I took George for his morning walk alongside the stream in Willow Lane, passing a song thrush perching on a small ash tree. The sun was shining bright warming the day which started chilly. The reddish brown body and bushy tail of a fox glided off the path into the deep embryonic vivid green vegetation. Everything is bright and crisp, visibility good. Suddenly, I spot a tell tale ripple, it was about thirty yards away. I approach cautiously, quietly, anticipation rising. There is nothing. I am about to abandon the hope of seeing a vole then, on the bank opposite, about 4 yards away I see a water vole. It is preening itself at the edge of the stream. I become a statue, not moving, and watch. It dips it hands into the waters edge and splashes its face. It turns its head and buries it inside a rear leg. It rubs it hands behind his ears. Is it using glands to waterproof it's fur?
I quietly move off smiling and hoping to see it again another day.
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