As promised, it is time to introduce you to another of my new gardens. As those of you who have followed me for a while will know, I favour my human clients full anonymity and to this end allocate each with an appropriate alias. Sometimes it takes a while for the right name to present itself, sometimes, as in this case, I am spoilt for choice. Land of the Giants was one option, another The Greens, but I have come to the conclusion that Milo’s Garden is the best choice.
Milo lives at the end of a single-track road, punctuated by a jaw-rattling cattle grid, eventually petering out into an unmade pitted lane. It is a beautiful place; below a river slices through mossy oaked banks, above there are steep meadows and stunning views across the valleys. Milo’s manor is also home to various four-legged and two-winged companions, but he is top dog. Admittedly, he is the only dog, but it is still a good title to have. He is adorable, affectionate and full to bursting with personality. Milo is also a known felon, prone to absconding and playing a little too hard with the chickens.

Whenever I am working alone in this garden, getting Milo back into the house after a comfort break has been challenging. His Oscar winning performances, whenever he senses his time of liberty has almost expired, involves rolling over onto his back and wagging his tail vigorously. Completely ignoring any commands from me, all the while whilst looking cute, he is only lured back inside when bribery wins the day. It is for this reason, that today, when I let him out of the house, I had a cunning plan. The problem solved by his human Mum. It was quite simple. I clipped his collar to a long enough chain, which is in turn was attached to a heavy weight. No longer did I have to keep him in my continual eye sight, poised for pursuit. This allowed me to eat my lobster thermidor and sup my lapsang souchong in a relatively relaxed manner. Milo shuffled about sulkily, rattling his chains like a canine Jacob Marley until I unhooked him and aimed him back indoors.

Before I left, I let Milo out once more. This time he nipped up onto the small lawn, had a little wander, ate some grass, had a wee and, when it was time to go back in, pretended there was something really interesting to look at in the hedge. I have come to the conclusion that Milo is suffering from a severe case of Small Dog Syndrome. There is no known cure.