Most days, Sugarbear is farm dog who rolls in manure and moves her buried treasures, dead squires, pizza crust, ham bones, from hole to hole thus keeping it secure from the cats, who’s surely just get it while she’s asleep in front of the fireplace, if they wanted a three week old squirrel body.

Tough as she is, these bands of bad weather, mean that I have to get up and comfort her through nights like last, of thunder or even a little rain.   Literally, if I don’t do that, she eats a hole in the wall.   In this house, that means re-plastering which meant, I had to learn to repair 18th century plaster — a process that takes three days, fine ground clay and horse hair.

At first flash last night, she tried under the bed, then on top, and eventually, we ended up on the couch. Me, flat on my back, Sugarbear shivering on my chest.   As soon as light broke, even with the light rain going, she was ready to go out.   I watched from the door, as she, ankle deep in endless muddle puddles, make the rounds to check that the cats, then donkeys, then chickens are in their sheds, and all her quarry is still buried in yesterday’s hiding places.  Now I wonder, who was protecting who last night?