a rather Goody-Two-Shoes attitude in her company 'oh look Mum, Porridge is being naughty again, I don't do things like that do I?', while half hankering to follow her into mud, water, cow slurry or whatever other trouble she can find.
One of the problems with trying to photograph Porridge is she's always heading off at speed, and one often just captures her retreating back.
On the way round, we met a couple more fetching blondes,
and a burnet moth.
Porridge was quite herself again, and a merry time was had by all.
(One shouldn't really take pictures of people chatting and laughing, as their mouths do rather strange things, but I did like the way their expressions were mirroring one another. It always amuses me when we go out with these two how stereotypically we all do the dogs-and-their-owners thing: Rosie and Porridge being tall,blonde, elegant and gorgeous, while Mol and I are squat, dishevelled, chaotic and greying round the muzzle...)