... right on top of where I'm weeding out the couch grass from the gravel in front of the small wall that Eric has built to edge the bank up to what will one day be our front entrance.
She's been startled by a gust of wind and has come for reassurance.
On hands and knees, I work round her and, warm against my leg, she lies back watching the swallows as they dive above our heads.
The sun is struggling to break through the clouds. In the half-sunlight her normally dull brown fur glows deep gold.