Dogs in the Country I am in the habit of
taking a stroll at night down the hill past the cherry orchard, turning to my left outside the gate. I am always accom- panied by my corgi dog and an old half-Siamese cat of inhuman sagacity. One night recently I saw a batch of letters waiting to be posted, so I took them up as I passed. I caught the dog's eye on me as I did this. He looked from my face to my hand. Now when I open the gate he always runs out and turns left, rushing down the hill, hurling himself, body and soul, for three or four hundred feet before pulling up to begin the usual doggy negotiations. This night, however, he began to head in the usual direction, but stopped, raised a foot, looked back at me and again at the letters in my hand. Then he turned right, and trotted up the lane to the village store and the letter-box.
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