Judging by the berries in the hedgerows, it's going to be another harsh winter. The haws, sloes and elderberries hang in heavy clusters, and this morning we met the grit-men, leaving piles of rock salt in little heaps along the roadside. We're on top of a steep hill here, and at every bend in the hill there is now a neat pyramid of salt.
Herbie's recovering from his dental, and no, he can't whistle through the gaps in his teeth. Holly probably could though - the middle two of her bottom front teeth were worn almost to stubs when she came to me, aged almost two. The vet said she'd probably been chewing the wire of a kennel to achieve that effect, out of sheer boredom and frustration.