With the storm Ciara forecasted for today most people around us planned on hibernating. The garden furniture secured, washing lines taken down, chickens under the tarpaulin (yet still looking miserable and very, very wet).

My brother jokily suggested that we should go out and fly a kite, while not having any intention of leaving his comfortable, warm home. The holiday let guests texted us for more wood and kindling for the wood burner in the hut. So far so good.

Then friends texted that their flight from Italy has been cancelled due to the adverse weather. That means that Bertie, the visitor dog, gets to snooze on the sofa for a bit longer.

But having three bored dogs in ‘adverse weather’ is no picnic. They expectantly look at me every waking hour. Wagging and waiting. Food. Play. Food. WALK! So I open the door to the garden, hoping that their digestive system will convince them to run into the rain. It doesn’t. Somehow they suddenly don’t need to go out.

So on go my thick jacket and wellies. I even manage to convince my dear M to join us for the hellish and rather dangerous stroll in the storm. The dogs have to be as good as pushed out of the door. Already they look for a way back into the warm and dry kitchen.

Little furry faces are messed up by the gusts of wind. Ears are flapping and turning inside out. Noses don’t know which way to turn to read the ever moving library of smells. The tails wave like little sails.

And Ciara howls and whistles and cracks branches off the trees. In her fury she snaps at anything that hasn’t been securely fastened or rooted. I can distinctly hear her laugh at the foolish couple and their dogs in the midday storm.