Shelley Reed

 

 

It’s been hot lately. High 20s, low 30s C. The maremmas spend the day sleeping in the shade, waking just long enough to realise they’re alive and need a drink of water. So they wrestle their way to the water bucket, have a big slobbering drink and wrestle their way back into the shade. Come evening, I let them out the gate and they galumph down to the meadow and the take a dip in the dugout. Sopping and happy, they have taken to rolling around in the dust till they’re black as Welsh coal miners. Then by some miracle of maremmaness, they are mostly white again by bedtime and spotlessly white by morning, ready for another day.

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