There's a Cattle Mart in Dingle Today
Rover, Jack and Spot stump through mud, loading the cows. Then Jack drives off with the cattle. And the dogs get on with their work on the farm.
Spot has two brindled pups and a black one. They're curled up squeaking in a corner of the woodshed. She's made herself a nest on the mud floor, with her back to the stone walls and straw pushed round the pups to keep them warm. When she's not up working in the fields she's in there feeding them.
Otherwise she's just fighting to keep her strength up.
Rover's not allowed in the woodshed...
... but when he's not working in the fields he's guarding the doorway. His thin wolf's face checks out each passing car. With his nose on his paws, he keeps one eye on the hens.
There's a fox up on the mountain.
Me, I'm writing this at my computer with a roaring fire at my back and a cup of tea at my elbow. Wilf's in the next room, practising Schumann on the piano. No mud. No demanding kids. No hens to mind, or foxes to fear, or need to balance the price of beef against silage.
But artists are workers too, you know. Our trade takes effort ...
... and years of dedicated practice.